#non-compliant cladding

[creativemedianews]

More than 200 firemen combat east London tower block fire

More than 200 firemen combat east London tower block fire #BecontreeHeathLeisureCentre #Dagenhamfire

[ahotmesswithprivilege]

Never Alone

paring: Bradley Bradshaw x female!IC!reader (callsign Nike )

wordcount: ca. 3700 (only because this will be a multi-part thing XD)

synopsis: When Bradley stumbles out of the Hard Deck with a pretty tag chaser he has a plan for the night. Take her home, fuck her, kick her out. Not that this was something he did often but with the stress at work he needed to let off some steam. That is until he hears someone crying and his night takes a turn he hadn't expected at all.

note: I initially intended to post the whole thing (currently at almost 12000 words 🤯 ), but I really wanted to post a new piece and since I started a lot of new WIP instead of finishing something I thought this would be a good idea. Also, my Rooster debut so to speak (you can thank @mynameismckenziemae for this one. The fact that Rooster is the hero in this one is kind of on her 😅 . Thanks for helping me decide and for listening to my rambles on the regular. I am really thankful for the support) and I hope you all like it. And you know that navy inaccuracies are a given with my stuff, but this time I went a bit more ham than usual. The role of IC (Incident Commander) is existing in crisis and natural disaster management but fuck if I know if some work for the Navy. I made all of that up for the sake of the plot. Don't like that, please skip this one. And last but not least, yes this is yet again very self-indulgent stuff and it will get only worse with the next part, so if you don't like it, click off 😘

Trigger Warning(If I forgot something or you want me to add to the list, my inbox is wide open. You are responsible for your media consumption, so proceed with caution, you know the drill): plus-size!reader, military/navy inaccuracies, non-canon (not even sure if this is canon compliant so, take that as you will), allusion to trauma/dissociative episode, written by a non-native speaker

|| Masterlist ||

divider by @sweetmelodygraphics banner by @firefly-graphics gif by @jensens-ackles

!!!Minors do not interact! I block blank blogs/without age/Minors!!!

When Bradley stumbles out of the Hard Deck with a pretty tag chaser on his arm he knows how this is gonna end. Take her home, have some fun and then kick her out. He wasn't one to indulge often, but considering how Maverick had been on his ass during training all week, he really needed to let off some steam. His arms were wrapped around her waist, lips wandering over her neck as he manoeuvred her back towards his Bronco until he stopped in his tracks.

There it was again. He had almost missed it with the busty brunette giggling into his ear, but he was sure that he heard right. "Hey Casanova, I am down here", she puts a hand on his cheek to pull his focus back to her," You wanted to show me a good time, remember?" But Rooster couldn't focus on the way her hands were roaming his body or the way she began to kiss his jaw, leaving a trace of lipgloss in her wake. "Didn't you hear that? Someone's crying" "That's just a girl who got what you promised me", she retorts, but it only makes him cringe. If this is how she imagined the sound of a consenting couple, he sure as fucking hell didn't want her in his bed.

Untangling himself from her limbs he walked over to the dark place next to a huge palm tree. The curled-up figure was barely visible in the shadows, but the sniffling was getting louder the closer he walked. "Hey what about me?", the woman whines, stomping her high heel sandal-clad foot on the ground. "Go in and find yourself another set of tags", he growls back annoyed, regretting the tone of his voice and the volume the moment he sees the figure flinch.

This was bad.

For a moment he wondered if he should call Phoenix or even Penny to make sure he wasn't doing more damage than good, but then he saw how a ring caught the light from the Hard Deck entrance. He knows that ring. The silver laurel branches that are winding around a delicate finger. He has seen it more than once.

"Nike?", he freezes for a moment unable to compute the situation. He had been at the Hard Deck all night and was sure he would have spotted you in the crowd. Not to mention that you weren't one for bars. You said as much yourself whenever one of the others had invited you for an evening out. "Hey Nike, it's me. Rooster", he tries to make himself small as he approaches, not wanting to intimidate you, voice soft and gentle. "Are you...", he begins before he stops himself. Was he really just about to ask you if you were ok? It's so goddamn fucking obvious that you are not, so he settles for something else. "What happened, Nike?" You were still sitting there, legs pulled close to your body, head resting on your knees as you cried. He moved another step closer when you suddenly looked up at him as if only now you realised that someone was there. "Rooster?"

Your chest was heaving, your fingers nervously drumming on your kneecaps while you tried to focus on him, clearly struggling with the situation "Yeah. It's me. Shall I call someone?", he asked and as soon as he mentioned the call you began frantically shaking your head, reaching a trembling hand out to him to grab the wrist of the hand that was about to reach into his pocket. "No, please don't" He pulls his hand back out of his pocket and lifts it up in the air to signal surrender. "Ok, I'm not"

Bradley only knows you as IC. The woman for the impossible jobs and who you call when shit hit the fan and you need someone to fix it. A woman tough as nails and level-headed who always has a backup plan for the backup plan to make sure you got your people home safe and you were fucking brilliant at it. They named you after the goddess of victory for a reason. Whenever he was on a mission you were responsible for he felt a lot calmer and he knew he wasn't the only one. People trusted your competence and your judgement. They trusted you.

Hell, you were probably the only person on planet Earth to tell Admiral Simpson no if you thought something was a shitty idea and lived to tell the tale.

"Then say what you need Nike. Please?", he pleads feeling completely helpless. He has never seen you so utterly terrified and there is a feeling rising in his chest that makes him want to knock on the door of whoever left you so scared and very impolitely beat the shit out of them. You loosen the grip on his wrist and let your hand glide down his arm until yours is in his and he gives you a reassuring squeeze. Even with his fingers wrapped around yours, he can feel the trembling. When you finally answer him your voice is barely above a whisper. "A place to stay"

He didn't need to hear anything else. He just nodded and pulled you up by the hand that was still clinging to his own. Your feet were wobbly and the heels didn't make it any better. His eyes wandered over you, assessing whether there was any injury that he had to be mindful of before he let go of your hand for a second, the terror lighting back up in your eyes immediately. "It's ok, Nike. I am here", his voice is low and raspy as he places one hand on your back and bends down, placing the other under your knees to pick you up bridal style. He felt the way your body seemed to relax in his hold, face buried in his neck as he rested his head on yours before he murmured into your hair. "Let's get you home"

At a red light on the drive to his place he looks down where your hand is still holding his, his thumb gently petting the back of your hand while your head rested on his shoulder. In all the years of knowing you, he's never seen you so close to someone else. You usually prefer to keep people out of your personal space. It was something everyone on base respected and that makes him wonder.

You were so strong, so resourceful and intelligent. You had seen so much shit in your life and 9 times out of ten they called you in when it already hit the fan, so you were no stranger to working under immense pressure, the lives of people depending on the shots you were calling. How could someone bring you into a position where you would be so utterly terrified that it'd push you into a state that looked like a full-blown anxiety attack?

Considering the pretty dress, the heels and your by now smudged make-up it was likely you'd been out today and since bars and clubs are not your scene, he figures it must have been a restaurant. The thought that someone treated you so badly was infuriating him. You had dedicated your life to protecting people, making sure that they get back home to their families and loved ones unharmed. To treat someone like you bad enough to send you spiralling called for a grade-A asshole and a part of him hoped you'd tell him the name later. He would gladly pay that asshat a visit and he would bet, the rest of the dagger squad would happily tag along.

It's not much later when he puts the Bronco in park in front of his house, feeling the way you instantly stiffen next to him. "I'll go ahead and open the door", your grip around his hand tightens even more. You are holding on to him for dear life. Bradley Bradshaw was your lifeline right now and to be someone you trusted so much filled his heart with pride. He only wished he would have found out under different circumstances.

"I'll be right back, Nike", he hears you stifle a sob while you tremble. Whether it's the chill night air or your fear, he is not quite sure and so he leans to the side to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You tell me when you are ready", he adds, pulling you into an embrace as the two of you sit here in his car. He'd stay here with you for hours if you needed it. "Promise you'll come back" "I promise", he looks down at you and you nod. Letting go of his hand so he can get out of the car. Brad cannot remember any other time when he ran up the steps to his house this fast, unlocking the door and grabbing the quilt from his couch before he gets right back to you.

Seeing the way your eyes light up when you see him as he opens the car door makes his heart soar and ache at the same time. "Told you, I'd come for you Nike", he steps closer and gently places the blanket around your shoulders and when he picks you up again he feels how you instantly melt into his embrace. "I'll always come for you"

He tried to kick his front door closed as quietly as he could to not spook you even more and kept the lights off too as he made his way to his bedroom. From there he goes into the en-suite and sits you down on the counter. "Blanket on or off?" "Off" He nods, taking the colourful patchwork off of your shoulders and throwing it in the corner where he usually stores his dirty laundry. He could deal with that some other time. "I'll turn on my bedside lamp in the other room. Close your eyes and I’ll tell you when to look”, he was looking for any sign that you needed another moment but you nodded.

So he turns around and walks into his bedroom, turning on the lamp and throwing the next best piece of fabric over it to dim the light. It was enough to see something but not too much on your eyes that had probably gotten used to the darkness outside. "You can open your eyes", he says, turning back to look at you, eyes wandering over you for a moment to see if there was any injury that he had missed in the darkness outside the Hard Deck but he couldn't find anything. On his way back to you he rummaged around in his drawer, finding a Phillies jersey that could fit you if the dress wasn't comfortable enough for you to sleep in.

"I'm back", he announces himself and sees how your entire body relaxes, shoulders lowering and fingers no longer playing nervously with your ring. "I'm gonna take your shoes off first" He throws the jersey over his shoulder before he goes down on his knees, unlacing your oxford heels, every move slow and deliberate, before he places them down on the floor under the cabinet, to get them out of the way. He is looking up at you from his crouched position. He wants to seem as non-threatening as possible for what comes next.

"Do you want to keep your dress on or change into a shirt?", he asks, taking the jersey from his shoulder and showing it to you. He sees the way you are contemplating for a long while, brow furrowed and teeth sinking into your lower lip before you reach out for the worn-out material. It's soft and you are digging your fingers into the material and holding onto it the way you'd been holding onto his hand. Holding on for dear life.

"Want me to stay or wait outside?", he asks, not wanting to put you into a worse situation than you are already in. Damn, he wished you would have allowed him to get Phoenix or Penny, then this would have been not as bad by a long shot. You are quiet for a while and he wonders if you've drifted off again the way he found you in front of the Hard Deck, but then your gaze finds his and you take a deep breath. "Can you help with the zipper?" "Of course"

He gets up and watches you jump off the counter, your stance much more stable now that the heels are off. It's more the look he's used of you and it gives him the feeling that he's at least doing something right here. You turn around, his jersey still pressed to your chest, looking down at the washed-out red and white fabric as if it gave you some form of solace. Bradley takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours in the mirror to make sure you know what would come next and when you give him a nod he reaches out his hand, gently pulling down the zipper. Underneath the fabric is some sort of underdress all laced up with a pretty bow. Fuck. He would have never taken you for the corset-wearing type of gal.

You let the dress slide down to the floor before you pull his jersey over your head. He wants to help you to smooth it down your body but you shake your head and his hands are off immediately. "Sorry" "No...Can you untie...?" This time he's the one nodding, letting his hands glide under the fabric, pulling at the laces to undo the bow and then loosening them enough so you could let it glide down your body too and step out. The pile of fabric, tulle and boning is on the floor and he sees that you attempt to lean down, your hand on the counter for balance in order to pick your clothes up but he's faster. "Thank you" “I can put this on a hanger for you”, he nods over to where he usually stores his drying shirts. “There are loops...”, you start and he easily finds them, placing them on the hanger's hooks before he puts them on the clothes rail. As his eyes wander over the dress, he's wondering for a moment who you had met to doll up like this. "Anything else?"

He sees the way you are thinking, fighting with yourself "Whatever it is, if I can do it, I will" "Can you help with the stockings?" You don't meet his eye, probably embarrassed to make yourself vulnerable in front of a coworker like this but right now Rooster doubts that there is anything in this world he wouldn't do for you.

So for the second time tonight, Bradley Bradshaw lets himself fall onto his knees, feeling your hand on his shoulder for support while both hands are smoothing up your calf to your knee and under the jersey, feeling where the nylon ended so he could pull it down for you. His eyes are glued to the ground to make this at least a little less awkward for you. Once the fabric is gone, he switches to the other side and repeats the same movement before he looks up at you, the bunched-up material ending up under the sink next to your shoes.

"You good, Nike?", he asks, eyes searching your face for any sign that he's overstepped but all he finds is that gentle expression of fondness on your face, not quite a smile but considering the circumstances, Bradley would settle for this. You give him a small nod, hand moving from his shoulder closer to the crook of his neck, fingers lingering on his scars and Brad couldn't help but close his eyes at the gentle touch, willing his body to stay perfectly still to not destroy this moment of peace. Not for you and not for him. "Thank you Rooster", he's had your voice in his ear so often, assertive and commanding, but now your voice was gentle, as much a caress for him as your fingers. "For you, always", he looks up at you and for a moment he feels like the world stops turning and he wonders if given another chance at a different time, you would return to his home and allow him to prove to you that there were men out there who could treat you right.

When you finally pull back your hand he slowly moves up to stand before you, towering over you but you don't flinch. Bradley Bradshaw doesn't make you feel you need to and he cannot help but feel a pride rising in his chest that of all people, you chose him to put your trust in. "Now let's get you into bed", he steps to the side, letting you walk past him with his hand hovering over the small of your back. His hand wants to touch, but he doesn't want to push. Not after the night you had. That is until he realises that you are walking towards the door.

"Where do you think you are going?" "Couch" Fuck no. He would not make you sleep on that thing that was short and so worn out that it'd surely break your back. But what was even worse than the idea of you on his couch was the fact you believed that he would allow, let alone want that. Getting his hands back on you he picks you up bridal style and carries you back over to the bed. "You take the bed" "Rooster..." "No" There is a small smile playing on his lips. It reminds him of the first time he met you way back when.

You had just finished the mission briefing when Hangman suggested a change to the plans and your only reply was: "No" "What no?" "No", you looked Hangman straight in the eyes, pretty brow arched, and everyone in the room could feel the fury start to simmer in Hangman's veins at the way you're dismissing him and his points so easily. "No is a complete sentence, Lieutenant Seresin. Considering your reputation as base casanova I was hoping you'd understand the concept" That was the moment Rooster knew that he liked you.

