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[aawestautomotive]

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[floriansfurryfantasies]

The Outside World of Between Bramble & Briar.

On a continent, much like Europe, on an island country, much like Britain, is a county of rolling hills and dales. Home to settlements shrouded in a seemingly endless woodland, there live the Rohesian people of Between Bramble & Briar.

GEOGRAPHICAL SETTING

Country:~ Isle of Rohese ~"isle of the rose"

County:~ Dorndale ~"valley of thorns."

Cities:~

Dornbury, "borough of thorns.

Where the Rivers, Dourwent, and Swell converge sits the towering factory that runs the city's largest industry, the backbone of the county's wealth, Brusherby's Nutmill.

The location of Florian's Club: The Sanctuary.

Haeggham, "home of the hedge people."

The location of Lillie's University. An hour from Dornbury by train.

Towns & Villages:~

Swellford: a riverside town where a large weekly market is held. Many gather there to enjoy shopping, the tranquil riverside walk and quaint restaurants and cafés.

Malton: the town from which Arthur's mother hails. Home to the county's largest Malthouse and Mill, Burton Malthouse.

Briarbury: the village where Arthur's family home, Stanley House, stands. Its reputation is somewhat upper-class nowadays. Arthur still lives there. He takes the train home from the city. It's a short walk into Hedgley Woodhouse.

Hedgley Woodhouse: the hamlet where the Blackthorns live in Downey Cottage. The place Arthur would truly call home.

ROHESIAN CULTURE

Faith:~

Only in the last century was the Romulan Church disbanded in Rohese. Most clergy have fled, most returning to the Holy City of Albion. The rejection of the Romulan faith was enacted by the people's revolt and later sanctioned by the Parliament in reaction to the discovery of the Church's financial extortion of the Isle and Bank.

Elder folk have slowly reignited faith in Woden, Frig, etc, and now that new generations are aware of old beliefs, what has been named the Ageless Church has taken hold of youth culture. Those who practise the old faith honour nature instead of the previously worshipped Wolf, Romulus, Prophet of the Romulan Church.

Currency:~

Six centuries ago, the Romulan Church brought their Latini currency from Albion and gently converted the Rohesian market until the Sacer became the Isle's currency.

The Church's monetary scandal has since brought about a currency reform and the reminting of Shilli (Scillingas/Gold Shillings) and Coppar's (Copper pennies), the previous currency of the Isle. Paper money is simply called 'notes'. They are generally called "fivers" and "tenners." Twenty Shilli notes aren't used much by the general public.

Cuisine:~ 

Although spices are not commonplace on Rohese, wild herbs and sea salt are used as seasonings in native recipes. Due to livestock not being farmed, meat is rarely eaten, and if so, only on special occasions. However, fish, mushrooms, eggs, vegetables, berries and native fruit (apples, plums, pears, etc.), grains and nuts, their milk and cheese (and sometimes dairy products) are part of a standard Rohesian diet. Bread and Potatoes are considered staple foods.

Language:~

Although the story is written in Modern English, a dialect similar to Olde English and Welsh would be more prevalent in how Roh-folk speaks. However, as is to be expected, the Latin of the Romulan Church has influenced people's language.

Industry & Technology:~

Industry on Rohese is generally coal or hydro-powered. Trains, trams, and buses are the most prevalent forms of transport.

Few own cars, and as such, the market never really took off. Automobiles remain quite simplistic pieces of engineering (think: 1900s era)

Cellphones and computers have yet to be invented. House phones and public telephone boxes are standard ways to communicate outside the postal service.

Tag list:~ @caxycreations

Let me know if you'd like to be on the BBB tag list too.

[thephoebeyates]

≈ gulp ‘n’ go, friday 9th august, evening. with @warrenpearce

If Phoebe had a dollar for everytime someone told her she needed to get a new car, she probably would just have enough for a new car. However, Earl — her dark blue 2006 plate Ford Focus — had been a companion of hers she had since she was sixteen, and whilst it had been gifted to her with many problems and seemed to only collect more as the years went on, Phoebe just couldn’t bear to part with him.

It helped that everyone else in her life were more than happy to drive her around if needed, and the buses to get into the office weren’t too terrible.

However, sometimes she had errands to run that required her car — such as hauling her various boxes of old things to Thrift Haven, as well as a couple of errands her internship at the paper required. Plus, she had promised to check in on Saul’s cats whilst he was away, and there was no streamlined bus from Cardinal Hill to Oak Gardens. 

She had just returned from visiting Smokey and Marmalade when she noticed she needed gas, pulling in and filling up. After paying and grabbing a few treats as a reward for a job well done, she was met with one of her worst nightmares: Earl was being uncooperative, and wouldn’t start up. In a pickle of who to call — it was late enough that Eli and Nilay would be getting the girls ready for bed, Foster would be in the middle of dinner service and the rush at O’Shea’s would be starting thus Leon would have his hands full — she ended up calling Warren. She never liked to bother him, always felt like she was erring on the side of annoying, but the older man had never given her any indication that he wanted her to shut up, so Phoebe often took his silence as permission to keep on talking.

“...Thanks again, for coming to get me.” She said, after relaying her entire Friday night schedule until the moment she called the investigator as he checked over her car, sitting on the curb outside of the gas station, snacks already opened. “I hope I didn’t drag you from anything important. Want me to run inside and grab you anything? Do you think I’ll need to call a tow truck or something or just like, hope if I kick a tire or something he’ll start right back up?”

[lonestarflight]

Thanks for getting back to me, thinking back after I sent you the ask you are right and it would have been another year I saw the shuttle. You never forget something like that but the year you can. It was getting on to dusk and I and another train driver had just taken a number of Locomotives to our Motive Power Centre for servicing at Dry Creek North South Australia,a long bright streak of light in the east appeared and was travelling south to north lasted about 45 seconds to a minute before it was gone and the local news I didn't see until much later mentioned it. It was a beautiful sight to see and can't recall if shuttle was on its orbit to re-enter atmosphere or that was just a normal orbit. With the Railways I also was lucky enough to pick up cheaply from a second hand book store in Broken Hill a box of NASA related articles along with a 1973 letter from NASA's Space Office in Canberra ACT, corroborating the items (not individually) for the Broken Hill Space Club and various badges were amongst it plus the signatures of the Apollo 11 crew which should be real signatures and not auto-pen as was used later. A Nestle's Conquest of Space book to be a member of The Nestle's Space Club was included and has no date of printing but written by a John Gunn A.R.Ae.S and only printed in Australia by W.C. Penfold &Co Pty Ltd , Sydney. With the acknowledgements thanking United States Information Service Sydney and Mrs Robert H Goddard,Mass,USA for the supply of photographs and information on late Dr Robert H Goddard plus thanking U.S.S.R Embassy in Australia. It has pictures that children collected from various Nestle products and stuck them in corresponding photo boxes, would like to know the year of printing but first entry written in log at rear is Sputnik I 1957 up to 9 March 1961 and then stops with 4th Spaceship launched and weighed 4 1/2 tons. That was written after Feb 4 1961 Sputnik IV launched 6 1/2 tons. Not all pictures collected but it is a good memory of beginning of Space Race. Sorry for using up so much space on your ask. Btw I was born 30 May 1959 the year the infamous Edsell car was released onto the market. Cheers from Australia.

Fon memories

[deluxewhump]

Erik's Journals pt 8 (2023)

16. Cetus

Cw: self harm mentions, scars, and NSFW - this chapter contains explicit sexual material I would not at face value call dubcon, but the nature of this story makes it something that deserves a word of warning anyway.

April, 2023

It was a blue spring day when Carlo tossed a duffel bag into my car and ducked quickly inside like a fugitive. Always unexpectedly tall and dressed like an Ivy League student, on spring break of his senior year at MVU. He glanced at me like the boy who once accompanied me to Germany, back when he was still my pet. He's something different now, something that is both Max’s and his own. Does he feel his own? I asked him.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” I said, and pulled away from the gray curb, still dirty from winter’s salt and gravel trucks. He looked unsettled by my strange question. “You’re fine, Lo,” I added, smiling at him. He smiled back and his shoulder blades relaxed into my leather seat.

I took him to my lake house in Virginia. It was only an hour's drive, and we listened to an NPR broadcast on Japanese cuisine and the concept of umami to fill the silence that always seemed uncomfortable at first until we settled into some old routine, of which we have only momentarily forgotten the first steps.

The highway took us west out of the bleak steel and concrete of Baltimore, a city that always seemed to me precariously perched between north and south, having qualities of both but belonging to neither. It is a precocious weed, struggling from the crack of the sidewalk, trodden and thirsty for light. 

“So…where are we going?” he asked when we pulled off pavement and continued more slowly down a narrow gravel road, the trees that overhang in summer like a jungle canopy still bare and skeletal in the slow spring we were having. I slowed and swerved to straddle a washed out section of road. Sparrows flitted in front of us, one side to another like brown arrows shot from a thrumming bowstring.

I hadn’t told him where I was taking him this weekend. He probably assumed DC, or New York. Was he nervous? Did he think I was taking him to some secluded patch of woods, some gravel pit to do him harm? If I wished him harm I could inflict it from the convenience of my living room.

“I have a new piece of property out here,” I told him. “It’s pretty, and quiet. I think you’ll like it.”

He watched the choked eastern woods crawl by from the passenger window. “Hey. There was a doe. Maybe twenty feet in,” he said with a quiet sense of appreciation, almost a tinge of wonder.

“Max’s property must be crawling with them, up there in the hills?”

He avoided talk of Max with a dismissive “mm” of general agreement. He checked his phone. No bars. He set it facedown in his lap.

“I know,” I said. “No service. You can connect to my Wi-Fi when we get there.”

The road arched its back over rolling wooded hills. I hugged right in case another car crested suddenly in our path, though I’d never yet run into another soul in this blissfully underdeveloped Virginian hinterland. Finally the road forked and I pulled right onto a second, smaller stretch of dirt. We curved a copse of saplings and before us appeared the two story house. It was glass from floor to ceiling, like a lantern box. We could see inside the bones of my living room furniture, the light fixtures hanging in the kitchen right through to the lake beyond, reflecting the trees that flank it like a glass bowl.

“Wow. Is this new?”

“Built last year. I closed on it in August.”

“Why?” he asked innocently, looking at me. I parked, the sleek engine idling silently as a snake in grass.

“It’s what old men do. They buy property in the middle of nowhere and sit and watch the water.”

“It’s your Walden Pond.”

On impulse, I reached over the center console and touched his hair. He let me. I fingered one dark curl, velvet as a rabbit's foot.

“What are we doing here?”

“We can take the boat out. I have good food to cook. Good scotch to drink. I have a TV. I’m sure you’re sick of books by this point in your semester.”

“Little bit.”

I remembered a time when he was young, maybe sixteen. He had come to me complaining about his tutors putting too much work on him in too short a timespan. It was winter, and he was doing a shift every day in the warehouse as well as his schooling and practicing piano. I'd been distracted, irritated, and snapped at him to learn some better time management. Surprised at my tone with him, his eyes had immediately welled with tears and he'd gotten angry. He tried to storm off and I said after him, "Go to my office. Now, please." I wondered if he would, or if he’d ignore my request. 

Sure enough, I found him there a few minutes later and shut the door behind me. He was sitting at the swivel chair in front of my desk like he was an inmate sent to the warden, picking his cuticles with his head hung low. Gently, apologetically, I asked him to explain again. He'd done so, reluctantly, and I took the next six shifts in the warehouse off his schedule for him. Focus on your studies, I’d said. The warehouse has its lessons, but it is not your main concern. 

I'd felt badly for yelling at him, when he'd come to me overwhelmed and looking for help. I couldn’t treat him like a whining manager at O&H, or a warehouse employee who’s no-showed to a shift. He was too sensitive to my moods, my criticism. I knew I oscillated between strict and soft with him, but he never took advantage of my lenience. 

“You’re not afraid to be way out here in the woods with me, are you?," I asked now, only partly teasing. 

His neck colored, and I resisted the urge to touch it to feel its heat. A curious thing, my attraction to him. It is not explicitly sexual, but it is a cousin to it now. Possessive. Hungry.

“No. I’m not.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be.”

He huffed through his nose, perhaps just to dispel the tension between us with any sort of levity. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

“Of course,” I said, and opened the driver's side door. We collected our things and went inside. It smelled of newly laid flooring still, a delicate cedar scent that reminded me of my childhood home, of winter and my father gathering split wood for the stove, how the cold gust of air from the back door would make the fire shiver in the yawning hearth.

I took his coat, told him where he could put his things. He wandered around for a bit, looking at the features and design of the house. He touched the leaf of a Christmas cactus, still flowering in provocative pink buds, between his long fingers, his neck bent so the weak April light played over the knob of his spine from a skylight above him.

“The architect was Swedish,” I said. “His fixation, for all architects have one, is light. I had my reservations about all the glass but out here, it works.”

“It’s like we’re outside but inside. A greenhouse.”

“The stars are incredible out here at night. No light pollution. It’s like being in the Alps.”

He eyed the copper espresso machine on a marbled countertop.

“Would you like a coffee?”

“Yes, Sir. Please.”

Sir. It was his way of calling back the old days. Our old dynamic, Master and Pet. Innocent enough to be a common honorific, addressing someone far his senior with a title of respect. Something a waiter might say to a guest. A student to a professor. A salesman on a phone call. But it was not just that. Not for him. Not to me.

I made us each a short black cup of espresso, and put a piece of vanilla biscotti on the saucer of his cup like a fat golden finger.

“Is this East?” he asked, facing the lake.

“Yes. Great sunrises.”

He sipped his coffee.

“Does Max know where you are?” I asked casually.

“Nope,” he answered, making the p sound pop like chewing gum on his lips. A confident, casual sound. He is young still, twenty three and still possessing the quality of a boy underneath the part of him that is a man.

“What did you tell him?”

“That I was with Jude. But Jude’s in Michigan. I’ll message him with the Wi-Fi at some point. He won’t call.”

“No?”

“No. My leash, as you called it, is very long now. I’ve proven to him that I can take care of myself, or whatever.”

“You’ve always been able to take care of yourself.”

He widened his eyes over the rim of his cup briefly. “Sort of. I had a rough start because of… separation anxiety, I guess.

“By choice, I bet. I seem to remember you navigating Berlin all by your lonesome just fine. I never worried you wouldn’t come back.”

“I was always coming back,” he said in a low register that suggested he wasn’t just talking about Berlin. “I’m here, aren’t I? Of my own free will, if there’s such a thing?”

“There is. For our intents and purposes, anyway.”

He sat on my sofa and I leaned on the counter, sipping espresso.

“What is your major again?”

“I don’t know that I ever told you. English. Minor in psych.”

“What will you do with it?”

“Everyone asks me that. Strangers ask me that. I haven’t gotten that far. Max just wanted me to go.”

“So you went.”

“Yep. But I like it. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it. I probably should’ve done something more practical. I think Max thinks that too. But he’s just happy I’m going. I graduate this December.”

It was more than he usually spoke of Max. I was always so curious, but it didn’t really matter, my curiosity. Just a morbid interest I’d taken up in the man who’d bought my Carlo and set him free, and yet kept him all the same like a little brother. Or a child.

“Practicality is in the eye of the beholder.”

He snorted.

“It is. The purpose of higher education was never and should not be now to produce a brainless army of workers. A certificated proletariat.”

“What is it then?”

“To produce a well informed, well rounded citizen. It’s not a product to be bought. You are a student, not a customer.”

He regarded me slowly, in his catlike way. “So you think English is a good choice? Chaucer and poetry and the history of rhetoric?” He enunciated harshly, belittling his own field.

“If you have an affinity for it. Which I have no doubt you do, knowing you like I do.”

He seemed pleased with that, but like he was trying to hide it from me. Did he still crave my approval? Of course. I pressed on.

“What else would you do? Weld? Go into sales? Middle management at a credit reporting bureau? No. You’re right where you belong . Leave the key turning and penny pinching to the rest of them.”

He gave me a wry look. Max is middle management at a credit reporting bureau. And does well for himself by the looks of Carlo’s clothes and leather bag and car. But I had told him what he wanted to hear, so he forgave me the backhanded slight to his younger former keeper.

“Can we go out on your boat today?”

“Of course. Sooner rather than later, while we still have the light. It’s chilly. Bring your coat, and I’ll get you a hat and gloves.”

That night I fed him tender steak with mushrooms and onion, crispy skinned, pillowy potatoes with rosemary, and tiramisu from a bakery downtown. After the brisk fresh air of the lake and having drunk half a bottle of red wine, he fell asleep under a blanket on my cream leather sofa with the fireplace crackling in the hearth.

I was glad I’d chosen a real fireplace for this house of glass and wrought iron, though mine at home were all gas and remote controlled now. Outside, our woodsmoke smudged the perfect white stars.

He woke at midnight with bleary eyes and let me take him to his room, a brand new queen bed, never slept in. He let himself be guided under crisp virgin covers, and I sat on the side of the bed. He didn’t question that, or my hand in his hair, petting him back to sleep.

-

Saturday morning, Carlo had gone for a swim in the lake before sunrise. He was at the kitchen table with his breakfast when I came downstairs and discovered what he’d done. He was in fresh clothes, but his hair was only partially toweled off, lips still pale from the freezing water. 

“In April, Carlo? ” I chided him, heating water for the French press. “The coldest April in twenty years?”

“It wasn’t so bad.”

“It’s hardly forty-three degrees out. And the sun wasn’t even up. I can’t begin to guess what the water temperature is. That lake is deep. It drops off to thirty feet almost immediately. I told you that yesterday on the boat. What if you got a muscle cramp?”

“I like the cold.”

“Since when?”

His spoon paused halfway to his mouth— almond granola and a handful of sugared raspberries in whole milk. 

He knew he had me. 

“Since you taught me to like it.”

The cold shower rule, from that distant winter, back to haunt me. 

I thought mildly of slapping his perfect face. I’d done it before. It would be out of line now. It almost was then. I imagined his wounded, startled look and an upside down bowl of granola on the floor, raspberries rolling toward the cracks in the black tiles.

”Oh you liked it, now? Is that your story?” I asked calmly. 

“Eventually,” he said quietly, matter-of-fact. “If you just submit to the cold it is more bearable. It hurts at first, and then your brain gives you endorphins to combat the discomfort. If you start associating the source of discomfort with the endorphins…” he shrugged. “Masochism 101.” 

His spoon was still paused patiently in the air, elbow on my table. Talking to me about masochism. 

“Is that your psych minor talking?”

“Was that not what I was supposed to learn from it?” he asked with a mimicry of sincerity. 

I turned from the stovetop and poured hot water into the press. “Willful little brat.”

He frowned. “Are you really mad at me? I didn’t do it to upset you, I swear. It was an impulse.”

I waved in a dismissive gesture. 

He dropped his spoon back into the bowl, unsatisfied. 

“I’m not mad at you, Lo. Don’t be so sensitive. You surprised me. Worried me.”

He lifted his eyes to me and I thought of the doe he’d seen in the woods. What a foolish dance this was. And yet here I was, on my mark. 

He rubbed his chin. “You sound mad.”

I came closer and he straightened, unsure of me. I picked a raspberry out of his bowl and placed it close to his lips. He pulled back an inch to glance down at it, then back up at me. 

Another reminder of his old games. 

“Please,” I said in a tender tone that went almost completely unused now, reserved for Carlo. He opened his mouth and let me place the berry on his tongue, wet magenta on wet pink.

“So am I allowed to swim?” He dropped his voice on the word allowed, almost to a whisper. 

“You can do whatever you want. But it is a deep, cold lake. And we are in the middle of nowhere. Please just tell me when you’re going. Hm?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry.”

”Don’t be sorry. You’re young, and apparently fearless. Someone needs to keep you safe.”

I don’t believe the irony of those statements was lost on either of us. 

- 

Saturday night he cleaned the kitchen after a long and unhurried dinner until it gleamed and climbed up next to me when I put a movie on. I had my laptop on my lap at first, but finished an email and set it aside, pulling him closer. He came, soft and pliant, and laid against me as the temperature dropped outside and the wind made the thin, long limbs of barely budding trees scrape the gutters of the house. 

A few minutes later he surprised me by undoing the button of my pants and looking up at me, asking, wondering. 

I tilted my head at him. “Now, what is it you think you want?”

He shrugged. “I could… if you want.”

I admit the boldness and the shape of his mouth around the word want stirred me. It would be pleasant, I had no doubt. I imagined my fingers tightening in his hair and the sweethot slickness of his tongue.

I wouldn’t even fuck his mouth like I did sometimes to Tatiana, when I called on her. Carlo was of course more sensitive than even my favorite whore, more tuned in to my every move. More emotionally delicate, as I’d explained to Martin Olson half a dozen times. I’d let him go at his own pace, let him have his head, figuratively and literally, and see what he’d do. 

“A tempting offer,” I murmured, slipping my thumb over his bottom lip, over the scrape of his bottom teeth. He let his mouth hang partially open. Eyes lifted. I was already half hard. 

“Why are you doing this?” I asked. 

“I don’t know,” he said around my thumb. I placed my other hand on his chest and felt the tumbled thudding of his heart against his ribs. 

“It feels to me like a point of no return, Lo,” I said carefully, running my hand up his gray t-shirt to settle at the base of his throat. I thought of licking the little hollow there, sucking the taste of his skin and sweat and holding it in my mouth like a Biblically ancient pour of wine. 

Possession. That's what was rising in me. Like holding in my hands a delicate paper crane I could crush and something in me wanted to— but something else wanted to keep close to me, away from other influence and all harm. Even my own. 

He squirmed, rocking his hips into nothing. “I want to… I don’t know. Serve you.”

“You do. More than you realize.”

“Like this,” he said, and sucked the length of my thumb delicately. 

”I never would have asked you for this. Do you know that? Never.” 

”Yes,” he answered. “I know.”

“You’re hard to say no to. Are you nervous?”

“Yeah. But it doesn’t matter.”

I took my thumb from his mouth. Nodded at my unbuttoned lap. “Well.”

His chest rose and fell faster, and he turned to better position himself, undoing my fly and awkwardly, gingerly pulling me free from all constraints. There is something more lewd about having your cock out while fully dressed than being naked. I was hopelessly hard now, had been since he rocked his hips against the air at my words. 

He took my swollen length in his hand, his broad palm and long fingers so unlike the jeweled and acrylic-nailed hands of the girls I often chose. I put my arms behind my head, resting my laced palms on the back of my neck. I could see us in the reflection of the east wall of the living room, bathed in buttery lamp glow against the backdrop of the frigid black lake. He put his mouth on the tip of me and I watched him, turning from the reflection on the glass to see him directly. 

Sweethot, yes. Slick and wet and perfect. A debauched and ever wicked ex-pet back at his master’s feet, toying with his own free will and riding up to the gate with it like a banner. With one perfect fist closed at the base he took me in his mouth, slow and unsure at first. With my murmured encouragement he took me a little deeper, a little more surely. 