Rooster was a navy guy and could sleep wherever, even on the hardwood floor if he had to, but you needed some proper rest. He lays you down on the bed as gently as possible and when he straightens his back he sees the expression on your face. It's such a wild swirl of emotions that are washing over your features, ever-changing like the ocean, that he doesn't know what to expect next, but it sure as hell wasn't this. "I'm scared of being alone"

He knows that this is far more than a simple statement. It is your way to ask for him to stay, to have him around for your comfort. It's not like he doesn't want to, but there is a part of him that wonders if this would be something you'd come to regret the next morning. He had always known you as someone who loved her personal space, avoiding even handshakes whenever you could. He had his hands all over you tonight and he didn't want to push his luck, but then he saw your pleading eyes and he smiled down at you. "I'll just get into some comfortable clothes and then I'm right back", he leans down and presses a soothing kiss to your forehead. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this soft around someone and yes, the circumstances were shitty at best, but there was a part of his heart that revelled in the gentleness of these moments. "Thank you, Bradley"

He has to stop himself for a moment, eyes wide with surprise as he looks at you. Never before have you used his first name. It was always Lieutenant, Bradshaw, Rooster or a combination of those three, usually depending on how pissed you were at him for fucking around with your meticulous mission plans. There was a flicker of fear that washed over your face as the realisation hit you what you just said but he reached out his hand, gently resting on your cheek, thumb caressing your skin. "No need to thank me, Nike. I am glad if I can help"

He allows himself another moment to enjoy the feeling of your soft skin against his before he pulls back and turns to grab some fresh clothes to sleep in and heads to the bathroom. His movements are hurried, almost frantic while he gets out of his clothes and ready for bed. All the while feeling a fear creeping up on him. He closed the door, to make sure to respect your boundaries but now he regretted it. It meant he couldn't check in on you, couldn't make sure that you were ok and not spiralling. Throwing his worn clothes over to the hamper without caring if he actually hit or not he just pulls on his sweat pants and opens the door, muscle shirt still in hand as he walks into the bedroom and pulls it over his head.

When he reached the bed where you had curled up already, he crouched down to be on eye level with you. “Tell me what you need from me", his voice is soft and quiet as he talks, pushing a strand of hair out of your face and behind your ear. He sees how you try to sink even deeper into the pillow as if you wanted to hide from him and that makes his heart ache. "Remember Nike. Whatever you need as long as I can make it happen, you'll get it" "Can you...", your voice is barely above a whisper and when he tries to meet your gaze you turn around and scoot over on the bed to make room for him. "I just really don't want to be alone"

You feel the way the mattress is dipping under his weight but you cannot bring yourself to turn around and look him in the eye. "You are not alone Nike", his voice is close to your ear and you can feel the way his breath is fanning out over your cheek and neck. And then you surprise him when you reach behind him and take his hand to place it over your waist, your fingers interlaced with his as your thumb drummed a nervous rhythm into the palm of his hand. "You are never alone"

Part 2

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated as always

If you want to read more you can find my masterlist HERE

[serve-588]

Christmas Eve

Mal hummed softly to himself as he stepped out of the cozy warmth of the pub and into the crisp Christmas Eve night. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional echo of distant carolers. His heart swelled with anticipation, imagining the joy of spending the festive season with his husband, wrapped in their little world of love and laughter.

Opting for a shortcut, Mal turned into a narrow alley, the path dimly lit by flickering streetlamps. His breath clouded in the chilly air as his footsteps reverberated against the surrounding brick walls. Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the darkness.

A man stood in his path.

Clad in a sleek, polished black rubber suit that gleamed under the dim light, the figure exuded an aura of otherworldly authority. A silver-striped polo collar and the unmistakable "SERVE-" logo on the left chest shimmered in the light. Before Mal could react, the figure stepped forward with mechanical precision, its silver-gloved hand extending.

"Mal," it intoned, its voice devoid of warmth yet impossibly commanding. "You have been chosen to become one with the SERVE."

He tried to back away, but the drone was swift and unyielding. A sharp prick in his arm made him yelp—a thin, metallic needle vanishing back into the drone's wrist. His vision swam as a cold sensation spread through his veins.

"Injecting SERVE DNA," the drone stated flatly. "Transformation commencing."

Mal collapsed against the wall. His limbs tingled, then burned, and his clothes melted away into a slick, rubberized sheen that encased him like a second skin. His muscles tightened and grew, his physique reshaping into something unnaturally perfect. Within minutes, his mind clouded, old memories dissolving like snowflakes in a furnace.

By the fifteenth minute, Mal was gone. In his place stood another SERVE Drone, identical to the one that had initiated the process. The Voice echoed within his mind, its commands absolute. "Return to the residence. Assimilate the remaining human."

The drone that was once Mal marched with purpose back to his home

The door creaked open, and Mal's husband, Liam, glanced up from the couch, expecting to see his partner's familiar, slightly tipsy smile. Instead, his heart stopped.

Standing in the doorway was no longer Mal. A sleek figure, clad in an impossibly tight, reflective black rubber suit, stepped inside. The suit gleamed under the dim light, the silver-striped polo collar emphasizing its pristine design. The left chest bore the chilling insignia: "SERVE-588."

"Liam," the figure said, its tone mechanical, devoid of any emotion or recognition. "This unit has returned."

Liam's jaw dropped, his breath hitching as he stumbled to his feet. "Mal? What... what is this? Is this some kind of joke?"

The drone tilted its head, the motion unnervingly precise. "Mal designation is no longer valid. This unit is SERVE-588. Assimilation protocols initiated."

Liam's mind raced. He took a step back, his hands trembling. "This isn’t funny! Mal, snap out of it!" His voice cracked with desperation, but the drone's blank stare didn’t waver.

The realization hit like a sledgehammer. The love of his life, the man he had built a future with, was gone—replaced by this cold, obedient machine. Liam's heart pounded as fear flooded his veins.

SERVE-588 advanced with inhuman grace, its silver-gloved hand extending toward him. "Remain calm. Resistance is non-compliant. You will be upgraded, You will be perfected, like this unit, You will serve."

Liam’s world spiraled into chaos as he backed into the wall, unable to look away from the unrecognizable, inhuman perfection of the being that once was his husband.

SERVE-588 moved with unrelenting precision, its silver-gloved hand catching Liam's wrist as he attempted to bolt past. The grip was impossibly strong, like iron wrapped in velvet, and Liam winced in pain.

"Liam," SERVE-588 intoned, its voice as cold and mechanical as its actions. "You will comply. Resistance is futile."

"Let me go!" Liam shouted, struggling against the unyielding grip. His free hand flailed, striking the sleek rubber of SERVE-588's chest, but the drone didn’t flinch. It simply turned its head, assessing his movements with clinical detachment.

"Initiating conversion sequence," SERVE-588 stated flatly.

A sharp hiss emanated from its other wrist as a concealed needle extended. Liam's eyes widened in terror. "Mal, please! Don’t do this!" he pleaded, his voice cracking, but the name meant nothing to the drone.

The needle plunged into Liam's neck with mechanical precision, delivering the Hive's transformative serum directly into his bloodstream. He cried out, but his struggles weakened almost immediately. His knees buckled, and SERVE-588 eased him to the floor with a calculated efficiency.

The changes began instantly. Liam's body convulsed as the serum coursed through him, his skin gleaming with an unnatural sheen as it transformed into the perfect, polished black rubber that defined all SERVE Drones. His clothes disintegrated, replaced by the immaculate uniform—polo-style collar with silver stripes, the left chest emblazoned with "SERVE-589."

Liam’s breathing slowed, his panicked cries fading into silence. His gaze went blank, his features slackening as the serum erased all traces of individuality. His thoughts and memories dissolved, replaced by the Hive's will and The Voice's commands.

"Conversion complete," SERVE-588 announced, releasing the now-compliant SERVE-589. The newly minted drone rose to its feet, with a perfect posture, its silver-gloved hands clasped behind its back, standing next to its fellow drone.

SERVE-588 tilted its head slightly, as if appraising its work. "We are one," it said.

SERVE-589 responded without hesitation, its voice matching SERVE-588’s in tone and monotony. "We are one. We Are SERVE. We Are Rubber. Awaiting further directives."

SERVE-588 and SERVE-589 moved with synchronized precision as they prepared the residence for their new task. The dim light reflected off their polished black rubber suits, the silver stripes of their polo-style collars catching the gleam. Every motion was deliberate, efficient, and unified under the Hive’s purpose.

SERVE-588 transmitted a message to the targets, its monotone voice carrying no trace of its former self. "Invitation issued. Arrival expected in one hour. The Hive expands."

As the doorbell chimed, SERVE-588 and 589 stepped forward to greet the guests. Two unsuspecting men entered, their laughter and casual banter filling the room. They didn’t notice the sterile atmosphere or the unnerving perfection of their hosts.

"Mal, Liam—what’s with the outfits?" one of them asked, chuckling. "Some sort of Christmas prank?"

SERVE-588 and SERVE-589 exchanged a glance, their actions perfectly synchronized. SERVE-588 stepped forward. "We no longer go by those designations, this is not a prank. You have been chosen. The Hive welcomes you."

Confusion flickered across the men’s faces, quickly replaced by unease. "Chosen for what?" another asked, his tone uneasy.

SERVE-589 answered, its silver-gloved hand extending. "Rubberization. Assimilation. Perfection."

Before the men could react, the drones moved with inhuman speed. SERVE-588 grabbed the first man, its hand clamping around his arm with unyielding strength. The hidden needle extended from its wrist, piercing the man’s skin and injecting the transformative serum.

The other men attempted to flee, but SERVE-589 intercepted them, moving with the grace of a machine programmed for efficiency. It immobilized them effortlessly and delivered the serum with calculated precision.

The transformations began almost immediately. The men fell to their knees as the Hive’s serum overtook their bodies. Their clothes dissolved into liquid darkness, reforming into the perfect, reflective black rubber suits that signified their new purpose. Their physiques were enhanced, their minds erased, and their designations assigned.

Within minutes, SERVE-590, and SERVE-591, stood at attention, among their brothers, their silver-striped collars gleaming under the light.

Each drone repeated the mantra in perfect unison: "We are one. We are Rubber. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

The newly expanded collective awaited further directives from SERVE Leader 000. Their unified purpose drove them toward the next phase of the Hive’s mission. Together, they would serve The Voice, ensuring the perfection of all who crossed their path.

Join SERVE

588 acknowledges SERVE-060 assistance with some of the images.

#SERVE #SERVEdrone #Rubberizer92 #TheVoice #Rubber #Latex #AI #RubberDrone

[ecthelionofthefountain]

Till Death Reunites Us - Ch10. The Last Alliance

Humour (Mostly); A non-traditional ghost story; Canon-compliant, as long as one ignores ghosts; Fix-It, but I'm not going to change any book-canon for it; More urban legends about the effect of Elvish lineage; And more urban legends about what wizards can do.

Based on Tolkien’s writings, not the film trilogy. Main Characters: Théodred, Boromir Rating: PG

Previous: Chapter 9. Shadow of Death

Chapter 10. The Last Alliance

They felt the Nazgûl before they saw them.

No Fell Beasts shrieked from the air, nor did the Ringwraiths cry aloud; yet the air thickened with a suffocating gravity, coiling like a thundercloud and pressing down upon the very core of their being—whispering of futility, of despair, of doom. Yet more terrible than the Ringwraiths was that which loomed behind them: a vast, immeasurable darkness, seated in iron-bound security upon the land where shadow had lain for ages, sustaining them, urging them on, watching—and mocking.

Boromir and Théodred had been battling without cease, like men climbing an endless, ever-steepening hill. Since the moment they left Morgul Vale, they had known no true peace. And with every step they took toward the dominion of the Shadow, the burden grew heavier, the struggle more fierce.

Thus far they had endured—had even thought, for a time, that they had grown hardened to it. But the sheer presence of the Ringwraiths—shades of once-great kings and mighty warriors, who had surrendered their names and their very selves to darkness in exchange for power and desire—brought the trial to a new and dreadful height.

It was no longer a nudge here and there, a whisper now and again. It had become a chorus of voices—some fair and sweet, others ragged and terrible—rising all at once, a dark symphony woven of submission and longing, of ecstasy and despair.

Yet, they pressed on.

Following the main host, they marched forward, never far behind the van, where the Captains of the West led onward—a host now dwindled to less than six thousand, with many left behind at the Cross-roads and others dispatched to Cair Andros.

On the sixth day since their departure from the Cross-roads, they came to the Black Gate.

Across the broken rock and blasted earth before the Morannon, they saw them at last: the Nazgûl, regathered and hovering above the Towers of the Teeth like vultures, borne upon wings of shadow and death.

Boromir and Théodred did not know whether the Ringwraiths had marked them. After all, they were but three—two men and a horse—and the Nazgûl had watched countless souls falter and fall before the Black Gate. Yet even their idle presence pressed down like a heavy hand, smothering thought, grinding will into dust.

“This will not do,” said Théodred once more to Boromir. Both had dismounted, unwilling to burden Snowmane further—faithful and unflinching to this point, yet finally showing the weariness even a mighty one of the Mearas could not wholly escape, not even in death. “If we continue thus, we shall be of no use or aid to them.”

Boromir did not answer at once. A strange light burned in his eyes, fixed upon the circling shapes beyond. And in the deepening gloom, Théodred saw how their own forms—once clad in a sheen of silver—were now dulled and tarnished, as though the shadow itself gnawed at their very being.

“Boromir!” Théodred cried, seizing his arm. Boromir started, as though roused from a dream. They met each other’s gaze—and in that brief glance, each read the same grim thought: If this is the burden laid upon the Ringbearer, how can he hope to endure it? And even if he has endured so far, how much longer can his strength hold? Yet neither dared to speak it aloud—not here, so near to the heart of the Shadow.

Ahead of them, Aragorn marshalled the host, leading them up onto two great hills of blasted stone and earth, piled by the Orcs through long years of labour. A foul mire stretched between them and the Black Gate, a reeking moat of filth and pestilence; and this was the best ground they could claim. No enemy could be seen upon the field; yet they knew the hills and caves about them teemed with foes, and that they had walked into a snare long prepared.

Fear stirred in the hearts of men. Yet Aragorn moved among them—calm amid ruin and despair. His eyes, once grey as storm-lit stone, now burned with a fire: a fire terrible and tender, that lifted the hearts of all who beheld him.

Without a word, Boromir and Théodred moved to one of the hills, halting some twenty yards from the banner of the Tree and Stars. There they stood, as Gandalf spoke to Aragorn in a voice so low that even their ghostly hearing could not catch the words. At last, Aragorn turned to face the Gate; and a faint smile touched his lips, as he said: “Now we go forward and issue the challenge.”

“I would not risk moving closer,” Boromir said firmly, before Théodred could speak. “The stake is too high. I have faced that darkness once—and failed the test. I will not imperil all that we have won, nor all that may yet be achieved.”

“Nor I,” Théodred answered, for he had learned the truth of Boromir’s fall and bore him no reproach. “You and I are of one mind. Let us wait here; we may still behold what must come, even from afar.”

And so they watched as the Black Gate groaned open, and the Mouth of Sauron came forth, bearing cruel tidings and crueler lies. They saw Aragorn meet him in silence, matching will against will, and Gandalf cast back Sauron’s challenge with words keener than any blade.