He’d done this before, I guessed. That was for the best. 

As he bobbed his head he rocked his hand in motion with himself, not shy of the way his saliva ran down my shaft and onto his knuckles, not shy of the wet sucking noises he made as he served me in the only new way he could think of now. I fumbled for the remote and muted the TV. I wanted to hear this. 

“Just like that,” I told him by way of encouragement. “Good boy.”

I lowered a hand to snake it in his hair and he slowed, faltering to see what I wanted. I guided him back down, at the same pace he’d been doing before. He continued, glancing up at me in a moment that almost made me lose my composure. I moaned, handful of dark curls, catching our glimpse in the reflection every so often like watching pornography, committing the scene to memory.  

I warned him I was close, giving him the chance to back off and finish with his hand. He didn’t. I came in his eager mouth, a perfect moment of whiteout pleasure, a bloody steak thrown to a creature I’d kept starved and tame in the back of my mind these last half dozen times I’d seen him. He came up for air only when I let go of his hair, lips pink and swollen, eyes wet. 

I held his face in my palms. “You’re really something.”

He smiled, pleased. 

I tucked myself back into my pants and convinced him to take off his clothes. He lay on his back naked, clutching a soft throw I kept on the back of the sofa over his hips modestly. I noticed a lattice of white, raised scars on his upper thighs. He saw my eyes on them and winced almost imperceptibly, miserably resigned to the likelihood that I’d mention it. 

They were minor cuts, had probably been done with a razor and bled for only a few minutes. They were nowhere near any vital veins, and I had no intention of making it a bigger deal than it was, even though it was an act I considered both girlish and juvenile. I ignored them and looked at his face instead, his eyes watching me closely. 

He let me kiss him everywhere else— the quivering well at the center of his ribcage, his silky thighs, the inner softness of his ankle. When his answering shivers and panting breaths quieted, I looked up to find him crying without a sound. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I feel good. I’m sorry.”

I opened my arms to him, offering. He came into them, tucking his head under my chin. I petted his hair, the base of his neck. He was still hard. I touched him there, silky and beautiful and leaking from the tip. He moved to better let me. I stroked him slowly, until he was done with tears and let his head fall back on my shoulder, whimpering like a pup and grasping the fabric of my pants at my knee. 

“It’s alright,” I whispered low in his ear. “Let me make you feel good. I’ve got you.” 

It was the talking that did it for him, I noticed. It was my words that made him writhe and tense in my hand. I kept talking to him as he gasped and came, slowing my hand until he was done and I was just holding him, sensitive as a beating heart turned inside out. 

I wondered— what cards had I just played? What cards did I let him believe he held? And whyever the tears? He still wanted things from me, things he couldn’t get from Max or that Max, in all his decent simplicity, would not give him.

Perhaps it was decency that stayed Max’s hand where it moved mine. Perhaps he was only interested in women. Could be it was a little of both. In any case. Here Carlo was. 

I leaned down to fish Carlo’s cotton shirt from the floor and cleaned him, then my hand. I always hated the mess, afterward. It throws cold water on the thrumming nectar of any moment, turning what was only moments before the tilting zenith of a symphony into something animal and mundane. I tossed the soiled shirt to the floor and pulled the forgotten blanket over his bare skin, kissed his warm forehead. 

“I don’t feel like that was a point of no return,” he said drowsily, leaning against me. “I don’t know why it’s any different.”

“Hush,” I told him gently, and turned the television back on. I’d hold him if he wished, but I wasn’t going to pillow talk to him about it like a woman, or a virgin, of which he was neither. “Then it isn’t.” 

Next

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 7: Lyric Inspired

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of fear/panic, claustrophobia, implied abduction, mentions of pain/suffering, death, blood, torn flesh, eye-loss, descriptions of decay/rot, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

(A few months ago, I was able to pre-order a signed copy of Nate’s newest album, Scrap Heap; it should be here any day now! And in honor of such a heavy addition to my collection, I created a brand new NateEgo. You can find more information about him here.)

Day 1  Day 2  Day 3  Day 4  Day 5  Day 6

___

Goosebumps prickled over [REDACTED]’s arms at the sound of dull, heavy footsteps proceeding down the corridor behind him. He knew he had to keep moving, but his heart sank once he realized that he’d reached a corner of the maze. A dead-end.

The only way out was to turn around and go back the way he’d come. But he couldn’t do that.

Because a large, metallic hand was suddenly grasping at the threshold he’d just passed. A familiar figure loomed in the entryway.

This animatronic had been following [REDACTED] throughout the maze for almost ten minutes now. [REDACTED] knew that he probably should’ve expected this—he was in a haunted house, after all—but he figured that the animatronic should’ve stopped pursuing him at some point. Hell, he’d already passed a few other animatronics during his visit, but none of them had tried to do what this one was doing.

Wasn’t this particular one supposed to be on a stage somewhere else in the building? 

[REDACTED] stared up, up, up at the glowing red eyes that probably should’ve started burning a hole into his head by now. The animatronic wasn’t talking or singing like it had been earlier. It was completely silent, just leering down at him with that maniacal, hungry grin.

The animatronic took a step forward. [REDACTED], acting on instinct, took a step back.

He was forced to keep backing away until he hit the wall behind him.

The animatronic slowly came closer and closer. It almost appeared to be getting even bigger and taller than it already was.

___

S̷C̸R̵A̷P̵ ̸H̶E̶A̴P̷!̵

Mechanical engineering didn’t always make for glamorous work. The jobs in that field paid well, sure, and taking the necessary courses in college to get such a degree meant you might be able to participate in the odd round of robot combat or two.

Even so, being a technician didn’t guarantee you a spot at some classified robotics laboratory. More often than not, your best bet would be to start out at a place like Ransom Recycling, and while the work done in such a place was indeed important, it didn’t change the fact that it was literally a junkyard.

Your current job hasn’t been as exciting as you’d hoped, but you know better than to complain. A dirty, boring job is still better than no job at all. Besides, there’s always the occasion that you get to work with things more interesting than the usual scrap.

Like tonight, for instance.

You stroll down the dirt n’ gravel path, pushing a large, empty industrial cart along. You scan the hills of scrap, taking time to look over the rubble carefully. You see remains of several cars—some were still intact but had obviously decayed over time, and some were smashed in a way that suggested their drivers may or may not have found licenses inside cereal boxes. You see corroded hubcaps, broken metal rods, and too many unrecognizable cubes (the form trash took on when it was put through the compactor on the west side of the yard) to count.

The junkyard’s latest client had come not from a dealership, but an entertainment service. Just a couple weeks ago, a local haunted house—Panic Plaza, to be specific—had been forced to close its doors. You had read news articles about this, but you just can’t remember the exact reason for the building’s shutdown. Panic had been a hotspot for thrillseekers around town, and the fact that it’d been open for more months than just October attested to that.

And while Panic had employed several people to dress in grotesque costumes in order to frighten their visitors, its real strength had come from a series of animatronics.

Animatronics that, wouldn’t you know it, had been dropped off at the junkyard earlier this week. Why they’d been brought here instead of being sold off to a similar business, you have no idea. The representative from Panic hadn’t said much about them; hell, he’d only stuck around long enough to discuss the delivery with your bosses. Maybe the animatronics had malfunctioned in a way that Panic somehow just couldn’t recover from?

Whatever the case, the bosses had made it clear that they wanted at least one animatronic to be salvaged before they returned (they’d just left to haul some repaired cars the next town over).

Now, if they’d only made it clear where said animatronics had been placed in the yard. . .

Your foot suddenly strikes something hard, something that catches around your ankle. You don’t even have time to register the pain before you lose your grip on the cart and go sprawling down. You hit the ground with a thud, and after catching your breath, you turn over to sit on your haunches and glare at the offending object.

Your frustration quickly transitions into anxiety as you realize that the offending object is in the shape of a human arm. One that just so happens to be lying close to something that’s shaped like a human head. . .

You gape like a fish as you hurriedly get back to your feet. Thankfully, before you can really start panicking, you notice how a dim ray from the setting sun shines against the arm and head in a way that is very clearly metallic. They still stand out against the coppery grime that surrounds them, but they definitely haven’t experienced the horrible decomposition that unattended human corpses are infamous for.

Right, you think, trying to stop shaking. We just received a bunch of broken-down robots. That’s all this thing is.

You calm down, but not completely. The fact that the head and arm are positioned in a way that suggests their owner has been crushed and is desperately trying to crawl out of the pile isn’t what you’d call assuring.

I̷ ̴r̵o̵t̶ ̸a̶w̴a̴y̸,̸ ̸a̷n̴d̵ ̵I̷ ̵l̴o̷o̵k̶ ̴d̴e̵a̷t̶h̵ ̶i̴n̷ ̷t̴h̵e̶ ̶f̴a̸c̸e̸

I̴ ̷s̴t̴a̶r̴t̷ ̴t̵o̴ ̷w̸i̴t̵h̶e̵r̸,̷ ̴a̴n̷d̶ ̵I̵’̵m̵ ̶t̴r̶u̸l̵y̷ ̴a̴f̸r̴a̷i̴d̸

You place your hand over the head, just to make sure it’s smooth, cold and hard instead of oozing, soft and decayed. Now that curiosity has overridden your fear, you grasp either side of the head and give it a tug. It does budge, but only by a couple inches. You grab the arm around its wrist and pull again, being a bit harsher this time. The screech of metal scraping against metal crashes against your ears.

You pause, frowning at how you’ve only made a bit more progress. You spend  a minute or two pushing chunks of scrap away from the head, managing to reveal a metal neck and shoulders, but the rest of the robot is well and truly stuck.

You pace around the pile and eventually come upon a long, flat piece of metal that has been bent near one end. You pick it up and slide it in between the robot’s back and the rest of the junk on top of it. You leverage it, pulling it to and fro. The ensuing chorus of scraping is less than pleasant, but you can see that this new method is working. Slowly but surely, inch by inch, the robot is coaxed out into the open.

Finally, you’re able to grab hold of the robot’s waist and pull it free. Or, attempt to, at least. It’s out, but it’s also heavy as hell. You can only hold it for a moment before you’re forced to drop it.

You turn it over on its back, then straighten up to finally get a better look. You recognize the animatronic and instinctively brace yourself for it to start belting a morbid verse.

This is Scaredy, Panic’s official mascot.

The animatronic is missing one of his arms, as well as both of his legs. His remaining forearm, neck and head share a silvery-white finish. A black bowtie is attached to his throat, where a person’s collar bones would’ve met. The casing on his torso alternates between black and blue in a way that looks like a vest being worn over a separate shirt; though it’s all one piece, certain areas are slightly raised, having been carefully designed in order to sell the illusion of Scaredy wearing clothes. Some kind of 3D printing process, maybe?

Plastic on top of Scaredy’s head seems to have been given the same treatment—it matches his blue “shirt” and resembles short hair, to the point where it looks like an undercut with side-swept bangs.

You focus on the animatronic’s face and can’t help but freeze.

A long, thin, straight opening runs down the center of Scaredy’s mug, which is comprised of six segmented plates that all fit together perfectly. Hell, they almost seem to be floating. The crevices between each of these plates offers a small glimpse of wires and frames here and there. His mouth has been crafted as a perpetual, wide-open smile, like the robot is in the middle of laughing or singing.

The expression would’ve looked innocent enough, but not if the several teeth lining Scaredy’s maw have anything to say about it. Said teeth are all long and sharp, catching the light like actual blades—you have no doubt that, if you were to brush your hand against them, blood would easily be drawn. There’s a bright red circle on either side of the animatronic’s jaw. It reminds you of the rosy cheeks that would’ve usually been seen on a clown, but somehow, it doesn’t take away from his design.

The teeth would’ve looked threatening enough, but apparently whoever had constructed this thing had given a resounding Fuck it, I can do better! Because you feel a legitimate chill run down your spine as you gaze into Scaredy’s eyes.

A pair of red pinprick-pupils stare up at you from black-as-oil orbs. Eyebrows can be found above them (since when did a robot even need eyebrows?), the same color as the robot’s hair and narrowed in a way that makes it feel like the animatronic is judging you—no, sizing you up. His grin makes that feeling even more prominent.

Worse still, his eyes are glowing. The illumination is dim, but it’s still there.

You hold a hand over Scaredy’s face, waving it from side to side. His eyes don’t follow your movement. The glow remains, but that’s it.

He’s not alive, you remind yourself, shaking your head. He’s a machine—one that’s not even in working order. Get a hold of yourself!

You know this has to be the case. Scaredy hasn’t moved at all, hasn’t made any noise. He’s definitely seen better days. He’d clearly been here for a good while. And if he was still functional, then why would he have ended up at the junkyard in the first place?

A̷ ̷g̵r̴e̵a̷t̶e̴r̶ ̵p̸u̶r̶p̴o̴s̸e̶ ̶l̵e̵f̵t̷ ̶m̷e̶ ̸a̵l̶l̴ ̸n̸o̴t̶ ̴t̶h̴e̵ ̴s̸a̶m̸e̸

M̴y̸ ̸t̸i̵m̵e̵ ̶i̷s̴ ̷r̴u̸n̴n̴i̷n̴g̶ ̸o̶u̵t̵,̸ ̷b̸u̵t̵ ̷y̶o̸u̸ ̷c̴o̷u̷l̸d̴ ̴n̶e̵v̴e̴r̵ ̷f̸o̵r̶g̸e̵t̴ ̷m̶y̵ ̸n̷a̴m̷e̶

You continue searching through the heap until you recover a stray, artificial left arm, which matches Scaredy’s right arm perfectly. The next ten minutes are taken up by even more digging. During this venture, you happen upon more abandoned, dismantled robots; no doubt they’re Panic’s other attractions. 

They’re all just as dirty and ruined as would be expected. But you can’t salvage them all at once, and Scaredy already has your attention. These other ones will have to wait.

 Apparently it’s your lucky day, because you manage to discover two mechanical legs; first the right one, then the left. Both are black and end in what honestly looks like a pair of blue combat boots. You hold the legs close to the empty sockets at the bottom of the animatronic’s torso just to be sure they belong to him.

That’s it. You’ve officially found all the pieces of this neglected, unnerving animatronic.

Using all your strength, you load Scaredy into the cart and wheel it around, beginning your trek back to the maintenance warehouse.

The animatronic is in a position that forces him to stare at the sky, but the way his eyes glow does a great job at making you feel like he’s watching you whenever you look away from him.

___

The animatronic towered over [REDACTED]. It didn’t take up the entirety of the space here, but it would’ve been impossible for him to slip past it without brushing against it.

[REDACTED] been in a group when he’d first entered the building—and obviously, they’d all been separated from one another. Something in his gut insisted that that wasn’t supposed to have happened. In fact, it almost felt like he was the only person in the maze now. He knew that couldn’t be right. . .but he couldn’t hear any other footsteps nearby. He couldn’t hear the voices of any other visitors. Pre-recorded screams and whispers were echoing throughout the maze via intercom, but that was it.

Why? Had he wandered into a restricted area somehow? Was that why the animatronic had been stalking after him?

The animatronic slowly turned its head from side to side, though its eyes never left [REDACTED]. But other than that, it was standing perfectly still. It almost gave [REDACTED] the impression that the animatronic was listening for something.

Like it was wondering if the two of them were truly alone, too. . .

[REDACTED] wasn’t at the point of hyperventilation, but his anxiety made his lungs feel heavy. He was trying to keep his breathing slow and even, but it just seemed so loud.

[REDACTED] swallowed the lump in his throat, then lightly shook his head.

The animatronic wasn’t an actual threat. It couldn’t have been—if that was the case, then this place would’ve been investigated and subsequently shut down a long time ago.

He shifted in place, planning to sidle past the animatronic.

The animatronic’s arm was a blur. He’d only realized it was moving after it’d slammed into him.

Spots flashed in [REDACTED]’s vision. The air was immediately knocked out of him. He crumpled against the wall, sliding into a heap on the floor. Pain bloomed throughout his chest. His instincts told him that nothing had been broken, but he automatically knew that his ribs had nearly bent when the animatronic struck him.

[REDACTED] shakily tried to pick himself up, but a pair of large, cold hands materialized around him. One arm snaked around his waist to clutch at his stomach; [REDACTED] could feel a set of digits dig into his skin through his shirt. The other harshly grasped the back of his neck as though he was a misbehaving kitten.

All the while a strange, unnatural hissing crept into [REDACTED]’s ears from somewhere directly behind him.

___

W̴e̷ ̸w̷i̷l̴l̴ ̸n̷o̶t̸ ̴b̴e̵ ̷s̴p̸a̷r̵e̷d̶,̶ ̸w̸e̵ ̷w̵i̴l̴l̸ ̶n̸o̸t̵ ̶b̵e̷ ̴s̷a̸v̵e̵d̷

S̵o̸ ̸t̵a̷k̶e̷ ̴t̵h̵i̷s̸ ̴t̵o̷ ̵y̶o̸u̸r̸ ̵g̷r̷a̵v̴e̶ ̴w̷h̷e̶n̵ ̶y̷o̷u̵’̷r̸e̸ ̴j̶u̷s̴t̷ ̷a̸ ̵k̷i̶d̷ w̵h̶o̴ ̴l̷o̵s̸t̸ ̶t̷h̵e̷i̴r̴ w̷a̵y̵

Panels suspended from the ceiling flicker, humming and buzzing as they bathe everything below them in bright, artificial light. Roller tool cabinets are sequestered in the corners. Six large, steel worktables have been lined up in two rows of three at the center, with a generous amount of space between each of them. Three of the four walls are almost entirely covered by pegboards—the hooks lining said pegboards support a variety of different tools and mechanical parts. The fourth wall is taken up by a garage door, which is currently open and allowing the fading sunlight to peek in.

You push the collection cart through that same garage door, pausing to type a code into the keypad on the wall beside it. The huge door rumbles as it lowers itself to the ground. The soles of your shoes squeak against the interlocking rubber mats that cover the warehouse’s floor. You wheel the cart over to the nearest worktable, then take Scaredy by his shoulders and drag him on top of it. His arm hangs limply over the edge, his fingers brushing against the floor.

You pause, then walk to that desk in the corner of the warehouse, which is currently covered in papers. Those papers are blueprints and specs outlining the designs and functions of the robots that have been dropped off here. You flip through them, searching for the ones on Scaredy.

Your sibling had worked at Panic Plaza while it’d been open; you can recognize many of the animatronics from the trips you’d taken to pick them up after hours.

A precious few were similar to Scaredy, but most of the robots had been vaguely shaped like animals, with claws, fangs, and puckered, snarling snouts. Some had boasted matted, tangled fur while others had rubbery scales. According to the blueprints, however, those robots were pretty simple: their endoskeletons looked almost like those wooden, poseable figurines that were used for art reference. Their monstrous appearances, while surprisingly elaborate, had been nothing more than costumes.

Finally, you find what you need and bring it over to your table, setting the papers down by Scaredy’s head.

You examine the ends of Scaredy’s severed limbs. . .well, the damage around his connecting joints isn’t too bad. You lift Scaredy’s left arm and peer into the area where it’s obviously supposed to connect to his shoulder. You see a group of rectangular caps positioned in a circle. The interior of Scaredy’s shoulder matches this perfectly.

Those things are specialized magnets. Scaredy’s already been here for a couple days, and the scrap that had been heaped on top of him would’ve definitely soaked up some heat when the sun was out. The changes in temperature must be why the magnets in his joints lost their strength. You check the blueprints, then poke at the short cables that are hanging out around the magnets. These must be here as a precaution; to help the arm move without pulling the magnets away from each other.

You set the arm down next to Scaredy, then cross the room to push one of the roller cabinets closer. You open it up and search through its drawers. Looks like you’ve got some spares to work with.

The next few moments see you removing the ruined magnets and replacing them with some brand new ones. You clean up the ends of the cables, then carefully hold the arm close to Scaredy’s shoulder. The magnets immediately snap together with a series of loud clicks, which would’ve delivered quite a painful pinch if you hadn’t been keeping your fingers out of the way.

You take hold of the cables and, one at a time, guide them about inside the shoulder until you feel them securely catch onto something. You then lift Scaredy’s forearm and slowly maneuver it this way and that. The arm remains snugly in place, but the parts aren’t grinding against one another. That’s good.

As you get to work repeating the process with Scaredy’s legs, memories begin flooding your head.

You’d been a paying customer at Panic once or twice. You’ve seen the haunted house for yourself, seen how each of the attractions had their own unique way of frightening guests. Scaredy’s schtick had been singing, and it had been surprisingly effective. 

That’s actually why your sibling ended up getting a job over there: they’d helped write the songs that were recorded for Scaredy to perform. Aforementioned songs were played on an intercom throughout the building so customers could always hear him, no matter where they were.

Now, you wouldn’t blame anyone for doing a double-take upon hearing that, because seriously? People got freaked out. . .over singing, of all things?

However, to say something like that would be to ignore just how much of an edgelord your sibling really was. You couldn’t remember Scaredy’s songs word-for-word, but you definitely remembered how they sounded like GWAR and Creature Feature had created a lovechild. Scaredy sang about twisted stuff all the time: murder, torture, general insanity. . .

He’d even been programmed to threaten customers in the intervals between his songs. (You were still kind of surprised that Panic’s owners had drawn the line at swearing.)

T̷o̴o̸ ̴d̸a̵m̷n̶ ̷l̴o̵n̶g̴ ̷t̸h̷a̶t̷ ̶I̴’̷v̸e̵ ̸r̴o̵a̷m̶e̵d̵ ̶t̴h̸e̶s̶e̸ ̶h̵a̵l̷l̶s̴ B̶u̴t̸ ̵s̴o̸o̴n̵ ̵y̷o̷u̸’̷l̴l̸ ̶j̷o̷i̶n̴ ̷u̵s̶ ̸f̷o̵r̸ ̶a̴ ̷b̴i̷t̶e̶ ̵a̴n̴d̴ ̷y̶o̶u̸ ̷c̴a̸n̶ ̸l̴i̵v̶e̴ ̴w̵i̷t̵h̷i̷n̶ ̵t̴h̴e̶s̴e̷ w̸a̷l̵l̶s̵

Time passes, and look at that! Scaredy is whole again.

You’ve made good progress, but holy shit, this guy is huge! How the hell did you not notice that before? You saw how his head was bigger than that of a human’s, but still!

You scan the animatronic’s blueprints—eight-foot-three? Who decided that was necessary? Then again, it has been quite a while since you last saw him. And in any case, perspective is just really weird.

Scaredy’s back and neck are supported by the table, but he’s clearly taking up every inch of space; if you try to move him forward to accommodate his lower half, then his neck will probably hang over the end and leave his head to touch the interlocking mats. Like his arms, Scaredy’s legs are draped across the floor in an awkward way. Had he been a flesh-and-blood person, his current position would’ve promised terrible future back problems.

The animatronic is still, unsurprisingly, filthy. So, you take a can of Acetone from the cabinet, then find a clean rag in one of the storage tubs and begin the long task of wiping down Scaredy’s front. It seems his metal hasn’t started rusting yet.