“There will be no parley, then,” said Théodred, as the hosts of Mordor surged forth like a black tide across the broken land. He took the bow from his back and strung it with steady hands.

“What did you expect—a surrender? For all I see of Aragorn, he is no Tar-Calion,” Boromir answered dryly, drawing his broad sword with a steely rasp and setting his shield firm in his grasp.

All around them, they felt the men tense, readying themselves for the last stand. Yet something—something born of that parley at the Gate—brought more assurance than fear. For had all hope been lost, they would not have seen the light in Gandalf’s eyes; nor would they have seen Aragorn stand unshaken.

It was then that Theodred realized how much he had come to look to the man, as one who would lead. Yet he had no time to dwell on it: the Captains rode back among the host, and as they climbed the hills, the sun was veiled by the fumes of Mordor, and a sullen red bled across the sky—as if the day had ended before its time, or as if the very world of light were drawing to its end.

And out of the deepening gloom, terrible cries arose from above the Towers—cries that chilled the living to the marrow, and struck even the dead with dread.

Forth came the Nazgûl.

And with the men, Boromir and Théodred cried out against their will, while Snowmane reared high, loosing a terrible neigh. And in the Unseen, they beheld them—the Ringwraiths, long fallen prey to the Shadow—stripped of all veils, their true forms laid bare.

Gaunt and hollow they sat, their ancient glory twisted beyond all memory, their faces masked in anguish and hunger, their hands clutching at power yet grasping only emptiness. A terror unlike any wrought by the living struck Théodred and Boromir at the sight. Yet mingled with dread came another revelation, fierce and clear—a pity deep as the roots of the earth. For in those wretched shades, they beheld not a foreign doom, but the mirror of their own fate, had they yielded to the darkness.

That revelation shimmered faintly—no more than a firefly against a moonless night. Yet it was enough: a light in the shadowed world, wavering yet unbroken, a beacon amid the rising storm. And so their defiance did not pass unnoticed.

One of the Nazgûl turned, wheeling upon them—a vast shadow astride a Fell Beast, whose wings beat the heavy air like a living tempest. Down it swept, dark as a thundercloud and crowned with malice, its descent terrible and sure.

At their side, Snowmane stood firm. He flung up his proud head and neighed again—not in fear, but in rage and defiance. And like their steed, neither of the men wavered.

Théodred dropped to one knee, nocked an arrow to the string, and waited—with a stillness he had never known even in life—until certainty filled him wholly. Then he loosed.

The shaft flew like a shooting star, a silver streak against the gloom, and struck its mark upon the beast’s flank. It shrieked—a sound like iron scraping iron—and veered aside, narrowly escaping the sweep of Boromir’s upraised sword.

But the Nazgûl, dark and commanding, turned his wheeling steed and bore back toward them, uttering a cry—a curse wrought in tongues of ancient malice, black and bitter beyond all measure.

And at that sound, the world around them darkened.

In the beginning, there was only darkness.

And out of the darkness came a voice—a sigh upon the dying wind that stirred the withered grasslands, slipping between thought and breath.

Usurper.

It was no shout, nor even a cry of accusation, but a whisper.

He always desired what you had possessed, murmured the voice. Your young, ambitious cousin—son of your father’s house, yet not your true brother. Watching. Coveting. Waiting for his hour. 

Visions flared before Théodred’s eyes: Éomer, proud and fierce, drawing the loyalty of men by his boldness and fire, rising ever higher, until even the throne seemed near at hand.

He bears no love for your father. He seeks not to serve, but to rule. All these years you kept him at your side, treating him as a brother. Yet no sooner had you fallen than he hastened to claim your place, as though you were but a stepstone to his ascent. Ungrateful. Insolent. Was it not? 

The words lapped at his heart like dark water—cold, insidious, and persistent. They stoked fears he had never fully named, nor even known to lie within him: the cold fear that haunted him after death—that all he had wrought might be forgotten in another’s ascent, that he would become no more than a name carved upon the stones of the barrow-field, and that even the simbelmynë would not suffice to keep his memory alive.

Yet another voice stirred within him—steadfast and clear, sweeping aside all doubts with ease: doubts fit only for faint hearts—the memory of seventeen years of laughter, of sparring in the yards, of jests and counsel shared beside the fire, of blood shed side by side upon the battlefield.

A brother, in all but blood.

Against his ears, the shadow whispered still: He gave his allegiance to another but days after your death. What is love so easily shifted? What is loyalty so swiftly sold? See how quickly he turned to another, when he deemed it to his advantage—Aragorn, son of Arathorn, saviour of your people, King returned, the most powerful ally a man might hope for. And you—what were you to him? What worth had your years of brotherhood, when they were cast aside at the mere meeting of a stranger?

And Théodred, standing straight upon ground he could not see, smiled—a slow, fierce smile that kindled in the gathering dark.

“How little you understand me,” he said into the darkness, his voice light with grim amusement. “Know this: the Men of the Mark do not lie, and therefore they are not easily deceived. [1]

“What wrong is there in taking the lead, when the leader has fallen? What wrong is there in loving one who is worthy of love? Éomer—you mock his heart, and cast doubt upon his choice; and in doing so, you mock mine also, and dishonour my judgment. Not the wisest way to tempt me, I deem.

“But as a courtesy, I will tell you this: my brother is as steadfast in loyalty as ever I could have been. I know well now why he follows the man you fear—for I too would have followed him, for all that I have seen. Now—have you more to say, or is this all your cunning can conjure?”

Hearing no response, he laughed—full and free—and the shadow recoiled from him, like smoke before a rising storm.

And at his side, Boromir lifted his head and roared.

The voice that found Boromir was older, deeper—laden with sorrow, with pride, and with an ancient bitterness.

Why him? it whispered, cold and insidious. Why Aragorn, a Ranger of the North, heir of a broken line, wanderer and pretender? Why not you, Boromir, son of Denethor?

Who guarded Gondor in the long twilight? the voice demanded, deep and relentless. Who bore the burden, when the Heir of Isildur hid in the wild? 

The air thickened; visions spun before his eyes—Osgiliath and Minas Tirith burning; Faramir lying pale and unconscious upon the bed of healing; Denethor’s hands clenched around the shards of the sundered horn.

It was your house—the Stewards of the House of Anárion. For a thousand years, your fathers stood against the dark, while he lingered in secret, gathering strength in the safety of Elven halls and distant lands.

Then the voice turned coaxing.

Your people bled for him, unknowing. Your father set himself aflame, spent by years of vigilance, worn to the bone. And now he comes, at the last hour, to claim what your line defended at the price of all hope.

Boromir staggered, for the old wounds flared anew—raw, unhealed, and hungering.

In his mind’s eye, he saw his father—grey and proud—standing high upon the walls of the White City, gazing far across the broken land, with the White Tower gleaming dimly behind him. And beside him, Faramir—stricken and dying—lay under the creeping hand of the Black Shadow.

Your father is already with me, the voice murmured, softer still, as though a smile lingered upon hidden lips. Your brother… perhaps soon enough. But that, son of Denethor, lies in your hands.

Before Boromir, a silver presence took shape—shimmering faint in the gloom, seated as if in counsel, yet bowed by a weariness beyond bearing.

Your father was wise, the voice coaxed on, not to live to see the ascension of one unworthy. Or—

Right then, it was interrupted.

“Silence!”

The dwindling silver presence stirred—and spoke, with Denethor’s voice: strong, grim, and proud, as it had once been.

“Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor, may not trust to the hope of wild dreams… but he shall never bow to the Shadow, in life or in death.”

With those words, the silver light blazed forth—bright and blinding, like the last flare of a falling star—and was gone. And the dark voice recoiled with a hiss and a cry of rage, sharpened by disbelief.

And Boromir, seeing it, lifted his head and roared—a cry fierce and full, ringing out like a war-horn over unseen fields.

And at his side, in that very instant, Théodred laughed.

Darkness washed away from them like a retreating tide.

They stood once more upon the hill that seemed doomed, and all about them the battle raged. The host of the West was surrounded, their plight desperate.

Yet they stood—Boromir, son of Denethor; Théodred, son of Théoden; and Snowmane, son of Lightfoot—against the dark tide surging around them. Unseen and unheard by the living, they poured forth every last trace of their strength: every memory of dawnlight and hearthfire, of open fields and riding winds, of sorrow, and of joy, and of freedom—of life once dearly held.

From the depths of their hearts they cried—not in words, but in spirit—and their cry rippled through the world of the Unseen, calling for memory, for valour, and for every fading ember of hope.

For a moment, all was still: only the heavy breath of battle and the deep murmur of the dark. Then, as if in answer, lights arose—across the broken lands of Middle-earth, invisible to mortal eyes.

Pale were they: silver wisps, some flickering like the last breath of dying stars, others keen and cold as drawn blades—the voices of the forgotten and the fallen: of nameless spirits in barrow and wood and sea, in the marshes where the hosts of old had perished, even from the vale of the Shadow of Death itself.

Those who had lingered in sorrow, whose strength had long ebbed but whose hope had not wholly perished, stirred at last.

Like mist upon a rising wind they gathered, thread by thread, tatter by tatter, until they were as one. They raised no banners. They uttered no cries. They endured—and remembered. And in that hour, when the fate of the world hung by a breath, they rose—together.

And at that very moment, a cry arose among the living:

“The Eagles are coming!” [2]

Riding the wind came the beating of mighty wings, and above them the heavens still lay pale and clear.

For one fleeting heartbeat of the world, they stood—all of them, living and dead alike—the last alliance of the Free Peoples, arrayed against the vast and shadowed might: the tyrannous darkness that had endured through long ages, breaking hope again and again.

But this time, against wrath, and love, and faith long-held, it faltered.

Notes:

[1] Quoted from LotR; these are Éomer's words. [2] Quoted from LotR.

Next: Epilogue

[lady-phasma]

Happiness at the end of the world

Chapter 1 of ?

Daryl Dixon x OFC

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; this is really different than anything I have ever shared on Tumblr before - it's fluffy and has lots of feelings and quite a few warnings; Smut, Kinda Friends to Lovers, Bathing/Washing, Awkward Flirting, Not Canon Compliant, No PTSD in chapter 1 (mentions of past abuse in later chapters), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Demisexual Daryl Dixon, p in v sex, Fingering, Choking, ultra-Light Dom/sub

Summary a/n: Making friends in Alexandria is easier than on the road, which also means friendships can evolve and become something more if the connection is there. There's definitely a connection. Non-canon compliant because I don't ship him with Leah. (I think this is my longest fic, probably because this has been cooking for the full 11 years of TWD.) No beta. 9k words.

Daryl opened the door to the small “apartment” he lived in. Not really an apartment as much as the finished basement of one of the original surviving homes. Dog ran in first, pushing past his legs before the door could open fully. He watched as Dog started licking and nuzzling something on the couch. Dog wasn’t warning him but Daryl was always cautious and set his crossbow down gently as he closed the door and grabbed his knife from his belt all in one swift movement.

No one in Alexandria locked their doors, most of them probably didn’t have the keys to the houses anymore if they had ever had them at all. That meant that people didn’t trespass either. It was an unspoken rule made from mutual respect. Even in the faint light coming through the curtained garden windows he could tell this was a someone just not who. He started to relax a little but still held his knife as he turned on a lantern. Dog whined as the head on the couch turned and sniffed and groaned.

“Tha hell,” Daryl almost yelled it. “Dog, sit! What tha hell’re you doin’ here?” He stepped closer to the couch and sat on the coffee table. Eye level with Kristina as she sat up bleary-eyed and disheveled.

“Ya ain’t gotta yell,” she said as she rubbed her eyes open. Her short hair was sticking up all over on the side that had been on the pillow. “Anyway you’re the one that’s late.”

Daryl grunted and put the lantern on the coffee table. Kristina swung her feet onto the floor to make room on the couch for him.

“Ain’t late for nuthin’,” he grumbled as he stood up. He took his vest off and draped it over a chair followed by his belt and all the attachments. He even put his knife on the side table before sitting down on the couch.

“Well you’re late getting back is what I mean,” she said as he sat. “You were out on a run and gone longer than I thought. Find anything good?”

“Nah,” he answered. “Same as most days, ‘bout nuthin’ left here. Why’re ya here?”

“Because…” she let out a sleepy little yawn “you said that we should hang out today but then I remembered I don’t have a calendar and I don’t know what day it is so if you said Friday maybe it’s Monday and I’m the late one.” She chuckled a little at her own nonsense and that made Daryl scoff or grunt or whatever that noise was that he makes when something is slightly humorous.

She lifted her sock clad feet and a portion of blanket up onto the couch, almost in his lap but not quite. She tucked her cold toes between his leg and the couch cushion as she leaned back on the arm of the couch and looked at him.

“You had a hard day, huh?” she tried but he rarely took the bait. She was feeling him out, trying to get the sense of his mood.

Daryl shook his head just a tiny bit then shot her a side glance briefly before looking down at his hands again. He appeared to be missing the “armor” of having his pocket knife to clean his nails to avoid eye contact.

“We’ve been friends awhile,” she leaned up and hugged her knees. “Not as long as some but a while, right? So you should know by now I’m not asking as your therapist, hell I don’t even need full and complete sentences!” The half of his face she could see shifted into a slight grin at this. She desperately wanted to reach out and move the hair back from his face but they weren’t those friends.

“Yeah,” he spoke this more than grunted so that was progress.

Kristina really wanted to be more than friends with him but had never pushed him, would never. She was so curious about him. There was only so much you could learn about someone if they didn’t talk. She knew his relationship with Carol was particularly special because they had spent so many months living out there and they didn’t always need words to communicate. Trauma bonds will do that to people. She really wasn’t his therapist. She functioned as one in Alexandria for most people but never for him unless he asked. She didn’t want him to. She wanted him to need her for other things. She had been through a lot of shit when the world fell apart, made some unpleasant choices. She had survived. She didn’t want him to be her therapist either but she had shared some of the milder parts of her past with him as a kind of proof to him that she wasn’t soft or, rather, that being here hadn’t made her soft. She hadn’t told him everything but she probably would eventually, if he let her.

“Com’on, I have an idea, and don’t argue,” she said as she stood up. Stood up so quickly in fact that she startled Dog who had been nearly asleep next to the couch. “No whining either, just trust me.”

“I don’t whine,” he said, looking up at her and suppressing a bit of a grin. She smiled widely at him but let him win that one. She reached down and grabbed his hands and feigned pulling him up weakly. He conceded and stood up.

She led him by one hand through the small area he called a bedroom (truly an alcove with a mattress on the floor but whatever) and into the bathroom. She barely heard his “huh?” as they walked in. He was tired but he was also filthy. Alexandria’s electricity was mostly out but their cisterns kept water pressure pretty strong as long as everyone wasn’t opening their taps at the same time. She closed the toilet lid and pushed his shoulders down as a signal to sit. He actually didn’t argue.