In just a couple moments, Scaredy’s finish is practically gleaming against the lights above. The silvery-white could easily be compared to cake makeup or deathly pale skin, and either way, he looks appropriately creepy. The dark blue and black of his clothes and hair help to compliment it. And his dark, piercing eyes really pull the look together. He really looks like he could still be functioning. . .

But he isn’t, because you’ve still got work to do. You decide to start opening him up now; if you can’t see any issues on the outside, then they’ve got to be on the inside. You glance back at the animatronic’s blueprints. There should be some small buttons around his face and arms. They can disengage some parts of his casing.

You peer down at his face and can’t stop yourself from shuddering at his grin. You gingerly hook a finger between two of Scaredy’s teeth and pull his lower jaw down, further opening the animatronic’s mouth to reveal a small device inside. It’s a custom-built fog machine. You remember how, when he was still active, it always looked like smoke was pouring from his jaws whenever he talked or sang. That, and the way his teeth would gnash together like some unhinged cartoon character, had added a definite coolness factor to his intimidation.

The slits between Scaredy’s faceplates culminate into a hole that bares an uncanny resemblance to the nasal septum of a human skull. When you discover a small button inside, you start giggling. Scaredy is supposed to be all unnerving. . .and one of his features is booping his nose? You shake your head happily. Whoever designed him knew exactly what they were doing.

You then carefully reach down, keeping your hand well away from Scaredy’s jaws, to tap at the newly-discovered button.

KA-PSSSSSSSSsssssss!

Though you’d barely put any pressure behind your touch, the faceplates pop open so violently that the animatronic’s entire head jerks back, as though he’s been struck.

Your laughter quickly transforms into a startled shout as you rip your hand away and back up a good few paces. A few long seconds dragged by as you warily stare at Scaredy. When he fails to spontaneously combust, you hesitantly move closer to continue the examination.

. . .So that’s what the prints meant when they said not all his systems are electricity-dependent. . .

That’s probably why his eyes are still lit-up after all the time he’s been out of commission.  

Scaredy’s faceplates are folded back on hinges, surrounding the head in a way that  almost resembles the petals of a flower. . .or the remnants of someone’s face having exploded from the inside out, but with a lot less viscera.

The interior of the animatronic’s head shines with dark gray metal. His expression can’t really be called an expression anymore. His teeth have been arranged to form a smile, and his eyes are still glowing brightly. But without his face plates, Scaredy just looks like he’s blankly gawking at whatever is in front of him. A nest of thick wires has been organized into rows and layers that vary in length around his eyes and mouth.

Galvanized cables: some of the strongest materials you can work with. There must be even more inside the rest of his body—if the rest of his systems are as complex and unique as you think they are, then they’d need as much support as possible for him to move around and keep his balance.

You had taken a Human Anat & Phys course in back college. You remember a particular diagram, one that displayed different parts of the body without any skin. Now that you think about it, Scaredy’s wiring looks shockingly similar to human facial muscles, excepting the lack of eyelids and lips.

You press the nose button again, flinching at how Scaredy’s faceplates snap back into place as quickly as they’d opened. Following the blueprint’s guidance, you push the black button on Scaredy’s plastic bowtie.

Hssssssssssss.

Right above it, a rectangular segment on Scaredy’s throat slides open.

As you’d suspected, more galvanized cables are coiled about, making the animatronic almost look like he has more than one esophagus (which, logically speaking, would put his harmonization module in the role of his vocal cords). 

The module in question is in the shape of a tube, covered in rows of small buttons and dials. It’s connected to cables at bottom and top, but there’s an empty socket in the center of the controls. Which means it can either be charged along with the rest of Scaredy’s body, or just charge independently.

You retreat to the back of the room and wheel over a small, compact, multi-adaptive generator. You’re confident that it won’t fry Scaredy’s systems when it’s hooked up to them. The generator rumbles to life as you turn it on, and after some cautious examination, you take hold of one of the extending cords and plug it into the socket. The module gives a small, muffled hum at first. You figure it’ll need some time to warm up, so you return your focus to the specs to find out which button does what.

It turns out you were very wrong about that, because out of nowhere, the animatronic starts screeching.

You jump at least a foot in the air as it drills into your ears, reminding you of that type of TV static that’s always unnecessarily loud (this is even louder. To the point where you’re sure it can be heard all across the junkyard). Not only that, but Scaredy’s recorded voice is there, clearly trying to fight its way up through the shriek, which results in a garbled mess that sounds like nothing you’ve ever heard before.

Your hands fly to the module, pressing every button and turning every dial in a panicked attempt to make the distress call stop.

You manage to lower the volume. Still shaken up, you look back and forth between the specs and the animatronic. Chunks of dialogue start popping up through the static. It takes a couple minutes of trial and error, but eventually, you find the right combination.

The static subsides, and after about ten seconds of blissful silence. . .

“NE-EXT VICTIM!”

Although your heart is still hammering in your chest, you smirk. That was Scaredy’s signature catchphrase. The animatronic’s voice has a slight echo to it—it’s scratchy around the edges, but not so much that his singing would’ve been jeopardized. His tone is snide, as though he knows things about whomever he’s speaking to despite it being impossible for him to know aforementioned things.

W̶e̴’̷l̴l̸ ̷o̴n̶l̸y̵ ̷w̸i̶t̴h̷e̷r̷ ̷a̶w̷a̵y̵,̶ ̴w̵e̷’̵r̸e̸ ̶g̷o̸n̶n̷a̴ ̷f̷a̷l̶l̶ ̶t̸o̷ ̷d̵e̴c̶a̵y̵ ̶I̶ ̵a̶l̷w̵a̶y̴s̷ ̵c̶o̷m̶e̸ ̷b̵a̴c̶k̷,̷ ̵y̴o̷u̵’̵l̵l̵ ̴n̷e̴v̷e̵r̶ ̷s̴e̷e̴ ̵t̷h̵e̵ ̸l̶a̸s̵t̶ ̶o̷f̴ ̴m̶e̵

Tiny lights begin blinking on the harmonization module. You toggle with it some more, but apparently Scaredy’s musical-performance mode isn’t functional right now. (Not that you mind. You need to focus, and Scaredy’s songs are. . .distracting, to say the least.) The animatronic can still speak, but that’s a bit easier to deal with.

At the press of another button, Scaredy lets out a sardonic cackle.

“Well, well, we-ell! What we have here—more adrenaline-junkies, huh? It’s been way-ay too long since I’ve had an au-audience to murder!”

Considering how the rest of Scaredy’s body is still without power, his jaw isn’t moving up and down as he talks. You aren’t sure whether that makes the animatronic’s words more or less creepy. You decide that you might as well go through the rest of Scaredy’s audio. That way you can take note of any hiccups before you start working on the animatronic’s other systems.

“Trying to escape? Well, you’d b-better do it fast; listening to my music comes with a high risk of your brains spla-a-attering on the walls!”

Panic Plaza’s building had been designed as sort of a maze; every section had more than one entrance or exit, so customers couldn’t really predict what order they’d be visiting each of the attractions in. And that wasn’t even mentioning how the sections were treated like escape rooms. Customers would have to solve certain puzzles in order to advance towards the end, and the length of their visit depended on what they did and how they did it.

From your experience, Scaredy’s section had been littered with hidden tools for guests to use. Scaredy would pace around his stage as he performed; he’d lunge at those who strayed too close, but to your knowledge, that was all he did besides singing and taunting.

“Can you believe how sharp this mic st-tand is? I think I’ll make a shish-kabob out of you with it!”

“You need to get away from this thing.”

You find yourself pausing. You think you’d just barely heard. . .something after Scaredy’s line. But you can’t be sure. Are your ears playing tricks on you?

You turn one of the dials, listening more carefully than before.

“You can knock-k-k on that door all you want. . .but the button to open it is on my guitar! Come up onsta-age and press it! I DARE you!”

“You’re in serious danger.”

Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. There’s definitely another voice piping up in time with Scaredy’s words. The new voice is weak and raspy; you really have to concentrate in order to hear it.

“Where will you go if you stick around with me for too long? EVERYWHERE. You’ll go EV-EVERYWHERE. ”

“What happened to me. . .wasn’t an accident.”

Was this part of Scaredy’s programming? You supposed it would be a clever mechanic, but you can’t remember hearing anything like this back at Panic. And why would you? Not only have you not visited that place for such a long time, but Scaredy’s music had always been so loud. Anxious that you might have done something wrong, you turn the generator off and remove its cord from the module’s socket.

“They knew what happened.”

Scaredy is no longer speaking. But that doesn’t seem to stop the other voice. And now that you don’t have to dissect its words through Scaredy’s lines, you realize just how miserable it sounds. You obviously can’t see the other voice’s owner, but just by listening to them, you can instantly tell that they’re exhausted, that they’re sickly, that they’re in terrible pain.

You unconsciously rest your hand against Scaredy’s face. . .and something suddenly gives way beneath your palm. A chorus of metallic clicking suddenly sounds off from what could only be further inside the animatronic.

Vvvrrrrmmm-sssssssshhhhhhhh.

You turn your head just in time to see a rectangular panel on Scaredy’s stomach slowly start sliding open. You blink, then peer down at the animatronic’s face. It takes you a few seconds to realize that the bright red circle on Scaredy’s right cheek is actually a button of its own.

How could you have missed either of those things earlier?

You look at the specs, and they. . .don’t say anything about a cheek-button or a stomach hatch? Why?

“They saw it for themselves, but they didn’t do anything about it.”

The words hang in the air. The other voice suddenly seems much louder and clearer than it was before. In  fact, it almost seems to be echoing. . .from inside Scaredy’s stomach.

W̷e̴’̴r̸e̴ ̷j̵u̵s̵t̶ ̷a̵ ̶h̵u̵s̶k̴ ̴o̸f̴ ̶o̷u̸r̴ ̵n̶a̴m̷e̴s̵,̶ ̵a̶ ̷r̷o̵t̵t̷i̶n̶g̴ ̸p̴i̸l̸e̵ ̷o̶f̷ ̶p̴a̵i̸n̶ ̶I̴’̷l̷l̷ ̴s̴e̵t̷ ̶y̵o̶u̷r̵ ̵w̶o̴r̴l̸d̵ ̸o̸n̴ ̶f̴i̴r̷e̷ ̴a̴n̴d̷ ̴s̶e̸n̸d̶ ̸y̸o̴u̴ ̶s̷t̶r̸a̵i̴g̶h̵t̸ ̶t̵o̵ ̴t̶h̷e̸ ̵s̸c̴r̶a̶-̶a̶-̴a̷-̴a̴p̷ ̴h̸e̸a̵p̵!̴

You fish a small flashlight from the cabinet and turn it on. You spend the next moment staring at the animatronic, listening for the other voice, trying and failing to make yourself move. Eventually, you creep over to the middle of the table. You aim the beam over Scaredy and peer down into his stomach. You’re shocked to discover that the animatronic’s interior is hollow. You can see Scaredy’s inner systems—his wiring and endoskeleton—but they’re being held in place by metal frames.

Due to Scaredy’s size, his stomach seems to offer enough space for a person to fit inside, so long as they kept their knees to their chest. Not comfortably, but plausibly.

But why? You expected to find some kind of engine or calibrating device. Why would a singing animatronic need what can only be described as a storage tank?

“They didn’t even try to get me out. Even though they were covering their tracks, they still just left me in here.”

Well, the answer is technically right in front of you. On one hand, it’s impossible for you to know what has happened inside Scaredy. And on the other hand, you’re desperately trying to convince yourself that the reddish-brown stains covering Scaredy’s interior are only rust.