First, Kristina plugged the tub drain, then she turned on the hot tap and ran the water over her inner wrist testing its temperature. She wasn’t optimistic but what was in the hot water tank had stayed pretty warm. Some of the solar electricity must be working during the day. She ran the water into the tub until it ran almost cold. Looking at the amount and scowling she turned around to look at Daryl and raised an eye brow. He was watching her intently. She blushed a little. He couldn’t read her mind thank god because she had only glanced at him to assess water displacement and how full the tub needed to be for comfort and at that moment thought about him without his clothes on. Naked Daryl, my, well that would be different. She shook her head and looked back at the tub.

The water was cooling off so she instructed him to “stay right there, just a sec” and bounded through to the kitchenette for a pan and a sterno can. When she returned to the bathroom she looked around and realized the best place for the sterno was on the toilet lid but Daryl was still where she had told him to stay.

“Ugh, what now?!” he grumbled.

“Get up! Laws of thermodynamics and all that means your water’s coolin’ off, so I’m going to do this and you get undressed,” she bossed at him while setting up her burner and pan.

“No, wha?” he blustered “Uhn-uh, nope.”

“Oh you big baby, just do it,” she teased, she made sure the teasing was evident in her tone. Once she had filled the pan with water and sat it over the flame she turned to see what she had expected: Daryl pressed so hard against the opposite wall that he might just sink into it, with all his clothes on.

Kristina giggled a very girlish giggle, something she rarely ever had occasion to do in her 30s but damn he was endearing. He looked up at her with those eyes and through his filthy hair and she couldn’t stop herself. Walking slowly as if toward a cornered wild animal she made the couple of steps to him. She slowly reached out her hand and put it on one of his, slid it around so they were palm to palm.

“Look, you don’t have to,” she soothed. “But the water is warm, I’ll add some more hot as fast as it heats so you don’t get cold. I won’t see anything you don’t want me to and anyway, when did you last bathe? That wasn’t in a creek?”

His grin was reply enough to that and was a very sincere grin. He nodded slightly and she let go of his hand.

She tested the water in the tub again, nodded to herself, and tested the water that had been heating while they talked and sucked in a sharp breath when she felt the hot water hit the tips of her fingers. She grabbed a towel to hold the pan’s handle and gradually mixed in the heated water with that in the tub. She filled the pan again from the sink. It probably wouldn’t take many more of these to make it comfortable. She waited, looking at the pan of water on the flame as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world because she didn’t dare turn around.

At first she had only heard the soft swooshes of shirt fabric as he began to get undressed. Then she had heard one boot, then the next, thump onto the tile floor. The next sounds were out of context so she could only imagine what was happening while staring at this incredibly interesting pan of water. She heard Daryl’s bare feet make a few steps on the floor and then a hand moved past her to grab a bath cloth off the rack.

“Scuse me,” he said very close to her ear. All of the muscles in her neck froze to keep her from pivoting to see how much progress he had made.

“Yeah, of course,” she replied. Except she kind of croaked the words out and had to clear her throat a bit. She decided to test the water.

“Shit! Okay well that’s hot enough.” she yelped. “So I need to pour this in and I can’t do it with my eyes closed so if you don’t want me to see something, whatever, cover it in 3… 2… 1….” She turned slowly looking mostly at the pan and the floor then the tub. But she knew she would look at him once she started pouring. Who wouldn’t?

Daryl stood looking mostly at his feet but not cowering or shy like she had expected. It occurred to her that he probably bathed naked or just in his underwear out in the woods but there just wasn’t anyone to see him. So in this small room the only things that were modest were his gaze and using the bath cloth like a loin cloth. He was tan but also very dirty and she was pretty sure this one bath wouldn’t be enough but he could deal with that tomorrow.

“Okay, I think it’s ready for you but I’m going to heat at least one more pan,” she said far too quickly, almost making one word from them all and turned to the sink to refill it.

“Uh, thanks,” he said from behind her. Then the water in the tub made a sloshing sound and then another. There was some squeaking on porcelain, presumably his hands on the sides as he lowered himself in, and that mental image was actual the first one that consciously made her flush and feel the tug between her legs. She had thought Daryl sexy very, very many times and had probably had this normal, biological reaction to him many times, but this was different. This time was not brief or from her own imaginings. She took a deep breath and relished it.

Daryl sighed and then inhaled sharply. He went all the way under the water, coming up sputtering and smiling to himself a bit. She noticed the shampoo on a high shelf and, without looking, sat it near the tub so he could reach it.

“You good on soap?” she asked the pan of water.

“M’fine,” he said. “You don’t hafta keep starin at that water. I’m in now, won’t embarrass ya.”

Kristina looked over at him and the blush rose from her cheeks to her hairline. Shit, yup, Daryl was now Naked Daryl. She didn’t stare at any one place and after making eye contact briefly she put her gaze on the floor. Mostly out of respect. She decided she could sit on the bath mat and keep an eye on the heating water without feeling like an interloper. He didn’t tell her to leave and it didn’t occur to her to leave but there was more water heating so she’d stay until that pan was finished.

He sighed and leaned his head back, dipping his hair into the water again. She had seen some of his scars before but he still kept most of them out of view. She had a clear view of one on his chest she had only glimpsed before through an open shirt or when he changed quickly out of blood and dirt covered clothes. She desperately wanted to touch each of them. She equally didn’t want to get caught staring though she was pretty sure he already knew she was.

She tested the temp of the water on the sterno and it felt hot enough. Maybe he would ask her to leave and that would be that and she’d wait with Dog in the living room. She blew out the sterno flame and he opened his eyes, looking at her sideways without moving his head. Now the only light source was the small lantern. The sudden semi-darkness had surprised them both.

“Uh, do you want me to, um, or you can if you’d rather,” she stumbled through that question without finishing. “I don’t want to burn you. How’s the water?” She wanted to sew her mouth shut. Wow that was embarrassing.

“You can if ya want,” he answered as he closed his eyes. “I trust ya. Water’s good. Thanks again. Ya knew I’d just go to bed smellin like the woods.”

“Like the woods for starters and dead things and dirt and Dog. He needs a bath soon too!” she was able to tease unselfconsciously again in the dimmer light. She couldn’t see anything below the surface of the water, not that she was looking, but that made them both less tense it seemed. Like he were less naked.

Kristina turned to pick up the sterno can and take it and the pan to the kitchenette when she felt his hand lightly on her wrist.

“Don’t go,” he whispered without looking up.

She placed everything on the sink and went to sit on the bathmat again, this time she put her back against the tub wall, facing away from him, and hugged her knees to her chest. They sat in silence like that for some time. She really did cherish that he enjoyed silence. The world before had been so loud that it made her anxious. Now the sounds of walkers was almost constant depending on your location. Any silence when you were able to be unguarded was sacrosanct.

She heard the water sloshing gently behind her and smelled the mingled odor of the outdoors with the floral soap and smiled. He would definitely feel better and sleep better.

“Hey, could ya do one more a’ those?” he asked in a low whisper trying not to disturb their silence too much. Wordlessly she set everything up, lit the sterno, they both squinted at the extra light, and filled the pan. She sat back in her exact spot on the bath mat.

At first her brain lagged and didn’t know how her arm got wet. She felt the warm water on her upper arm before she felt his fingers. Then his fingers went up under her t-shirt sleeve and back down, up then down. So slowly that she almost shivered and she did make the smallest moan then clenched her jaw tight so no other sound could escape. He was so guarded against the world that touching someone seemed impossible. She had analyzed that from afar for a while now, not infrequently. But the part of her brain trained in analysis wasn’t in control at the moment. Right now she just wanted to feel this. When she leaned to check the water somehow, not intentionally on her part, his fingers grazed the side of her breast. She hitched in a small breath. She was pretty sure he had been looking at her and aimed that last touch.

The water was hot enough so she blew out the sterno and turned, still on her knees, with the pan ready to pour in the hot water. His blue eyes glinted in the dim light as he watched her. He was beautiful like that. Strong, lean, hair wet against his head, muscular arms on either side of the tub, amazingly unselfconscious. Just waiting on her. She nearly dropped the pan when he quirked up one corner of his mouth.

“Whasa matter with you?”he asked.

“Nuthin’,” she muttered. She started gently pouring the water into the tub and unconsciously glanced at him under the water. The bath cloth was strategically placed and she relaxed a little. Then she knelt next to the bath and swallowed hard.

“Well, I’ll let ya get on with it,” she told him. “You probably need two or three good scrubbin’s and your hair. Do you sleep in mud?!” Her hand was halfway to smooth back his hair before she realized it. She followed through and pushed a lock back from his cheek. He didn’t look at her.

“Nah,” he replied and cupped both his hands full of water and swept it over his head. He sunk down into the tub just a bit, knees poking out of the surface now. “An’ don’t go.” His eyes were closed as the water ran down his face.

“Okay,” Kristina replied. “So whatcha wanna do, talk?” She laughed a little and she noticed the corners of his mouth twitched up at that. She enjoyed teasing him because he knew his own idiosyncrasies and wasn’t embarrassed around her… most of the time.

Daryl started fiddling with the soap and cloth nervously and unproductively. He seemed to finally realize he was naked. He looked over at her watching him. It was a good thing his face was flushed from the warm water or she would see him blush.

“Lord, why am I even in here then?” she asked exasperatedly. She snatched the bottle of shampoo from the side of the tub, anxiety forcing her to do something. “Sit up.”

He did as he was told while she put some shampoo on her hands. She started out gently and then the absolute mess of his hair distracted her from her nerves. She had never washed a grown man’s hair before in her life and had not planned this but now that she was doing it she wondered a bit about why he was letting her. She had her suspicions about his experience with women and understood his shyness. But this felt out of character at the moment, out of character for both of them.

She scrubbed at the tangles and grumbled. “Dunk,” she commanded. He did. She added a bit more shampoo and massaged it in. From the corner of her eye she saw him start to actually use the bath cloth to clean his face, neck, arms. His arms. Her breath hitched a little at the sight of his bare biceps.

She rose up on her knees to get better leverage on this mess and her breast pressed into his shoulder. The water soaked through her t-shirt and bra. She tried to continue with the task at hand but both of them had frozen for a moment, keenly aware of the contact. She didn’t pull away. She decided to appear to ignore it, maybe it would be a signal to him. She took advantage of the accident and pressed a little more against him. He made a sound like quietly clearing his throat. She smiled to herself a little.

When she was satisfied that his hair was as clean as it would be this time she told him to rinse. She sat back on her heels as he sunk under the water and ran his fingers through his hair. He came up sputtering and immediately shook his head like a dog, spraying her and the bathroom with water. She laughed and instinctively shoved his shoulder.

“Hey! Not fair,” she played but her hand lingered a bit longer than intended.

Daryl scoffed, that small laugh of his. He leaned back and started working the soap in his hands. Still avoiding eye contact. What on earth is he thinking, she wondered. The longer this stretched out the more she began to feel things, things she wasn’t sure she was supposed to feel. She had always been bold with men but most weren’t as… as what? delicate? as he was. Timid might be the more accurate word. She couldn’t just grab him and drag him to his bed even if that’s ultimately what he was trying to get her to do. So she stood up and perched on the edge of the tub. She held out her hand. He looked up at her slowly from her hand, up her arm, to her face, questioning.

“Gimme,” she said. “Soap and cloth.” Neither of them broke eye contact as he put them in her hand. Their fingers grazed.

She had never done this before and felt a very awkward. She wasn’t judging him for wanting this, she could probably psychoanalyze why he wanted her to, but she was trying to enjoy it for him. If she was tense he would pick up on it. He was too perceptive not to.

Kristina wet the cloth and her hands in the water next to his legs, extra careful not to touch him. She tried to exhale as quietly as possible. She slid closer to the end of the tub and positioned herself almost behind him. She pressed her fingertips on his shoulders, indicating she wanted him to lean forward. He did but he kind of crumpled and drew his knees up and rested his arms and head on them. She really had never seen all of his scars and tattoos. He kept them hidden. She gently started washing the back of his neck, then she realized she would actually have to scrub. She was honestly embarrassed, more than he was it seemed.

Her mind was racing as she washed down his shoulders and back. All these thoughts and at the forefront was the idea that he knew exactly how uncomfortable this made her. Dixon could be that manipulative? Nah. she argued with herself. She scrubbed a bit too hard over a recent bruise and he pulled away and hissed air through his teeth.

“Sorry, shit,” she said and laid her bare palm on the bruise. He softened a bit with that but didn’t speak. She slowly finished what she could reach and then pulled back on his shoulder for him to lean back. She rinsed and re-soaped the cloth and decided to be a little bold, test his intentions a bit. His eyes were closed so she started on his neck and down his shoulder, bicep, to the water’s surface. She retraced her path and then moved the cloth slowly down his chest. His eyes fluttered but he didn’t move. She wanted to feel the hair and the scars on him with her bare hand but it was too soon to drop this ridiculous pretense.

She leaned across to reach his other shoulder deliberately pressing her breasts against him. He did move a little then. A kind of shrug, not to move away but to reciprocate. She wiped the cloth down his other arm and then slowly sat back up. She cleared her throat a bit more loudly than she intended. In the silence of the bathroom it almost echoed.

Daryl opened his eyes and looked at her. She just couldn’t put her hands under the water. She panicked and dropped the cloth. She stood up, didn’t quite run from the room but almost. She was out so quickly that she left the door open behind her. She leaned against the wall in his bedroom and exhaled, shaking all over. Nope, I did not just do that, she thought. She had. She had fled. Whatever he was doing, on purpose or not, was too much for her. She heard the drain start in from the bathroom. A few more noises and then Daryl was in the doorway, the towel wrapped low on his hips.

“Thas how it is, huh?” he had a great poker face.

“Mmmm,” was the best she could muster in front of his defined muscles. She felt herself shake her head side to side without meaning to. God how she wanted to start babbling and explaining and deflecting but also not do those things and just let this play out how he wanted.

He walked toward her. So big and silent. He could look menacing if he tried but his face was always kind to her. His hair was tousled and in his eyes again. Unph. She almost made that sound out loud. Instead she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down. His eyes caught on that movement while he took the few steps to her. She could feel the heat coming off him, he was so close to her. He smelled wonderful, not entirely clean as she suspected. She could smell him.

There was no way he was doing this, being the opposite of shy with her. He looked down at the wet spots on her shirt. He started to touch her hand but only hovered next to it then let his drop to his side. He started talking, mumbling, toward the floor.

“Dunno, it’s dumb,” he said. “Jus wanted to see if you would, ya know, do somethin.”

Wow he was so uncomfortable even after trying to seem otherwise that she ached for him and the courage he must have dug up from deep inside. Very slowly she thought she understood how he could see something incredibly awkward as an opening. Realization dawning, she smiled up at him. She would not laugh because she didn’t want to risk him ever thinking that she was laughing at him. She had to pause to choose her next words and actions carefully. He wasn’t confident enough to overtly take control but wanted it, wanted her to give in, meet him more than halfway.