But you can’t exactly ignore the other things you’ve found in Scaredy’s stomach.

The stench that’s working itself into the air is metallic, but it’s also. . .moldy. Fleshy. It’s not as strong as it would’ve been while fresh, but it’s definitely still there.

Your hand is trembling, but the flashlight somehow isn’t distorting what you’re looking at.

Scraps of fabric are caught between gears and prongs—and those scraps are covered in dark stains. Tendons are criss-crossing up the walls like roots. Strands of torn, discolored, mummified skin are practically melded into metal, along with clumps of matted black hair. Your vision lands on something that looks like a withered grape. It’s cloudy and veiny and—

An eyeball. It’s a human eyeball that has flattened and liquified with decay.

This is the point where your muscles finally start to disengage. The flashlight falls from your hand to clatter on the floor. You stumble back, not stopping until you collide with the wall behind you. You cling to that wall, as if it’s somehow going to help you get further away from the animatronic.

Your stomach has always twisted at the thought of what would happen if someone got their hand caught in a garbage disposal. You never thought you’d have to actively avoid thinking about what it would be like for one’s entire body to be caught in a garbage disposal.

But it looks like Scaredy makes for a pretty good example of that, huh?

You hadn’t eaten much earlier today, but you still can’t stop yourself from retching. You head is swimming, your throat is closing in, you have no idea why this is happening—

“You shouldn’t have taken me away from the others,” the voice inside Scaredy whispers fearfully. “It’s not fair that I get away from the pile and they don’t. They’re going to look for me. They’re going to take me back. . !”

___

The floor suddenly disappeared from under him. [REDACTED] reflexively started floundering for purchase, but the animatronic’s grip didn’t falter in the slightest. It barely had to make any effort in order to lift [REDACTED] up.

For a brief few seconds, [REDACTED] was simply being held in a parallel position.

And then, air was rushing past him as he was quickly moved backwards. He felt his shoes collide with something solid, and his legs were instantly forced to buckle as the animatronic continued shoving him back.

[REDACTED] heartbeat rang in his ears. Now acting on pure instinct, he began writhing against the animatronic. He frantically punched and kicked, barely even feeling the dull pain that came with striking something made of metal.

“Hey! S-stop!” [REDACTED] cried. “Let me go! Let me GO!”

The animatronic didn’t respond. Why would it have?

The room was a blur as [REDACTED] craned his neck, trying desperately to look at his attacker as if that would do anything to help. The animatronic’s blood-red, glowing, unmoving eyes were still fixated on him. Despite its expression, there was absolutely no emotion in those eyes.

Somehow, that only made this worse.

[REDACTED] also managed to catch something he definitely hadn’t seen before—a section of the animatronic’s stomach was gone. A gaping cavity had appeared in its place.

The animatronic was steadily forcing him into that cavity.

[REDACTED] didn’t stop fighting, didn’t stop screaming. His throat quickly grew raw, but he could barely hear himself over the sound of his own pulse.

His sides grated against the edges of the animatronic’s torso. His body was involuntarily contorting, constantly being forced to shift.

In what felt like no time at all, [REDACTED] felt his back collide with the same area his shoes had first touched. He was crammed into a seated position with only his head and arms outside the animatronic. [REDACTED] braced his hands against the animatronic’s exterior, trying desperately to pry himself out.

The animatronic reacted to this via connecting its palm to his forehead and violently pushing him back. [REDACTED]’s head slammed against the wall inside the animatronic. His skull throbbed. Everything was spinning.

Before [REDACTED] could even try to reach out again, a large, rectangular shape slid into place before him, quickly cutting off his view of the room outside and turning his new holding cell pitch-black.

The next seconds dragged by in a painful way, feeling like hours apiece.

Despite his panic, [REDACTED] could only sit in silence.

This animatronic—this thing that wasn’t even sentient—had just hunted him down and stuffed him into its stomach. There probably wasn’t anything outside the animatronic to suggest that [REDACTED] had ever been there in the first place.

He vaguely felt rhythmic motion around and beneath him; the animatronic was moving, seemingly unaffected by the new weight it was carrying.

Why had this happened? How had this happened? Had the animatronic done this before—done this to other visitors? Was this supposed to be some fucked-up part of the experience. . .or was the animatronic malfunctioning somehow?

That was the thing to finally snap [REDACTED] back into reality.

The animatronic may have been enormous, but its stomach was cramped, tight. [REDACTED] could just barely fit inside; there was simply no room for him to kick. But that didn’t stop him from squirming as much as possible, as aggressively as possible.

“HELP ME! HELP ME!” [REDACTED] screamed. “SOMEONE TURN THIS THING OFF! GET ME OUT OF HERE! PLEASE JUST LET ME OUT!”

The chamber shook and rattled around him, but the animatronic didn’t pause its movements.

Outside, [REDACTED] could hear the muffled sounds of screaming.

He knew it had to be part of the maze’s special effects.

And, although his instincts were begging him to deny it, [REDACTED] also knew that his own voice blended in with those screams perfectly. . .

___

I̸ ̶a̶l̸w̴a̸y̶s̷ ̴c̶o̵m̶e̵ ̴b̴a̴c̸k̶,̶ ̸y̷o̴u̵’̴r̸e̷ ̷n̶e̶v̵e̵r̷ ̷g̸e̴t̴t̸i̵n̵g̵ ̷r̸i̵d̸ ̴o̷f̷ ̶m̷e̸ ̵I̸’̸l̶l̷ ̸s̶e̸t̶ ̸y̷o̷u̵r̴ ̷w̵o̵r̸l̷d̷ ̶o̶n̶ ̶f̶i̴r̵e̵ ̶a̵n̸d̵ ̵s̸e̷n̵d̷ ̴y̴o̸u̶ ̷s̸t̶r̴a̷i̶g̷h̸t̵ ̶t̸o̸ ̷t̶h̷e̵ ̴ ̵S̴C̶R̸A̷P̶ ̷H̸E̶A̴P̶!̴ ̷S̴t̷r̶a̸i̵g̸h̴t̶ ̴t̷o̵ ̴t̴h̵e̶ ̸s̴c̵r̶a̶p̴ ̵h̸e̸a̷p̶!̷ ̶S̷t̴r̴a̴i̴g̴h̸t̷ ̸t̸o̷ ̵t̷h̷e̵ ̴s̶c̴r̷a̶p̷ ̶h̶e̵a̸p̶!̸

@that-bat   @sammys-magical-au   @ineedallofthehugs @captainrose35  @yancy1nancy  @sw33tst4rs @echoing-night  @dungeon-dragons-dragons @pumpking1sheepy  @whumpitywhumpwhump

[upwiththegood]

2nd December Photograph quiz

Well, we can’t come out of the original front door of this public house and lots of things have changed. Regular fights and punch ups occurred and there was a regular run in with the local farmer who used to get his muck spreader out and redecorate the exterior and customers cars, as his farm bordered the car park. The old farm house was where the embryonic Sutton Valence Temperance Society met and usually after a session at the Swan followed by one Dick Perrin, the landlord, furnishing the farmer with a decent bottle of Grouse. Nobody knew just what had occurred because everyone was usually too plastered to remember.

So we come out of the boozer and continue our ramble along pass the service station with what was once a little industrial estate down

the side and round the back, I think that planning was obtained and a little estate of houses was built there, of course it was originally owned by a co-director of a company of which I was the Company Secretary. almost immediately opposite were a row of terraced cottages once owned by a certain Dan Mackleden. He who went to America and came back with some wonderful marketing ideas and branded his Bramley Apples, "Dan's Souper Doupers" marketed in a wooden non returnable 30lb box with the cover printed by a local stationary company. One of our irregular members used to live in those cottages but never visited that local pub, or so she said but one of our puddle jumper drivers had his nose broken in there one Saturday evening. Just along the road a bit further there's a raised layby with another row of houses and a farm entrance into a decent cherry orchard or two and we tried our hardest to get involved as this grower had planted new Canadian varieties, like Sunburst or Sunset on Colt 45 rootstock and these were making over £10 per 10lb tray, A £1 a pound wholesale, so lots of commission and I can't remember the grower's name. Perhaps it was Fermor, who nose. We're heading down the road and pass what was a dance theatre before it burnt down but was once a decent farmyard complete with cold stores and access at the top of an awful hill for large lorries. We tried to purchase his twice but were beaten off, as this would've been and excellent depot for our puddle jumpers and there was a decent house onto the adjoining lane with a connecting footpath. The daughter living in the house became a well known film star and at the next crossroads on the left sits another house rented by another film star of old and a few of us regulars at the Sutton Valence Swan one Saturday night were invited to a party there. Once again, nobody still alive can remember anything. Oh dear. The crossroads are famous throughout the area and the farmer previously stated also ran the farmland in the south east corner and immediately opposite, in a row of cottages lived Jacko Jackson, the East Sutton opening fast bowler. Next door to these cottages is a new hospice, where those suffering from an outbreak of MRSA were transferred from the Boxley Unit to recuperate before returning. This was overlooking an excellent cricket ground complete with pavilion. On the other side of the road was the local village sports ground where cricket and hockey were played

I played there once for the Swan team and the whole eleven had one particular attribute, plus the demon farmer bowler mentioned before had a windmill type of action and nobody, even he, never knew just which arm he would bowl from. Very confusing for everyone

His sister stated in a recent post in the “Maidstone, I remember it well “ that he was threatening to retire soon. Crikey, no more the raconteur taking centre stage in the Raglan or Lashing’s kit man. There’s a footpath to the north of the sports field which circumnavigates the excellent public school where my eldest two won scholarships but ended up at the cheaper option, the grammar school. So we’ve by passed three public houses and an hotel. The first on the main road is now under new management and the hotel has been run by the same sporting family for ever or so it seems and then to the village post office opposite s little chapel that did an excellent Christmas Eve service

Then straight over Boyton Crossroads where we meet up with that aforementioned footpath that Barry Walker is so familiar with and via Bob Skinners farm pass Court Brooms and take a left to pass the naughty girls home again and we’ll end up where the hall with the odd door handles were

Happy daze

15 related questions 1)farm next door 2) farmer's name 3) local area name 4)service station name 5)industrial estate name 6)irregular attendee 7) pub name 8)hotel name 9) pub name 10)pub name 11) chapel name 12)Bob Skinner's Farm 13)Court Brooms ? 14)local naughty girl;s home 15)local pub name complete with hall Perhaps for a tie break one could ask just who the original farmer's sister was and what was her father's profession and just what she has to do with Three French Hens

After all it is Christmas

[gopdrpaintless]

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Source: https://gopdr-doncaster.blogspot.com/2024/08/car-scratch-repair-bringing-back.html

[reddocsailor]

01 Down the rabbit hole - The Begin of a journey I

By Docsailor 2023

Here is me, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. My car broke down, no life sign around, no cell phone coverage, lovely that’s how I liked it.

I am leaning to my car, staring at the sun, which is dropping slowly behind the hills.

My hand moves through my ginger hair which is cascading down my back in a wavy style. I am sighing out load "What a fuck!!". Yeah, not lady like but who cares anyway.

I finished my business trip a couple of hours ago and had some time off. This time I wanted to spent cruising around, get in contact with the country, people….

So nobody would miss me for a couple of weeks "Great". "Yeah spare your holiday of a whole year and take it in a row" I am speaking out load. "Not as planned you…" holding on " Why I am yelling nobody around…"

I am kicking the tyre " Autsch", luckily I switched my heels to the sneakers, but it still hurts.