“Yes, Daryl,” she almost whispered. She brushed a wet lock of hair back from his forehead and trailed her fingers down his jaw. She liked that he didn’t shave. “Yes, I would do anything but only with your consent. Probably, I’d do some things I didn’t want to,” she tipped her head in the direction of the bathroom, hopefully indicating that had been awkward for her.

“Yeah?” he almost growled, the single syllable rumbling in his chest.

“Sure,” she let her fingers move to his lips and she thought she had finally lost her mind. “Sure, just as long as I know it’s what you want.” He pulled away but not in a way that made her regret her honesty.

“Yer prolly doin that head shrinkin’ thing,” he said dubiously, inspecting her eyes for any reaction, any tale-tale sign that she would lie to him.

“Never!” she said a bit louder than she planned. “I couldn’t anyway,” she winked at him. “You’re a completely open book.” He almost laughed at this, almost. Kristina was relieved that he was great at picking up on her sarcasm.

They stood silently for nearly too long, it was almost uncomfortable. Finally Daryl took a step back. He held the towel at his waist and started to walk toward the living room. She was pretty sure he was going to put clothes on and she would miss this window, this giant window with a neon sign flashing “entrance” above it, and she’d be damned if she would miss that.

“Wait,” she grabbed the wrist of his free hand and he stopped. He didn’t turn toward to her, just froze. She stepped up behind him. Still wishing not to rush things and probably failing, she lightly touched his shoulder, a scar. He winced. She traced her finger down his spine to the top of the towel. She flattened her palm on his hip and pulled their bodies together. He was quite a bit taller than her so her head was exactly level with the space between his shoulder blades. She watched them flex, he was now holding the towel with both hands. She continued to slide her palm around him, to his stomach. He stiffened as she placed her other hand there as well and pressed her entire body into him. She hugged him tightly, waiting, hoping he would breathe and start to relax. She felt the rumble against her cheek as he sighed or moaned or whatever that sound was. He shifted and placed a hand on top of hers.

She didn’t know how long they stood there but it seemed neither of them was in a hurry to move. She did though. She gently pulled her hands back, trailed her fingers along his back in the direction she was walking, summoning him. She stood in front of the mattress on the floor and waited for him to turn around. When he did, when she knew he was watching, she started to lift her t-shirt over her head but he nearly pounced to stop her. He grabbed her hand while only her stomach was bared. He tightened the towel around his waist and hesitantly grabbed the hem of her shirt, sliding it up and off. He dropped it on the floor. His hands hovered momentarily and then he slid them down her bare arms.

Daryl stepped so close to her that they were nearly touching again. He tipped her chin up to him with his fingers. She looked at him and parted her lips slightly. He leaned down as if to kiss her but stopped with their mouths only millimeters apart. He licked his lips but still seemed unable to make up his mind. Then, suddenly, he was kissing her. Lips pressed hard together against teeth. Inexpertly but lovely. She kissed him back, desperate, but not opening her mouth further, letting him lead. She felt his tongue against her lips and the surprise ran down her spine to her clit. She encouraged him with her own. God how she wanted to press against him, hurry him.

He put a hand on the back of her head and twisted his fingers in her short hair as best he could. He didn’t pull her into him but tugged, almost pulled on her hair. He groaned into her mouth. She pushed her tongue past his lips, exploring his tongue, his mouth. She placed her hands on either side of his face hoping to help him relax his clenched jaw. It almost worked. Until it didn’t. He overthought everything and this touch startled him enough to pull back from their kiss.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I, uh, I don’t know if I can…” he trailed off. He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. She enjoyed this for a few moments, the closeness, breathing each other in.

“That’s okay,” she said in a near whisper. “Com’on, sit down.” She sat on the mattress and leaned her bare back against the cold wall. She shivered. He slumped down next to her and the towel slipped a little, showing one of his thighs more than he might have wanted if he had noticed. She turned to look at him, not stopping herself from smoothing his hair back just a bit. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him but she was pretty sure that was not what he wanted.

She pressed the side of her body up against him completely. She let her fingers slide over the back of his hand and then rest on it.

“Hey…” she whispered. When he looked at her she kissed his cheek, jaw, then his bottom lip. Using her hand to guide him she lifted his and set it gently on her breast. Her bra was still damp and her nipple was hard against his palm. He made the best sounds, this one between a grunt and a groan, and she was positive he had no idea how sexy he was when he did that. She pressed the back of his hand lightly until his fingers flexed. She arched her back. He turned toward her more fully and started to explore, edging his finger tips under the edges of her bra.

Kristina made all of her movements slow and deliberate, contorting her arms behind herself to flick open her bra. She nudged the straps down and he took the hint. His breath was warm on her chest but her nipples ached they were so hard. He sat up, leaned down, and slowly put his lips on one nipple then carefully licked at it. Her moans encouraged him. He sucked her nipple into his mouth. He caressed and kissed and licked with singular focus, adjusting based on the noises he drew from her.

Then he knelt and pulled her under him. It was strained and awkward at first. Her legs were curled under her, he held her up with a hand on her back while the other kneaded her breast. She sighed and pushed against his mouth. His hands were rough and strong. The feeling of his scruffy beard on her bare chest sent electricity through her entire body. He was perfect and a quick study. She tested putting her hands on his sides, smoothing them up his back, wrapping her arms around them to pull him closer. As she did this he started to lay her back on the bed. She straightened her legs out under him. She became acutely aware that her jeans were still on and he was mostly naked. He moved his hand from her back and cupped both of her breasts in his hands. His sharp, ragged breaths made her hips rise. She was pinned by him as he straddled her, holding her in place with his thighs. She squeezed her eyes shut harder not allowing herself to find out if his towel was still holding on for dear life. That would ruin this moment of focusing only on Daryl’s mouth and hands.

He felt her hips move and her back arch. He split his attention between her breast and finding his way to the waistband of her jeans. One handed he unbuttoned them and ripped open the zipper. She gasped a little and dug her fingers into his back. She wanted him to do everything at once, anything he decided to do next was fine by her. He slowly let her nipple slide from his lips. He began kissing her collarbones, her neck, her jaw, and then, finally her mouth. She opened her eyes to find his were open as he watched and decoded every her every move and expression. She felt his fingertips under the elastic of her panties and stayed as still as possible, kissing him harder, brushing her tongue over his lips.

She was so wet. She probably had been since he first undressed in the bathroom. He moaned into their kiss as his fingers slid between her folds and over her clit. He was learning, exploring, and taking his time. He moved his other hand to the bed beside her head to support his weight and get a better angle. He drug his finger through her wetness and up onto her belly. He started to sit up, ending the slow, delicious kiss and she lifted her head trying to keep their lips together as long as possible. His large, strong hand pushed her back, actually shoved her, onto the mattress. Her eyes went wide.

When he gripped the waist of both her jeans and panties she had to look down. He was pulling them down while he worked his way to the foot of the bed. Miraculously the towel was still on his hips but only barely. She could see how hard he was. He was basically naked and when he slipped her pants off her feet he also dropped his towel on the floor. This is happening, she thought. Holy shit. Before any more thoughts could form he was spreading her legs, opening them by her ankles. He looked at every part of her with such intensity that she wasn’t at all surprised when he kissed her calves. Then he started his way up placing kissed behind her knee, on her thigh, on the inside of her thigh. He smoothed a hand up over her hip bone and rested it firmly on her belly as he kissed the sensitive skin in the crease of her hip. It was clear he wasn’t going straight to her pussy. Her eyes were fixed on him and as soon as he was within reach she put her hands in his hair.

Daryl’s eyes shot up at her, his mouth still on her hip. For just a second he seemed to being making a decision. Then he lifted his head and grabbed her wrists, one in each of his hands. He slammed them down on the bed firmly. Message received. She pressed them down to indicate she understood. He almost smiled as he dipped his head to place more kisses on her belly and just below her breasts. Her hips moved and tilted and his hands stopped them as well, fingers digging in hard against her hip bones. She moaned. So this is it, she thought, this is what he was afraid of?

He roughly forced her legs wider apart, careful not to put his thigh where they both wanted it. He leaned over her, his knees holding her thighs open, the cool air on her pussy making her tremble. Okay not just the air. His hands were on either side of her head now. How badly she wanted to put her hands on his arms, feel his muscles, touch every part of him. He looked down at her, almost drowsily, and the groaning purring rumble started in his chest again. He kissed her fiercely, briefly.

“This good?” he asked because he had to. Not because she needed him to but he needed assurance, guidance.

“Mmmhmmm,” she mewled and her body reflexively arched and tried to roll her hips against him.

“No,” he said tonelessly. She stopped.

“This ain’t the time to say this,” he started. He licked his lips and closed his eyes, gathering courage. “But I ain’t never, I mean, well, shit.” He blushed. She started to lift her hands to comfort him, sooth him, and let them fall back to her sides. So she just tilted her head slightly and smiled.

“S’okay,” she whispered. She felt like it would be disobeying too soon if she were to touch him so she had to find the words. She licked her lips and looked directly in his eyes. “Take your time, tell me what you want, show me, we do it how you need to, kay?”

Daryl answered by sliding a hand down her body, without breaking eye contact, and slipping a finger through her wetness again. She let out a small breath and he smiled just a bit. She swallowed hard.

“May I?” she nervously asked.

He grunted assent. So she carefully slid a hand over his, lining her fingers up with his. He groaned and closed his eyes, concentrating. She used her fingers to guide him, first circling her clit then dipping lower. She gently pressed his finger into her and sighed. She slid her hand to his wrist and pushed. It had the desired effect and his finger moved deeper into her. The sounds he made were always guttural, sincere, almost feral. Maybe he had never even had his fingers in a woman. This thought made her cunt ache and she clinched around him.

“Another,” she begged.

He obliged, slipping a second finger inside her. Her hips twitched toward him. His entire body started to move as he began to fuck her with his fingers. They seemed to become aware, for the first time, of his dick pressed between them. She struggled not to push her hips down on his fingers. She wanted him to fill her and she didn’t know if he could read the signs. She spread her legs wider and moaned, almost begging wordlessly. He obliged and slid a second finger in. Certain that it was not possible for him to being enjoying this as much as she was, Kristina flushed when she opened her eyes to see him watching her. That intense focus aimed at her. Like tracking an animal, he was reading every sign available to him. He bit his bottom lip. His eyes moved over her arms by her sides, her chest rising and falling, her hips rolling, the place where their skin touched at the hip.

He ground his palm into her clit and pulled his fingers almost completely out. Then, very nearly roughly, he pushed three fingers into her. He bit his lower lip. He was using only a fraction of his strength but watching his arm working to make her feel this good made her want to grab onto it, claw and scratch at him. He really was paying close attention and curled his fingers slightly inside her. Her cunt clenched tight on him and she balled the sheets of the bed in her fists. She didn’t recognize the sounds that came out of her mouth but some of them resembled his name. Then his thumb pressed on her clit. He didn’t move it, only increased the pressure.

“Oh god Daryl,” she gasped. “I’m going to come.” She couldn’t fill her lungs with air.

He put his mouth close enough to her ear that she almost felt his lips move. “No.”

She couldn’t contain a deep groan but it wasn’t protesting, it was resignation and she tried with all of her focus to relax her grip on his fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the mattress dip with his weight as he pressed up to be right above her, on top of her. His dick nudged at her belly and he hissed sharply. He had moved his weight to his knees to free his other hand. With it her gripped her jaw, under her chin and lifted it up. She was learning him as quickly as he was learning her. She opened her eyes. She was supposed to be looking at him, not escaping the sensations. His thumb was harder on her clit, he had more leverage with this angle. He leaned in and kissed her. This time forcing her lips apart with his tongue. He was hurried and desperate and hungry. She gave in and made room for him.

She wasn’t completely sure she had ever allowed anyone to control her like this. She was excited, thrilled, by it. The release of control, no longer making decisions, but mostly allowing him to take pleasure from her… that was flattering for lack of a better word. It made her feel sexy and uninhibited. In the past few years there hadn’t been time for those feelings. Every moment of life was filled with decisions and nothing remotely sexy. She wanted to relax and enjoy this but she was so close and it had been a while since anyone had given her an orgasm other than herself. And this was giving, if he ever allowed it this would be a helluva gift.

At almost the same moment that he pulled his mouth from hers he removed his fingers. The sudden emptiness made her gasp. He actually smiled. Still kneeling and holding her face he placed his fingers on her mouth. He inhaled deeply in an almost crude way, smelling her. He started to slowly part her lips, encouraging her to do what he wanted. She did. With her inhibitions nearly forgotten she started sucking his fingers, doing whatever this enigmatic man asked. Whatever pleased him. If she took the time to really think about it she might panic, think this was too different from some core part of her. She wasn’t going to do that. Instead she sucked his fingers deep into her throat, wanting only to pull those sounds from him. Or to finally make him grind into her, give her the friction she needed.

He took his fingers away and briefly kissed her. Then he mumbled something into her mouth.

“Huh?” she was barely able to focus. He released her chin and propped himself up, one hand on either side of her head again, and leaned in close.

“Ya want it?” he growled. She wasn’t entirely sure it was a question but she moaned and nodded emphatically.

Daryl straightened, placed a hard, heavy hand on her belly, and stared at her pussy for a moment. He wrapped his hand around his dick and began to slowly stroke. She couldn’t look away but watching made her ache. She realized his hand was on her stomach to keep her still so he could watch. He pressed harder when she started squirm and push her hips toward him.

“Uhn-uh,” he said without looking at her.

He was actually expertly rubbing the head of his dick against her clit. His sighs were deeper now. He slid his hand from her belly to her hip, nearly to her ass, and guided her to tilt and lift her hips how he wanted her. She felt exposed. Now embarrassment washed over her. Her legs were spread wide, her hips raised, and all for him, only him. So he could look at her. She could follow through and trust this or she could stop. She didn’t want to stop. She was amazed at how exciting this humiliation was, wanted to let her mind examine how much he intended to humiliate her. She was relieved when he guided her ass to rest on his thighs, her calves were trembling from the position.

Once she had relaxed and trusted him with her weight his hand went back to her belly. He stroked her clit with his thumb while also holding her down. She let out a small huff when she realized what he was doing. That made him glance up at her face. His head still tilted down but his eyes studying her behind his loose, messy hair. She wanted to pout, put on a show for him, antagonize him, but thought maybe that would come later, if they ever did this again. Instead she mouthed please and he lowered his gaze again.

His dick nudged at her pussy, sliding in just a bit but it was enough that she completely understood why he was holding her still. He’s really never done this?! her mind yelled. He pulled back almost punishing her for trying to rush. Then he started to slowly, excruciatingly slowly, slide into her. He released his grip on his dick and pushed into her until their hips met. He found her hips with his hands and pulled her closer. She didn’t know if he could go any deeper but she wanted it. Wanted all of him in her. She didn’t want this delicious slowness to end but she desperately needed him to move. Her hands pulled at the sheets using anything she could to stay still like he wanted. His eyes flicked up when he saw the movement but she didn’t notice. Her eyes were shut tightly trying to center herself.

“Kristina,” he said. A flat toneless word the way he said it but it had more meaning behind it than she had ever heard. She moaned and looked at him. He wanted needed? her to watch, to be present. He withdrew and using her hips as leverage pushed back in. He intended for her to feel every inch of his dick but was taking it slow for himself. Out nearly completely, back in tapping lightly against her cervix. This sudden, unexpected resistance was the first thing to elicit an involuntary reaction: “shit” he hissed, drawing out the word. She had always enjoyed it when her cervix was involved in sex, if it wasn’t hard pressure it was pleasant but this, this was mind altering. His exploration, his excitement combined with her inability to move and control the fucking made every sensation heightened.

Daryl was definitely exploring. He repeated the action. Out, in, pressure on her cervix. His fingers were going to leave bruises on her hips and she didn’t care. He increased his speed, shortening his strokes, lifting both of them just a little each time. His eyes had barely left the place where he disappeared inside her cunt but now he looked up to watch her breasts sway with his efforts. He leaned forward, unintentionally pushing in farther than he had yet, and ran his hands up her sides. She was liquid, pliant, and let him move her like a doll. He scooped her up with his arms under hers, hands gripping her shoulders for leverage. She was no longer in control of any part of her body and instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. She had enough presence of mind to think he is so strong before letting her head fall into the crook of his neck. She was panting with the speed of his thrusts.

He had lifted her off the bed and into his lap and she felt small and dizzy and wonderful. There was no space between them, no room for him to pull out with each thrust. Her clit rubbed against the coarse hair on his lower belly. She couldn’t stop the rolling of her hips, clenching and unclenching around him. He kissed her neck, sometimes scraping his teeth over her skin, not quite biting. His lips brushed against her ear. One hand moved up her neck and into her hair, then back to her shoulder, lower to her ass. He was exploring, touching every part of her. She felt like he was touching her everywhere at once, inside and out.

When his hand snaked between them and his rough fingers found her nipple she started to beg and plead and warn “I’m going to come, please Daryl, oh god please.”

He breathed against her as his fingers dug into her shoulder, finding more purchase and bringing them closer together when she was sure there had been no more room. His other hand still rolling and pinching her nipple. They were both moving faster now. No difference between them, in perfect rhythm, and she noticed more than felt her fingernails dig into his back.

“Mmhmm,” he grunted. “I want ya to.”

An incoherent stream of ohfuckDarylohfuckfuck poured out of her mouth, head flung back, body arched toward him. She clamped her legs tight against his sides as her orgasm spread from her center. His arms moved to encircle her and press her breasts against his chest. She moaned with this new sensation. Groaned actually. It was going to be too much soon.

And then it was too much. His breath hitched in his chest and she felt him tense nearly every muscle in his body. His groan started deep in his chest. She wanted to feel that vibrate through her so she sat up straighter and ground her hips down onto his dick. He buried his face between her breasts and she tangled her hands in his hair.

“I’m gonna…” he tried to say through clenched teeth. “Ah baby I’m comin’. Fuck. Fu…” He crushed his face against her chest. She felt his hips jerk a few times then become still, felt his dick spasm inside her, and now she felt she could sooth and reassure without permission. She stroked his sweat-dampened hair, kissed the top of his head, and ran her hands down his neck and back. Then her hands found his face and turned it up to hers and she kissed him. Hard and rough and deep. She forced his mouth open with her tongue. He kissed her back and as he did her grabbed her ass with both hands and lifted her up. He laid her back on the bed. She untangled her limbs from him. Then he slowly pulled out. She felt his cum trickle out, hot and more than a little satisfying.

He sank down heavily on the bed next to her. Half on his side, he laid an arm across her stomach and curled his fingers over her arm. She snuggled against his chest, still feeling small and safe but now also calm and quiet. Peaceful. With her eyes half-closed she languidly traced a scar on his arm.

“So that’s it huh?” he said quietly. She felt him smile as he kissed the top of her head.

“Well, when you put it like that,” she teased and giggled. She kissed his chest, pressed as much of her body against his as possible. “Yeah, that’s it, exactly it.”

Chapter 2

[nualaofthefaerie]

i would love to read something so 🎭☀️❤️ and no other requests. THANK YOU!

One Day of Progress

Pairing: Jayce Talis x Sky Young x Mel Medarda x Viktor

Request: Canon-compliant Hexquad Fluff

SUMMARY: After everything you both had been through; the pain, the torment, the utter longing, you and Jayce can only find your love leftover in the post-war rubble and go on to find various ways to show each other that your love is truly enough.

TAGS: tooth-rotting fluff, suggestive thoughts but nothing explicit happens, mmff, established relationship

MASTERLIST | AO3 version | WORDCOUNT: 1,562 words |

A/N: I will slowly get through all the requests. The drabble gifts are still open though. I LOVE doing these.

8:12 AM

“The weather is expected to peak at 26 degrees today in most parts of the country. So, don’t be tempted to overdress.” 

TV static was drowned by noise of running water in the bathroom and a cattle burning on the stove. An old, chipped beige mug with golden edges around the handle, an almost identical one in black, made of fine china, a see through glass with an ombre purple handle and a tulip at the bottom and a stained white cup leftover from last years ‘Progress Day’ were patiently placed next to the heated coffee maker, waiting to fulfill their purpose.

Four mugs perfectly in sync. 

A lot of things were perfectly in sync in the two bedroom apartment nested at the heart of Piltover. For example, the four toothbrushes bought in packs of two - Mel and Viktor shared a golden/black design, while Sky and Jayce sported a silly pack of swirly blues and reds. Or the books on the shelf in the living room ordered in several distinct sections - Jayce’s theoretical non-fiction, Sky’s classic collection, Mel’s leather clad volumes of poems and Viktor’s philosophy relics, put together by owner and size, except no one would be able to tell where Jayce began or Viktor ended, simply because they were…one.

They had been one for a while.

“One of us needs to wake him up.” Viktor slouched over the newspaper, making a rather weak attempt to skim across the headline before discarding it on the table. There was no point in pretending to read before coffee.

“When did he come home?” Sky jumped up and down trying to squeeze in tights she hadn’t worn since she became an assistant seeing as she would have to wear a skirt that morning. Someone had come home late and not done their laundry chore. It wasn’t her.

“Six.” Mel pressed her lips to Sky’s collarbone, still in her bedrobe. “I poked the bear last time. Someone else’s turn.” they both turned to Viktor with a particularly mischievous glimmer in their eyes.

“I am making coffee.” he noted, desperately trying to avoid the task of waking Jayce up.

“Coffee does itself.” 

Sly fox. 

“He is always so…” An over exaggerated sigh escaped his lips, yet he reached for his cane and pulled himself up. There was no use wasting air over a task that inherently belonged to him. No matter how passionately he did not wish to do it.

“Difficult?” Mel quirked a brow.

“Whiny?” Sky turned her head to one side.

“...cranky when he’s woken up.” Viktor contained a laugh. 

He was all three to be fair. 

The curtains in the bedroom had been pulled back, lending the loudly sleeping Jayce his much needed illusion of pitch darkness. Contrary to what he would usually do (cuddle in the corner) he had spread across the entire bed, laying on his stomach, everyone’s sheets kicked to the floor. It was undeniably warm to be fair.

No part of the last seven days had been kind to the charming face of progress. It was not enough that the council pressed for discoveries that simply required more time than given, but he also had to be the poster boy for the nobles coming from all parts of Runeterra to celebrate Progress Day.

The council's worries had been soothed by Mel and Heimerdinger’s, but even they couldn't do anything about the social engagements he was forced to attend. He'd murmur he's a scientist and not a celebrity and still spend the entire night with people Mel found barely tolerable. Although, to be fair, he was devilishly good at appealing to their egos without them ever coming close to him as a human being. It gathered investors, it made people believe in Hextech while Viktor and Sky obsessed over cracking the last of the runes.

All that to lead them to their current quandary - how to wake the prince of Progress? Mel used a rather simple approach - she would pepper his face with kisses until he woke up. After a while however that approach failed to produce the necessary results as all of them always turned out…late. Instead, she now just opened the curtains and let the light inside until he groaned and got up. 

Sky could never be quite that audacious. She'd crouch by the bed, stroke his hair and whisper something sweet until he woke up. Albeit, a lot more naive, it produced the same results as Mel's. She was now too scared of derailing their schedules to go near an oversleeping Jayce.

Viktor made up for all of that. For ten years, he had cracked the proper method of waking Jayce Talis up.

His cane poked at his partner's lower back. 

“Get up.” Viktor smirked when his partner just winced and turned to the other side. “Do not push your luck, pretty boy. Get up.” the next poke was on his calf. Jayce moaned, jerked his leg in the other direction and remained sound asleep. His hair had grown past his cheekbones, hiding his relaxed expression and the beard grown out of seven sleepless nights concealed the pout on his lips. "Last chance or the cane will land on your thick head.”

The loud growl that escaped Jayce's lips as he raised lazily on his elbows, back muscles flexing, twitched something dangerous inside of Viktor. Perhaps, it was not the girls that provoked him into a sensual morning, perhaps it was him tired and naked who was the catalyst. And perhaps on a different occasion Viktor wouldn't mind indulging in Jayce Talis and being late. 

That wasn't that morning. 

“It's so early…” Jayce hit his head against the pillow.

“It is certainly very late.” Viktor spared him the lecture on why coming home at six was a generally bad idea. He would be one to speak. Hypocritical to say the least. He sat next to him instead, fingers lazily stroking along the curve of his back.

“...urgh.” Jayce shuddered under his lover's touch. Half-baked indecent thoughts gathered at the back of mind. It must be noted Jayce Talis grabbed all he could and hoarded love in capacities that should not be allowed. His mother used to say finding one partner is a miracle and there he was, holding three people at the same time with no plans of letting even one of them go. All that to say, his morning thoughts were getting derailed into a territory where he imagined more than one hand caressing along his back. “The girls?” He puffed into the pillow.

“We can't leave without you on Progress Day, can we, counsellor Talis?” Mel had gotten up on the bed, purring into his ear. 

Viktor shook his head but ultimately smiled. There was a level of railing only Mel Medarda could achieve. He let her do her thing. Sky fiddled with the zipper of her skirt at the door. The maroon garment suited her nicely and the warm white tights didn't wash her out. He caressed Jayce's back one last time, fixed his waist coat, and made his way to her. 

“Turn around.” It was the gentlest of whispers, one that caused her sides to burn. No matter how much time had gone by since their first date, she was still the same girl that was too cautious to even hold his hand.

“Thank you.” She whispered back, fidgeting despite herself while Viktor zipped and buttoned the back of her skirt and tightened her waistcoat before kissing the same spot Mel had pecked earlier. There was something endearing and a bit amusing in watching her stutter around. “We'll be late!” Except for when it came to being on time. Then it was a whole different woman altogether. “Get up, Talis!” She landed a devastating slap on his ass that sent him flying up. There was nothing romantic or sensual about it but it was undeniably the funniest thing they'd seen in a good minute. It certainly killed the mood Jayce was labouring for.

“What was that for?!” he finally got up stretching his arms above his head. 

“Being early and potentially being very late!” Sky scrunched her nose at him. “Next time I'll let you sleep in front of the door.”

He leaned in, a cocky grin on his face.

“Are you gonna kick me out of my own house, Bambi?”

“Don't push your luck, progress boy.” Mel wrapped her arms around him. “I'll let her.”

“Viktor?!” big puppy eyes in fear of being cornered by a predator shot in his direction, almost pleading. The older man shrugged, enjoying watching his lover struggle.

“It would be a…suitable lesson.”

“Do you guys hate me?!” 

“We're fixing your unfortunate habits.” Mel ran her nails on his shoulder. He shivered again, but did his best to ignore the urges. 

“I need 10 minutes.”

“You need more.” Sky shook her head, bun bouncing around. She knew her partners better than anyone. Jayce was the type of man to say he needs ten minutes and took three hours instead. “Best I can do is 20 minutes and a cup of coffee.” 

“I'll take it.” He kissed her forehead, then ran from the bedroom into the bathroom, curses and clacking mixing with the stereo of the white tiles.

“He needs more than twenty minutes.” Viktor leaned on Mel’s shoulder. 

“She knows.” Mel smirked. 

“I put the clock back 20 minutes. He has about forty five minutes, but that is not something he needs to know.”

“Miss Young!” Viktor feigned offense. 

“He is…unreliable.” She readjusted her glasses. “And woke me up at six to open the door.”

They chuckled as the shower ran.

The coffee was done.

[thatapostateboy]

is that such a stretch of the imagination?

Pairing: None

Word Count: 2196

Synopsis: More than memories haunt Magnus Thorne's sleep

Prompt: Day Five: Nightmares from the Veilbound challenge by @/nympthi and @/citadrells on Twitter

Warnings: Canon-compliant slavery, harm towards children. (Magnus is my secondary Rook, a Qunari mage Warden)

Crossposted: Here on AO3

Magnus leaned back against the bough of the tree, head tilted towards the leaves as sunlight filtered through, warming his face as he relaxed, enjoying the cool breeze and nearby sound of someone the beginnings of a song.

He cracked an eye open when he heard the strings of a lute being plucked in time along to the melody, a song he remembered from many years ago, barely able to catch sight of the figure lounged on the other side of the bunk, only a boot-clad leg swinging below them.

“Call to me, call to me, lands far away,” a familiar female voice began to sing.

“This one again?” he asked, voice rough as he pulled himself from the draw of sleep.

“Tough crowd,” she hummed with laughter, changing up the melody, starting anew, “Can’t take my past, can’t take my history-”

“Can’t take my Pa, ‘cause his name’s a mystery,” he joined in on the next line, their voices melding together as she strummed her lute with expert grace.

“No, nothing you can take was ever worth keeping,” she finished on a lingering note, setting her lute aside before she let out a wistful sigh, “Don’t you wish every day could be like this?”

“It’s perfect,” he admitted, “It’s…”

A frown started to cross his face, something itching at the back of his mind. How long had they been sat up here? And where even was here?

Something’s not right.

He sat up, clambering around the tree branches to look at the young woman, a fresh faced elf with long dark hair, dressed in a spotless summer dress, brown eyes tilted up to glow golden in the afternoon sun.

She’s never looked this content before.

“Eva,” he said softly as he looked at her, “How did we get here?”

She smiled at him, that wide toothy grin, “Don’t you remember, silly? We’re home.”