"Come on you are an engineer, you can fix a car" I inhale deeply trying to calm myself down. My hands brush down my lovely Scottish skirt, I like the texture of it. I am looking down on myself.

My white blouse, still my black bra on, give my C Cup breasts a lovely shape and then my Scottish skirt in which I jumped after the business was done. I like to travel with it.

I begin to smile "Yeah I am looking like a schoolgirl, besides that I am forty…"

Anyway let’s have a look at this bloody rental car. "What does this message say "Error in electrical drive unit"

Damm I am a mechanical engineer. Ok what does my electrical engineer say about drive units "Sometimes they need to reset" Honestly why I have taken a hybrid. " Oh yes be bold, be brave try something new…." Ok I have checked the manual which says call the service, which is quite of tricky when you are in the middle of nowhere. So reset the drive unit, I could kill the connection to the battery, let’s give it a shot. I open up the engine cover, great has this car some tools a wrench would be lovely. So, I go to the trunk throwing my stuff to the back seats, no, no tool box…. Hold on my Leatherman, … In my backpack for hiking… is it a good idea, give it a shot. So, unfold the pliers. Grab the nut and give it a turn…" Arrrrggghh God Damm it that hurts…"I look at my right hand, its bleeding, I slipped an smashed my hand at the engine. "Told you"

So I make myself a bandage on my hand and sit down on the open trunk.

Frustrated I grab myself something to eat from my hiking backpack.

"So here I am, in this bloody hill forest in the middle of nowhere…. No cell phone coverage … broken down car and a scratched hand because of foolishness….." yelling out loud of frustration.

Ok I have my hiking stuff with me, so here is the plan, leave the car, leave a message and then do some miles. So I switch my cloth from casual to hiking. My spandex purple hiking leggings, my hiking shirt and my jacket, and on my hiking shoes. Message left check, car locked check and off I go.

I am humming to myself " And I would walk 500 miles…" as I start my walk down the road.

The sun is dropping down and then I hear it in the far distance a roaring of a high-powered car. There in the distance a red car, the roaring increases.

"Great in the middle of nowhere a single women and the only car is probably a muscle car. Well you wanted to get in touch….. " Sighing

It is indeed a muscle car, Ford Mustang. As it comes closer it slows down and halts right next to me. The side windows opens. "Hi Dear, your car broke down 3,5miles " a friendly women at my age with a colourful hair job asks me.

"Yeah kind off you know Hybrids…" me responding.

"You should not trust the new stuff, luckily I find your car and you, I am Catherine shall I give you a lift to my place, until we find a somebody to fix it".

"That would be lovely. I am Angelique “.

"Angelique what a lovely name. Drop your stuff in the trunk and tug yourself in" I move my backpack in the trunk and then I slide myself into the passenger seat.

“A 5-point belt?”

"You know I like speeding."

"Sure, you do with a car like this."

"You need a hand?"

"No thanks." and then she accelerates like the Devil is chasing her.

"Woaw "

"Yeah I like the vibrations and of course the speeding"

"That’s for sure…"

And we are speeding down the road….

The sun starts to disappear behind the horizon. And we start to chat.

"You are not from here, aren´t you Angelique?"

"No, I had been on a business trip and now I have some days off."

"What are you doing for business?"

"Well I am engineer and have done a Factory Acceptance Test on one of our suppliers the last weeks."

"So you have been long away from home"

"Yeah, kind off"

"Nobody missing you back at home."

“It is complicated. That why I wanted to travel a bit. Until the car broke down”.

“Luckily I find you first, you could be a sweet target”

"Hold on, no I am not a prey I can be pretty bad ass"

"A prey, that is an interesting saying" Catherine is giving me a strange look, mustering me.

"Luckily I have picked you up, and as a female engineer who is running factory acceptance tests I bet you have your abilities to earn your ranks." she is smiling at me.

I look back at her, started scanning her. Well she is probably my age, but her hair style is probably not typical for her age. It starts jet black, starting straight her neck down, getting purple and wavy and the ends fire orange. That’s a hairstyle. She is shorter than me, she got a fitting cleavage to her frame. A cleavage I would like to have. Then I see for the first time she is wearing a corset, leather? Yeah, leather her skirt is shiny leather, of course black stockings and she is driving in heels, very high heels. She is recognizing that I scan her.

"Why is prey wrong to say, what should I say a target? Anyway, what is your business, Catherine." Trying to disguise my scan.

"Oh, you like to change topics. I am the CFO of our family business" With a harsh turn she is leaving the main road down in the forest.

"So, you are probably coming or heading to a party, I assume."

"A party, no my Dear, it is not my vanilla style I usually wear at office and luckily I can leave the vanilla style for a little bit thanks to Home Office" She breaks quite harsh.

"There we are, welcome to my place".

I have seen a lot of places, but this my jaw drops down.

"Your place,……and that of a…"

"Yeah, my place…"

" That is a mansion, no hold on how… big"

"Come in the weather is going to change" The trunk opens automatically. I am still turning my head slowly from left to right. "And you living her with…."

"Alone, come on the weather" she rushes me.

I realize the wind had freshened up quite a bit and dark clouds are moving over the hills.

I grab my backpack and follow her. She opens the door, and I am standing in a hall. Two stairs a leading upward in 2 wings, in the centre there is a doorway which leads further into the house.

"Yeah Daddy had paid very well for this" I mumble to myself.

"Come on before you get lost and find something you might like." I nearly stumble forward as I pass the big C which is been laid in the floor.

"Might like…?" puzzled response. But the clicking of the heels might over tune my words. I have to pay my respect to Cathrine speed on her 10" heels, I would not be able to walk that fast in heels.

"So who is Mr. Cathrine? "

"There is none, I life her by myself, but I have guests if I want. Or I take up a prey" Cathrine turns around and give me a smirking smile "Sorry I like your saying"

"Prey? Just because I mentioned it in the car"

"You offer me a picture, which I somehow like."

"I offered a picture? Honestly."

"I am not vanilla in my house" she cuts me off.

"House, it is more a mansion, residence or something but definitely not a house. Vanila?"

"Dear lets get you sorted. Please be my guest until we manage something with your car" she had stopped right in front a door. With an elegant move she opens the door behind her back with her right arm and steps backwards in gesturing to follow her.

"Make yourself comfortable, shall I pick you in 45min to have dinner together"

"Wow, thank you for your hospitality, you are really generous. I know it is Friday and to be honest it is in the middle of nowhere her, so thank you."

"With pleasure my dear, maybe I will ask for an compensation, maybe, depending on which side of the coin I am." giving me a friendly smile and turns on her heels.

"I will also change in something more appealing."

"Appealing is there a dress code for the dinner?"

"It´s dinner dear, there is always a dress code"

"So no yoga pants than, for being comfortable?”

"Do what you like my dear" as she moves elegant around a corner. The clicking of her heels still echoing.

I through my backpack on a chair. Sighing out loud. "What a day, what a day. So let’s get a shower then and then find something suitable for the dinner".

[suvcarslover]

Safety First, Affordability Always: Why the Kia Sonet is a Smart Choice

With skyrocketing prices across vehicle segments, combining safety and affordability seems near impossible. Yet there are still options for the value-focused buyer unwilling to compromise on safety to stretch their budget.

The Kia Sonet subcompact SUV cars pull off this combination better than most, delivering a modern, well-equipped vehicle with ample safety features at a reasonable price point. For those seeking security without breaking the bank or undercutting needs, the Sonet presents an intriguing proposition worth exploring further.

Staying Safe in Style

The Kia Sonet keeps you protected with some clever safety technology:

ABS, ESC and a Hill Assist system help maintain control by preventing wheel lock-ups, stabilizing the car on turns and keeping you from rolling backwards on inclines.

Airbags surround occupants with safety. There are two front airbags, two side airbags, and two curtain airbags running the length of the cabin—a total of six to cushion you.

The Blind View Monitor is a smart addition, showing the car's sides in the instrument cluster screen. So, you can spot any hazards in the usually unseen blind spots.

Parking is made hassle-free thanks to sensors front and back that beep faster as you near obstacles.

Everyone is reminded to buckle up properly, no matter where they sit. The 3-point seat belts have reminders for all seats.

Disc brakes on each wheel and Emergency Stop Signal technology flash the brake lights for sudden stops to alert others.

Finally, a 360-degree camera gives your eyes all around the car, making driving in tight spots much easier.

The Sonet doesn't compromise on safety - it has all the essential tech to keep you and your loved ones protected.

Affordability of the Kia Sonet

The Kia Sonet India offers an accessible entry point into the subcompact SUV segment:

Priced between ₹7,99,000 and 15,00,000 lakhs, the Sonet competes with rivals like Maruti Brezza, Hyundai Venue, and Tata Nexon. The Sonet has comparable features to competitors, including under-body protection, a digital instrument cluster, an electric sunroof, and ventilated seats.

The Kia Sonet offers frugal ownership with impressive fuel economy for the diesel variant. Maintenance costs are also light on the pocket, with service intervals set at 10,000 km or 1 year. ​​​​Additionally, Kia provides a 3-year Warranty* for unlimited kilometres (T&C applied), ensuring complete peace of mind. The Sonet stands out for its flexible financing options, which are designed to make purchasing easier.

Through partnerships with leading banks, customers can benefit from low-interest loans, deferred payment plans, and buyback guarantees. Down payments can start from as low as ₹25,000*, making the Sonet accessible to a broader range of buyers. Despite its affordability, the Sonet competes well with more expensive rivals by emphasizing value.

The Sonet aims to be an affordable car with good features and driving quality. This balance of affordability and comprehensive offerings makes the Kia Sonet an intelligent choice for those looking for a reliable, economical, and feature-rich SUV. For the latest details and specific offers, it’s always best to check with local Kia dealerships or the official Kia India website.

Space and Power to Suit Your Lifestyle

The Sonet checks the right boxes whether your priority is passengers, cargo, or performance:

With seating for 5, the cabin offers ample room for small families or groups of friends. The rear seats also have their own AC vents and charging ports.

With its class-leading 385-litre capacity, the smartly shaped trunk swallows up luggage. That's plenty for travel or Costco runs. The 60:40 split rear seats fold away to make even more space when required.

The new Kia Sonet offers choices for both power-hungry drivers and practicality-focused buyers. For those wanting maximum thrills, ​​​​​​there's a punchy 1.0L GDI turbo-petrol putting out 120PS and 172Nm. Transmission options include a smooth-shifting 6-speed iMT clutchless manual or a quick-witted 7-speed dual-clutch automatic.

For city commuting needs, a frugal 1.2L petrol with 83PS and 115Nm comes paired to a 5-speed manual gearbox. Finally, the efficient 1.5L diesel balances performance and economy with 116PS and 250Nm on tap, coupled to a 6-speed manual, intelligent MT or conventional 6-speed torque converter automatic. So, whether you need speed or max mileage, the Sonet has an engine-gearbox combination to put a smile on your face.

The Bottom Line

The Kia Sonet hits the spot between safety, affordability, and practicality. With ample safety tech and features, frugal ownership costs, versatile interior space, and capable powertrains, this well-rounded compact SUV makes a compelling case for buyers seeking value without compromise. The Sonet punches above its weight, representing a smart purchase for many.

[aawestautomotive]

 Tyres are crucial to the safety of both your car and you as the driver. Your vehicle may become unbalanced and crash if they lack a good hold on the road surface. Here, we've presented information about the different kinds of tyres in Box Hill so you can choose the most suitable one to obtain maximum effectiveness and efficiency from your car.