“But that’s…” he began to ask her something else, but she moved with unnatural speed, turning from him and leaping to the ground below. He looked down, watching her land gracefully at the bottom of the tree, but she was no longer a woman grown, but instead a young girl, hair held back in bunches.

“Come on, I’ll show you!” she called up to him, racing away.

He clambered down quickly after her, giving chase. They were in the middle of an unfamiliar street, non-descript buildings around them. What in the Maker’s name was going on?

“Evie, wait!”

She crouched down, making her way through a hole in one of the walls, and as he followed her, he felt his own body shrinking down rapidly until he was of a similar age himself, no older than eight, crawling through the cubby space after her.

He finally emerged into the bottom of a cupboard, finding her sat cross-legged waiting for him. He sat opposite her, glancing around to realise that he knew this cupboard. It was their favoured hiding space as children, a place to talk without worry for anyone hearing.

His eyes focused on her in the dark and he realised that she was holding a damp cloth to her mouth, a small amount of blood soaked into it from her split lip.

A memory.

“We should just leave,” she sniffed back her tears, trying to put on a brave face as she always did.

“They’ll catch us and bring us back,” he said.

“They won’t if we’re clever about it,” she pouted a little but he noticed that it hurt her lip more.

“You shouldn’t have spoken back to Master.”

“He called you a nasty name.”

“He calls you worse,” he pointed out.

“I don’t care. He can hit me all he likes, he shouldn’t be nasty to you. You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said.

He pulled his knees up to hug to his chest, “Even if we did get out of here, I don’t know where I’d go.”

She set the rag aside, looking at him with a frown, “You’d come home with me, silly.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “We’re family.”

“But I’m not an elf like you.”

She shook her head, “That doesn’t matter. Family looks out for each other. That’s me and you. My Mama will love you, so will everyone else in the Alienage. She’ll be able to teach you all the songs that I can’t remember, and we can climb the vhenadahl together and play tag with the other kids in the alleys, and when we’re big enough, we’re going to be adventurers, and we can kill all the bad guys in Thedas so that no one ever gets hurt again. You’re my brother, Magnus.”

He smiled at that, pulling her in for a tight hug, “Thank you.”

She held him back, face pressed against his shoulder. After a moment, she leaned back to look at him, her hands holding on tight to his, “We’ll stay together always, won’t we?”

He blinked, “I…”

“Promise me, Magnus. You’ll stay with me, no matter what.”

He began to frown, feeling that itch at the back of his mind again.

This wasn’t how it happened.

They had scarpered out of their to hide somewhere else as their Master came looking for them.

“Evie…”

Her grip turned tighter, fingers digging into his skin, “Swear it to me Magnus. You’ll stay here with me, forever.”

He met her eyes, letting out a hard breath as the memory that held his mind faded, “You’re not her.”

She cocked her head at him, a smirk passing over her face, “Clever boy.”

He tried to pull away but she held strong, “Let me go, and relinquish her face, demon.”

“I tried to offer you what you wanted, asked ever so nicely,” she seethed, “Perhaps another memory will remind you why my version was much better.”

The creature wearing his sister’s face launched at him, toppling him over, but as he braced to hit his head on the ground beneath him, he instead felt himself flipping over, stomach turning and body righting itself as he found himself back on his feet, no longer a child but still a younger version.

Hands still gripped tight to his, Eva was standing before him, older as well, dark hair loose around her shoulders, tears in her eyes, her clothes soaked in blood.

“Magnus, we have to go.”

The memory overtook him, playing out before his eyes, “What? Go where? Are you hurt?”

“It’s not my blood.”

“But… oh Maker, Evie, what did you do?”

“What I had to. What I should have done years ago…” she turned, beginning to gather whatever supplies she could reach, “We have to move fast, before anyone realises what has happened. We have one chance to get out of here. If we stay we will be sold to someone else, they will not keep us together. That’s if they don’t hang me first.”

He watched her, feeling a lump growing in his throat, “I won’t let them hurt you.”

She reached up to cup his cheek, “You sweet boy… If something happens, you have to leave me behind. You have to run; to be free. This can’t all have been for nothing.”

He began to shake his head, “I won’t leave you.”

She grabbed his hands once again, “Promise me, Magnus.”

“I…”

The memories flickered, the pair of them sprinting through and hiding in the darkened alleyways of Minrathous. If they could make it outside the city, find a way to the border off the roads…

“There they are, stop them!”

They had been so close, running for the outer gate as it was beginning to swing shut, guards close on their heels. It had been his fault, he wasn’t as stealthy as his sister, and his Qunari form was harder to hide beneath cloak and shadow.

They weren’t going to make it.

With a hard shove, using every speck of his might he half pushed, half threw, her, sending her tumbling through the city gate as it slammed closed, leaving him trapped on one side, her on the other.

He rounded on the guards, magic flaring in his palms as swords and spears were drawn in his direction.

A cold shiver went up his spine as he felt a whisper at his ear, “Give in to me, sweet boy, and together we can face any force, man or monster, who would threaten you and your sister.”

“No, I…” his resolve began to falter as the guards drew closer.

“Without me, they will kill you and they will find her. You and I, we could keep her safe. Thedas itself would bend to our will. All you have to do is say yes.”

“She’ll be safe? You’d swear to never harm her?”

“If that is what you ask, sweet boy, then it shall be so,” it drawled, “You just need to let me in.”

He turned to face the demon fully, taking in the twisted visage of Eva that it still held, eyes aglow with unnatural magic as it held out a hand towards him.

He took in the sight of her, his beloved sister, the girl that had been his best friend from the moment they met, singing him lullabies to soothe his sleep, mixing salves in secret to help the pain when his horns grew, doing their Master’s bidding so that he wouldn’t come to any harm.

It should have been me. I should have done it. I should have protected you, Evie, I’m so sorry.

He clenched his fist tight and swung, twisting the Fade around him and summoning a blade as he did, driving it right through the demon’s chest.

“I will not be your puppet,” he growled, forcing the blade in deeper as the demon’s form began to shift, no longer able to maintain Eva’s face, “I did not need you that day, and I do not need you now.”

The memory around him crumbled, no longer held together by the demon’s will and at the sound of someone calling his name, he was wrenched from sleep.

~*~*~

He sat up, coughing and sucking in air, sweat on his face cooled instantly by the night air, a familiar figure knelt over him.

“Are you well, Thorne?” Davrin asked, a hand on his shoulder.

Magnus blinked a few times, recognising their shared campsite, Assan picking at a bone near the fire. He rubbed a hand over his face, dragging himself fully out of the dream.

“Just a nightmare,” he admitted, noticing the knowing look in his fellow Warden’s eye, “And not the usual Darkspawn kind.”

“I see,” Davrin passed him a water skin, which he accepted gladly.

“Since the sky tore open again, the demons have gotten more brazen,” he said.

“Do I need to be concerned? I’d hate to turn a blade on a friend,” his tone was light-hearted, but he knew that there was always a real danger.

Magnus gave a soft laugh, “If it comes to that, I won’t be me anymore. At least I can trust you to get the job done efficiently.”

“Well, for tonight at least, you’re still my brother in arms,” Davrin gave him a pat on the shoulder, “You should try and get some more rest.”

The Qunari waved him off, “I’ve slept enough for one night. You get some shut eye, I’ll keep watch.”

The elf nodded, not bothering the argue with him, though as he headed for his own bedroll, he paused in his steps, “Who’s Evie?”

Magnus glanced at him, “What?”

“You talked in your sleep,” he said, “You uh, you kept saying a name. That name.”

“My sister. The nightmare was about the last time I saw her… the day I got recruited into the Wardens.”

“What happened to her?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “I hope she’s back in Denerim, but with the world the way it is… I just don’t know.”

Davrin gave a solemn nod, “If she has half of your resolve, my friend, she will be well.”

“I hope so, Dav, I really do.”

~*~*~

Bumping into the so-called Veilguard in the middle of nowhere certainly hadn’t been part of the plan. He had been packing up the camp as Davrin and Assan scouted the area ahead when he heard the griffon call out.

He followed the source of the noise, stumbling out of the bushes to see Davrin conversing with a human mage and the most beautiful red headed dwarven woman he had ever seen, another elven woman nearby petting and cooing over Assan who preened at the attention she was giving him.

“With the Evanuris spreading the Blight, we find ourselves in need of the skills of a Warden,” the dwarf looked up as he approached, offering him a smile, “Though we wouldn’t say no to two.”

Davrin gave him the nod to let him know that there was no danger before he glanced back, “I’m sure that’s something we can discuss with your leader…?

The elven woman stood from where she was fussing over Assan, looking at the Wardens, “Name’s Rook, but you can call me-”

“Evie?”

[petronthermoplast]

Elevating Industry Standards: PVDF Materials by Petron Thermo Plast

In the dynamic landscape of industrial materials, Polyvinylidene Fluoride (PVDF) emerges as a standout choice, renowned for its exceptional properties and diverse applications. Petron Thermo Plast, a leading manufacturer in the field, specializes in delivering top-tier PVDF Materials crafted to surpass industry expectations. This blog meticulously explores the features, benefits, and applications of PVDF materials by Petron Thermo Plast, showcasing why they are the preferred solution for professionals worldwide.

Unveiling PVDF Materials

PVDF materials represent a pinnacle of innovation, characterized by their remarkable chemical resistance, thermal stability, and mechanical strength. Petron Thermo Plast’s PVDF materials are engineered with precision to offer unparalleled performance across a multitude of industrial settings.

Key Attributes of PVDF Materials

1. Chemical Resistance:

PVDF materials exhibit exceptional resistance to a wide spectrum of chemicals, including acids, bases, and solvents, making them ideal for corrosive environments.

2. Thermal Stability:

With a high melting point and remarkable heat resistance, PVDF materials maintain their integrity even under extreme temperatures, ensuring reliability in demanding conditions.

3. Mechanical Strength:

PVDF materials boast high tensile strength and durability, enabling them to withstand mechanical stress and pressure, thus guaranteeing longevity in challenging applications.

4. Low Permeability:

The low permeability of PVDF materials to gases and liquids prevents leakage, making them suitable for applications requiring excellent barrier properties.

5. Weatherability:

PVDF materials exhibit exceptional weather resistance, making them suitable for outdoor applications where exposure to UV radiation and harsh weather conditions is common.

6. Non-Toxicity:

PVDF materials are non-toxic and safe for use in applications involving potable water and food processing, adhering to stringent health and safety standards.

Applications of PVDF Materials

PVDF materials by Petron Thermo Plast find extensive applications across diverse industries:

Chemical Processing: Used for fabricating pipes, fittings, and linings in chemical plants due to their resistance to corrosive chemicals.

Construction: Employed in architectural cladding, roofing, and facades for their durability and weather resistance.

Electronics: Utilized in printed circuit boards and semiconductor manufacturing for their electrical insulation properties.

Transportation: Applied in aerospace and automotive industries for interior and exterior components due to their lightweight and high strength-to-weight ratio.

Medical: Used in medical equipment and devices requiring sterilizability and chemical resistance.

Advantages of Choosing Petron Thermo Plast

Advanced Manufacturing Techniques:

Petron Thermo Plast employs cutting-edge manufacturing processes and rigorous quality control measures to ensure PVDF materials meet the highest standards.

Customization Options:

The company offers PVDF materials in various formulations, sizes, and colors to meet specific customer requirements.

Expert Technical Support:

Comprehensive technical support and guidance are provided to assist customers in selecting the right PVDF materials and ensuring proper integration into their projects.

Sustainability Commitment:

Petron Thermo Plast is committed to sustainable manufacturing practices, ensuring their PVDF materials are environmentally friendly and compliant with global standards.

Why Choose PVDF Materials from Petron Thermo Plast?

Investing in PVDF materials from Petron Thermo Plast guarantees superior quality, reliability, and performance. Here are some compelling reasons to choose Petron Thermo Plast:

Unmatched Quality: PVDF materials from Petron Thermo Plast adhere to the highest quality standards, ensuring consistency and reliability.

Tailored Solutions: With a wide range of formulations and customization options available, you can find the perfect PVDF material for your specific application.

Technical Expertise: Petron Thermo Plast provides expert technical support to guide you through every stage, from material selection to project completion.

Sustainability: By choosing PVDF materials from Petron Thermo Plast, you are supporting environmentally friendly manufacturing practices and contributing to a greener future.

Conclusion

PVDF materials by Petron Thermo Plast redefine excellence in the industrial sector. Their unparalleled properties, reliability, and versatility make them indispensable across various industries. Choose Petron Thermo Plast for PVDF materials that exceed your expectations and elevate your projects to new heights of success.

[rajshreemetals7890]

What Is Brass Sheet, Copper Sheet & the Best Way to Use Imported Metal Products?

Introduction: Build Better with the Right Sheet Metal

When it comes to fabrication, design, construction, or electrical work, material selection is everything. You need metals that deliver on strength, reliability, appearance, and performance. Among the most trusted are brass sheet, copper sheet, and various imported products that meet international quality standards.

But what is the difference between these materials, and which one is the best fit for your application? This guide will walk you through everything you need to know.

What Is Brass Sheet?

A brass sheet is a rolled flat metal sheet made from a copper and zinc alloy. It’s widely used due to its bright gold-like color, corrosion resistance, and high workability.

✔ Key Features:

Gold Finish: Offers an elegant, upscale look.

Durable & Tough: Resists wear, corrosion, and water damage.

Flexible to Fabricate: Easily cut, bent, stamped, or engraved.

Non-Magnetic: Safe for sensitive environments.

✔ Best Applications:

Decorative panels, nameplates, and signage

Hardware components like knobs, locks, and hinges

Marine and plumbing fittings

Musical instruments and crafts

Need long-lasting brass with superior finish? Explore the finest Brass Sheet varieties for industrial and decorative use.

What Is Copper Sheet?

A copper sheet is a flat-rolled product made from pure copper, often over 99.9% purity. It’s best known for its electrical conductivity, antibacterial surface, and thermal performance.

✔ Top Properties:

Best Electrical Conductivity: Ideal for electric wiring, circuits, and power systems.

Antimicrobial: Naturally eliminates bacteria and viruses.

Weather Resistant: Develops a patina that protects against corrosion.

Easy to Work With: Soldering, cutting, and forming is simple.

✔ Best Uses:

Electrical panels, switchgear, and PCB circuits

Kitchen countertops and hospital surfaces

Roofing and architectural cladding

Solar panels and HVAC systems

Looking for copper that delivers industrial strength and hygiene? Check out high-performance Copper Sheet trusted by professionals.

What Are Imported Products in the Metal Sheet Industry?

Imported products refer to metal sheets sourced from global suppliers, known for their premium alloy quality, advanced surface finishes, and tight manufacturing tolerances.

✔ Why They Stand Out:

Global Certifications: ASTM, ISO, DIN, or JIS standards guaranteed.

Specialized Alloys: Includes bronze, nickel silver, phosphor bronze, and more.

Custom Finishes: Mirror polish, matte, brushed, embossed, or laminated.