[easywayremoval]

Furniture Removal Companies: Skilled Moving Firms at Your Disposal

This is possibly the biggest advantage of getting moving assistance from trustworthy furniture removal companies. They can handle all the laborious tasks, allowing you to unwind and attend to other crucial aspects of your life. You do not have to go to the trouble of asking friends and family for help or even carrying out these tasks yourself.

Being professionals in interstate removalists at Box Hill, they know how stressful relocating can be, which is why they provide several services to help the process go as smoothly and relaxed as possible. All you have to do is provide the Melbourne removalist with clear directions and allow them to pack, load, transport, unload, and unpack your priceless belongings.

Dependable Cars and Tools From Skilled and Proficient Movers

Long-distance transportation is necessary when relocating interstate in Australia. This implies that your personal belongings must go to your new house securely. Find out whether the interstate removalist has a range of vehicle sizes so you can choose the one that best fits your needs.

Every personal item must be handled carefully to prevent breakage or damage upon arrival. Expert interstate removalists are skilled in storing everything in the automobile with the utmost care to maximise space and prevent damage.

Explore Stress-Free And Inexpensive Solutions

A seasoned moving company can offer you a reasonable estimate for their services. You will be able to reduce the total cost of the relocation by doing this.

You can unwind and enjoy your new home, knowing that everything will be taken care of by a professional moving company. Get in touch with the experts right now to receive a free estimate or to find out more about their services if you are preparing to relocate. They would be pleased to assist you in having the easiest and least stressful relocation possible.

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[udantravel]

Tempo Traveller Hire In Gurgaon To Jaipur

Udan Travel IND Services Provide 9, 12, 16, 18, 20, 22, 26 Seater Luxury Tempo Traveller hire in Gurgaon To Jaipur Tour Package. Tempo Traveller has 1+1, 2+1, and 2+2 Seats, with Extra Space for luggage with a Carrier, Which is Well Modified With Excellent Interiors Facilities. 1+1 is Maharaja Seater Tempo Traveller, Sofa Bed, Pushback Seats, Ample space, Music system, LED TV, First Aid Box, Icebox, and Charging point.

Luxury Bus Rental, Tempo Traveller, Car hire in Delhi Noida Gurgaon Faridabad provides AC and Non AC Luxury Tempo Traveller, Deluxe Tempo Traveller, Maharaja Tempo Traveller, 1x1 Tempo Traveller on rent in Gurgaon To Jaipur. Pick up & Drop Service From New Gurgaon Railway Station, Family tour, School College Group Tour, Business trip, Corporate tour, Marriage, Wedding, etc. You can book online Tempo Traveller hire from Gurgaon To Jaipur and make every trip memorial, Tempo Traveller booking online in Gurgaon To Jaipur Starting Rate Per K.m @Rs.25/-

Jaipur is the capital of India’s Rajasthan state. It evokes the royal family that once ruled the region and that, in 1727, founded what is now called the Old City, or “Pink City” for its trademark building color. At the center of its stately street grid (notable in India) stands the opulent, colonnaded City Palace complex. With gardens, courtyards, and museums, part of it is still a royal residence.

Jaipur, the capital city of Rajasthan, India, is renowned for its rich history, vibrant culture, and stunning architecture. Here are some of the top tourist places to visit in Jaipur:

Amber Fort (Amer Fort): A magnificent fort located on a hilltop, known for its impressive architecture, stunning views, and intricate mirror work.

Hawa Mahal: Also known as the Palace of Winds, it is an iconic structure with a unique facade featuring numerous windows designed to allow royal ladies to observe street festivals while remaining unseen.

City Palace: A grand palace complex with a perfect blend of Rajput, Mughal, and European architectural styles. It houses museums showcasing artifacts and royal collections.

Jantar Mantar: A UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is an astronomical observatory built by Maharaja Jai Singh II in the 18th century, featuring various architectural instruments for measuring time, predicting eclipses, and tracking stars.

Jaigarh Fort: Situated on the Cheel ka Teela (Hill of Eagles), it is known for its massive cannon Jaivana, which is one of the largest cannons in the world.

Nahargarh Fort: Offering panoramic views of the Pink City, Nahargarh Fort is a historic fort built to protect the city.

Albert Hall Museum: Located in the heart of Jaipur, this museum houses an extensive collection of artifacts including paintings, sculptures, and decorative arts.

Jal Mahal: Situated amidst the Man Sagar Lake, this palace is an architectural marvel surrounded by the Aravalli hills, offering a picturesque view.

Galtaji (Monkey Temple): A temple complex with natural freshwater springs and pavilions, inhabited by a large colony of monkeys.

Chokhi Dhani: An ethnic village resort offering a glimpse into Rajasthani culture, featuring traditional performances, camel rides, and authentic Rajasthani cuisine.

These are just a few highlights of the many attractions Jaipur has to offer. The city is a treasure trove of history, culture, and architectural wonders, making it a must-visit destination for travelers.

[cool-in-forest-hills-ny]

Professional Queens Pedestrian Accident Lawyer

When seeking a professional Queens pedestrian accident lawyer, consider these key factors: First, prioritize experience in personal injury law and inquire about their track record and client reviews. Second, seek a lawyer with a positive reputation in the Queens legal community. Third, ensure the lawyer has a communication style that suits your needs and can address your concerns. Additionally, confirm that the lawyer works on a contingency fee basis, pays attention to detail, has negotiation skills, and has trial experience. Considering these characteristics, you can find Davidoff Law Personal Injury Lawyers, the right choice for Queens personal injury lawyer for your case. Book your appointment now, call 929-209-4909. 

Queens, NY, Culinary and Sports Paradise 

Queens offers more than just a place to live; it's a culinary and sports paradise that will keep you entertained and intrigued. From the vibrant Little Italy in Astoria to the bustling Koreatown in Flushing to the culturally rich Jackson Heights, home to a large South Asian community, there's a world of amazing dining experiences to explore. For sports enthusiasts, the renowned Citi Field, the home stadium of the New York Mets baseball team, and the USTA National Tennis Center, the prestigious venue for the annual US Open, are just a stone's throw away, promising endless excitement and entertainment.

Citi Field

Citi Field in Queens is best known for hosting New York Mets baseball games. It's one of the places to visit while you're in Queens. Attending a game offers an exciting experience with classic ballpark snacks and an enthusiastic crowd. The stadium also offers behind-the-scenes tours, showcasing areas like the press box and batting cages. In addition to traditional food options, Citi Field provides diverse choices, including Shake Shack burgers and Mikkeller NYC craft beer. Visitors can explore the Mets Hall of Fame and Museum to learn about the team's history and legendary players. Apart from baseball, the stadium hosts concerts and special events such as charity runs and family fun days. Whether it's game day or not, Citi Field offers visitors a variety of entertainment options.

A powerful storm caused trees to topple in NYC

Heavy rain and strong winds caused numerous downed trees in New York City, leaving many residents without power. However, the prompt action of the crews, who began removing the trees early Thursday morning, reassured the residents that their power would be restored and streets would be open to traffic soon. This storm left streets littered with debris, and trees crashed down on cars, closing down streets and knocking out power for many. Due to the severe weather conditions, the New York City Parks Department received 95 reports of downed trees citywide. As of Thursday morning, about 3500 Bronx residents are without power, and in Westchester, nearly 10,000 customers are without power. Wind gusts also brought a tree down on another car on Manhattan's Upper West Side. Despite these challenges, the crews' prompt action instills confidence in the city's ability to recover swiftly.

Link to maps

Citi Field 41 Seaver Wy, Queens, NY 11368, United States Take I-678 S to Meadow Lake Rd W. Take the exit toward Flushing Meadows Corona Rd/69 Rd/Jewel Ave/Harry Ave Arsdale Junior Avenue from I-678 S 4 min (2.9 mi) Take Van Wyck Blvd and 69th Rd to New York 25 Service/Queens Blvd 7 min (1.6 mi) Davidoff Law Personal Injury Lawyers 108-18 Queens Blvd, Forest Hills, NY 11375, United States

[ispravahomes]

Why Alibaug Is Ideal For Your Dream Holiday Home…

If you’re thinking of investing in a holiday home, you’ve probably dreamed of what it’s going to be like. Picture perfect scenes of children playing by the pool, friends and family sharing beers over a barbeque or just you contemplating the silence and the scenery – in the end, the perfect holiday home will need to check every box on your list. And while luxury holiday homes are a pleasure to have, I know from experience that it is important for them to be practical, accessible and well looked after. It isn’t as easy as one would imagine. That’s what makes Isprava’s new, villas for sale in Alibaug your best bet for an ideal holiday home.

Location, Location, Location

Why choose when you can have it all? Alibaug is full of wind-swept beaches, lush greenery, imposing forts, abundant forestland and undulating mountains. Within minutes you can take in sweeping vistas from the hills or feel the waves lap your feet, regardless of where in the town you are. The laid-back, relaxed vibe of the outskirts of the main village is reminiscent of Goa, making it the perfect place to relax, disconnect and rejuvenate. With the recent arrival of local eateries and restaurants, there’s always delicious food available at hand – be it delicious local delicacies or your favourite comfort foods.

Connectivity

Another big appeal of Alibaug is its undoubted, easy access to and from Mumbai. A private speed boat from the Gateway of India gets you to Mandwa Jetty in under 18 mins and multiple ferries a day, take about an hour each way. The newest Roll-On Roll-Off (Ro-Ro) ferry service, capable of accommodating 145 cars and 500 passengers, makes 2 trips per day and takes about 45 minutes to complete the journey while allowing you to bring your own vehicle along. In the monsoons, on road connectivity is fantastic via the 4-lane Mumbai–Goa highway. Another thing to look forward to is the ongoing Panvel-Kopra airport located approximately 45 minutes away from Alibaug city. The infrastructure around the town is also well developed and getting around to most places within the Alibaug area is quick and easy, via developed roads. Visit Isprava to read more.

[gopdrpaintless]

Block Prying Eyes and Save Energy with New Car Window Tint for Your Vehicle

The new car window tint signifies more than simply money; they are an assurance of your and the security of your loved ones. A new car can be an expression of your character, way of life, and even your finances. The installation of car window tinting is one of the greatest ways to achieve this.

Understanding what is new car tinting in Boxhill? Tinting automobile windows is the process of covering the windscreen and side windows of the vehicle with a thin, translucent film. By obstructing up to 99% of dangerous ultraviolet rays from penetrating through the glass, the intention is to minimise heat inside the car. Car window tinting has a lot of additional advantages. This post will go over the amazing advantages of automobile-tinted windows and why everyone should think about doing it.

Professionals in Car Window Shades in Box Hill

The best windscreen tinting service in Box Hill is offered by car window tinting professionals. They strive to provide the highest calibre goods, qualified counsel, and specialised service. Thus, you are free to enjoy the privacy of you and your family while keeping your blinds open throughout the day and letting in natural light.

Their staff of experts in automobile window tinting is completely licenced, skilled, and has years of experience. Additionally, the studio was expertly planned and contains modern hardware. From the time you walk into the studio, they promise to give you five-star treatment.

These professionals take great pleasure in their position and are dedicated to providing consumers with high-quality goods, welcoming service, and reasonable prices.

Prevent Withering in Car Upholstery by Reducing Fading

Window film constantly prevents intense sunlight that can degrade upholstery and discolour leather and vinyl, although applying windscreen sun protection or parking your car in a shaded location can temporarily decrease sun damage. It is impossible to overstate the advantages of placing window film on your car for safety.

Passengers are shielded from flying glass shards and window ejection in the case of a car collision. Tinted glass makes it more difficult for burglars to break through and steal your automobile. Additionally, window tinting reduces windscreen glare, which lessens eye strain from headlights and direct sunlight.

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