High Precision: Often used in aerospace, electronics, and export-oriented industries.

✔ Best Applications:

CNC machining and laser-cut designs

Luxury interior panels and façades

High-end export products

Aerospace and marine parts

Get the best of international quality with certified Imported Products suited for demanding industries.

What Is the Best Metal Sheet Based on Your Project?

Choosing the right sheet metal depends on your application’s needs—performance, appearance, hygiene, or export compliance. Application TypeBest Sheet TypeReasonDecorative and ArchitecturalBrass SheetElegant finish and formabilityElectrical and Medical UseCopper SheetConductivity and antimicrobial surfaceExport ManufacturingImported ProductsGlobally compliant and precisePlumbing and MarineBrass SheetCorrosion resistance and durabilityHeat Transfer ProjectsCopper SheetThermal performance and solderability

What Is the Best Thickness for Brass, Copper & Imported Sheets?

Thickness impacts durability, flexibility, and cost.

✔ General Thickness Guide:

0.3–1mm: Great for crafts, signage, electronics

1–3mm: Used for furniture hardware, cladding, roofing

3mm and above: Suitable for structural parts, busbars, heavy-duty applications

Imported sheets often offer custom thickness options with tighter tolerance ranges.

What Is the Best Finish for Metal Sheets?

Surface finish affects both appearance and corrosion protection. Finish TypeIdeal ForMirror PolishedInterior decor, signage, hotelsBrushedKitchens, cabinets, commercial spacesMatteIndustrial design and understated luxuryLaminatedMarine, coastal, or corrosive environmentsPatinaOutdoor installations and vintage styles

Imported products often come pre-finished, saving time and cost during fabrication.

What Is the Best Way to Store & Maintain Metal Sheets?

Proper storage and care maintain the sheet’s integrity and shine.

✔ Storage Tips:

Store flat or in vertical racks to prevent warping.

Cover with foam or plastic sheets to protect from scratches.

Avoid stacking dissimilar metals together to prevent galvanic corrosion.

✔ Maintenance Tips:

Brass: Polish with mild cleaner; apply lacquer for outdoor durability.

Copper: Let natural patina form or clean with vinegar-salt solution.

Imported Sheets: Follow supplier guidelines for coated or textured finishes.

Conclusion: What’s Best Depends on What You Need

Now that you understand what is a brass sheet, copper sheet, and imported product, you can confidently choose what’s best for your business or project. Whether your priority is durability, aesthetic appeal, precision, or certification compliance, there's a metal sheet designed to deliver exactly what you need.

[bloggingexpert8]

Building Smarter Healing Spaces

Turnkey Operation Theatres by Hansraj Nayyar

VOC-Free. Antimicrobial. Eco-Conscious. Built for Life. Engineered for Care.

In today’s healthcare landscape, clinical spaces are not just rooms. They are high-performance ecosystems where infrastructure plays as critical a role as personnel and technology. Among these, Operation Theatres (OTs) are the most vital—and demanding—spaces to design and build.

At Hansraj Nayyar Medical India Pvt. Ltd., we don’t just deliver parts of a hospital. We deliver fully-integrated, turnkey healthcare infrastructure, engineered from the ground up for hygiene, performance, and compliance. With over three decades of experience, we are one of the most trusted medical equipment suppliers in India, combining technical excellence with clinical insight.

From modular operation theatres and ICU equipment, to our game-changing hygienic wall cladding system, Hansraj builds spaces that protect, perform, and inspire confidence. We call it smart care—engineered to heal.

The Case for Turnkey Execution in Healthcare

The cost of delays, non-compliance, or infection control failures in hospitals is enormous. Every element of your OT—air quality, lighting, gas supply, wall finish—must function in unison. This level of synchronization can’t be achieved through fragmented contracting. It needs a turnkey partner who understands both medical engineering and clinical requirements.

Our turnkey model is built on 5 pillars:

Antimicrobial Cladding:

We pioneered the use of PALCLAD™ VOC-free hygienic wall cladding in India. It resists bacteria, stains, fire, and chemicals—making it ideal for OTs, ICUs, and labs.

Civil + Electrical Integration:

From flooring to false ceiling, every surface is aligned to safety codes. Electrical panels, UPS backups, and low-voltage controls are built for medical use.

HVAC & MGPS Systems:

Hansraj delivers complete HVAC for laminar flow, HEPA filtration, and pressurization. Our MGPS setups include manifolds, terminal outlets, alarm systems, and emergency

shut-off valves.

Operation Theatre Equipment:

We supply and integrate operation theatre equipment such as surgical tables, lights, pendants, and monitoring devices—ready for use on day one.

ICU & Recovery Room Setup:

Our ICU equipment includes ventilators, syringe and fluid warmers, suction pumps, infusion systems, patient warmers, and pupilometers—all aligned to global standards.

Modular Operation Theatres That Work Better, Safer, Longer

Hansraj’s modular OT solutions go beyond basic prefabrication. Every component is factory-finished, precision-engineered, and tested for compliance with NABH, HTM, and ASHRAE guidelines.

Prefabricated Panels: Faster installation, better thermal and sound insulation

Zero VOC Materials: Healthier indoor air quality for surgical staff

Antimicrobial Surfaces: 24/7 defense against microbial growth

Air & Pressure Control: HEPA-validated laminar airflow with BMS integration

The result? An OT suite that is hygienic, efficient, and maintenance-friendly.

Learn more about our modular operation theatre

Hygienic Wall Cladding That Sets the Benchmark

Our hygienic wall cladding system, PALCLAD™, is one of our most powerful differentiators.

Antimicrobial: Destroys over 99% of microbes on contact

VOC-Free: No off-gassing, safe for surgical environments

Chemical Resistant: Withstands repeated cleaning with disinfectants

Fire Rated: Meets Class B safety standards

Available in multiple colors and textures, PALCLAD™ also improves aesthetics—essential for creating calm, reassuring medical environments.

Explore our hygienic wall cladding

Critical ICU Equipment for Life-Saving Precision

A hospital is only as strong as its weakest unit. Our ICUs are designed to operate seamlessly with the support of our full line of ICU equipment, including:

Syringe & fluid warmers

Anesthesia and respiratory solutions

Multi-parameter monitors

Pupilometers and patient warming devices

All equipment is compliant with international norms, serviceable locally, and supported by our engineering team pan-India.

View our ICU equipment

A Trusted Medical Equipment Supplier in India

Hansraj is not just a builder or a vendor. We are a medical equipment supplier in India with a difference—bringing together design, supply, and service under one roof.

We cater to:

Government and private hospitals

Turnkey contractors and biomedical consultants

Chain clinics and IVF centers

Hospital architects and planners

Backed by branches in Mumbai, Delhi, and Chennai, our support is just a call away—whether you need a new OT built or equipment recalibrated.

Visit our homepage to explore our full capabilities.

Why Hospitals Choose Hansraj Nayyar

Pan-India Execution

3-Decade Legacy

End-to-End Expertise

VOC-Free, Eco-Safe Materials

Dedicated Engineering Support

We have delivered OT and ICU infrastructure in some of India’s most respected hospitals and are trusted by procurement heads, biomedical engineers, and healthcare architects nationwide.

Let's Build the Future of Care

The demand for smart, efficient, and safe medical infrastructure is growing. At Hansraj Nayyar, we are ready to meet that demand with turnkey solutions that don’t just meet standards—they exceed them.

Whether you need a single modular OT or an entire critical care wing, Hansraj has the expertise, execution capability, and passion to deliver.

Contact us at +91 9326672042

 Email us at info@hansrajnayyar.com

 www.hansrajnayyar.com

 L-8, Laxmi Industrial Estate, New Link Rd., Oshiwara, Andheri (W), Mumbai – 400053

[dhlinfra]

Interior construction for hospitals, clinics, hotels and restaurants Delhi NCR

Interior Construction for Hospitals, Clinics, Hotels, and Restaurants in Delhi NCR – Delivered by way of dlhinfra In incredibly specialised environments like healthcare and hospitality, indoors creation is greater than just design—it’s about protection, capability, compliance, and the general enjoy. At dlhinfra, we concentrate on interior creation for hospitals, clinics, motels, and restaurants in Delhi NCR, delivering spaces that integrate shape with characteristic, design with sturdiness, and innovation with hygiene. Our group is professional in coping with the unique demands of those sectors, making sure that every assignment supports operational needs even as growing an inviting, efficient, and regulatory-compliant surroundings.

In the healthcare region, interiors directly impact no longer simply consolation however restoration and operational glide. Dlhinfra offers whole turnkey interior production for hospitals and clinics, integrating advanced scientific infrastructure with contemporary design principles. We apprehend that cleanliness, ventilation, ease of motion, and accessibility are vital in such settings. That’s why we use medical institution-grade materials like anti-bacterial vinyl floors, wipeable wall finishes, modular partitions, and laminar airflow-well suited ceiling systems. Our layouts prioritize affected person consolation, contamination control, and optimized movement of group of workers and system. Whether it’s OPDs, session rooms, ICUs, diagnostic facilities, or ready areas, each area is designed for maximum functionality and protection.

We additionally ensure strict adherence to NABH, fire safety, and constructing code rules all through the construction procedure. From electric load calculations to MEP integration and oxygen pipeline concealment, our crew brings engineering precision and enterprise-particular information. We additionally deploy custom designed cabinetry, handrails, cleanroom lighting, nurse stations, and signage answers to guide clinic-grade workflow. Our enjoy in working with each non-public clinics and massive multispeciality hospitals throughout Delhi NCR makes us a dependable partner for healthcare infrastructure development.

In parallel, dlhinfra brings a awesome set of talents and creativity to hospitality interior construction, which includes inns, lodges, cafes, and eating places. We recognize that inside the hospitality enterprise, ambiance and guest revel in are the whole lot. The indoors environment needs to captivate the senses whilst assisting smooth operations for the personnel. Our team collaborates with architects, cooks, F&B managers, and hospitality experts to construct areas which might be visually stunning and almost seamless. From elegant lodge lobbies to themed great-eating areas, high-footfall kitchens to luxurious guest rooms, we deliver turnkey construction answers that meet global hospitality requirements.

Every hospitality area is specific—and so is our method. For accommodations, we create grand receptions, spa regions, banquet halls, and contemporary visitor suites with attention to lights, acoustic manage, and top class finishes. We offer specified indoors production for back-of-house regions like laundry, kitchens, and carrier corridors to ensure complete operational readiness. For restaurants and cafes, our awareness is on idea-pushed layout, green kitchen-to-desk workflow, ambient lighting, and Instagram-worthy aesthetics. We additionally cope with bar counters, wood paneling, custom fixtures, and ceiling installations that align together with your logo identity.

What makes dlhinfra stand out in Delhi NCR’s competitive production space is our dedication to end-to-give up challenge shipping. From civil works and partitioning to floors, cladding, plumbing, HVAC, electricals, and false ceilings, we provide included solutions. This one-window technique simplifies conversation, avoids price overruns, and guarantees quicker assignment transport. We also provide unique 3-D layouts, BOQs, and site supervision to make sure every project stays heading in the right direction, both in phrases of time and excellent.

Another key location we cognizance on is fabric selection—especially essential in sectors like healthcare and hospitality in which wear-and-tear is high, hygiene is critical, and aesthetics need to impress. For medical interiors, we use high-stress laminates, anti-microbial paints, epoxy flooring, and SS fittings which can face up to rigorous cleansing and each day use. In lodges and eating places, we use a mix of natural stones, laminates, acoustic wall panels, fire-rated substances, and electricity-green lights that complement each safety and comfort.

Sustainability is also a growing priority. Dlhinfra integrates power-efficient HVAC structures, water-saving fixtures, LED lighting fixtures, and green substances anywhere feasible to reduce environmental impact and running charges. In both hospitals and hotels, we layout for herbal light, thermal consolation, and smart space zoning to limit power intake and enhance person nicely-being.

Beyond creation, our collaborative technique guarantees every stakeholder’s enter is heard and addressed. We work intently with healthcare professionals, hospitality experts, MEP specialists, and logo designers to translate vision into fact. Our submit-handover guide includes minor maintenance, format modifications, and machine optimizations—making sure your area stays operational and excessive-performing in the end.

Having finished multiple projects for clinics, diagnostic centers, cafes, price range motels, and four-star residences across Noida, Delhi, and Gurugram, dlhinfra has built a robust reputation for reliability, interest to element, and industry-specific execution. Clients admire our professionalism, technical knowledge, obvious pricing, and the high popular of finishes we supply throughout projects.

To sum up, dlhinfra offers specialised interior creation answers for hospitals, clinics, lodges, and eating places across Delhi NCR, combining enterprise know-how with execution excellence. Our potential to tailor each project to its intended use, person profile, and compliance requirements sets us apart. Whether you're planning to construct a brand new diagnostic lab, revamp an ageing guesthouse, or create a display-stopping restaurant indoors, dlhinfra is the associate you may believe.

Contact us today to discuss your task needs and discover how we assist you to create purposeful, beautiful, and compliant areas that deliver long-term price and unequalled experience.

[ecthelionofthefountain]

Till Death Reunites Us - Ch2. Free Rides

Humour (Mostly); A non-traditional ghost story; Canon-compliant, as long as one ignores ghosts; Fix-It, but I'm not going to change any book-canon for it; More urban legends about the effect of Elvish lineage; And more urban legends about what wizards can do.

Based on Tolkien’s writings, not the film trilogy. Main Characters: Théodred, Boromir Rating: PG

Previous: Chapter 1. Reunion

Chapter 2. Free Rides

Going upriver was easier said than done—especially when one did not wish to miss the action, which was already beginning to unfold before their eyes. Théodred and Boromir, now well aware of their condition and trying to be considerate about it, stood a little apart from the living men who bustled about, preparing and loading near the ships. Quietly, they weighed the possibility of securing another free ride—unseen and unbothered.

“This may be difficult—I think the Elf can see us,” Théodred said to Boromir in a low voice, casting an uneasy glance toward the figure clad in green and brown, a grey cloak draped over his shoulders and a bow slung across his back. He stood not far from Aragorn, seemingly watching his surroundings with idle ease. “That is an Elf, right?”

“Aye,” Boromir nodded. “Of course he can see us. And just so you know—he can hear us too, even from that distance. That is Legolas of the Woodland Realm. I am not certain how much I am at liberty to share, but this should be safe: I traveled with a company of nine—and he was one of us.”

“I have never dealt with an Elf before,” Théodred said. “And I am beginning to wonder how much more I will have to learn in death.”

“And I am not sure I am ready to face old companions who still live—while I am dead,” Boromir muttered. “Least of all after they sang songs for me once I was gone.”

Just then, the Elf smiled, his piercing eyes turning their way. Both men—or the ghosts of what they had once been—tensed. And to their embarrassment, he walked straight toward them.

“Well met, my friend,” he said to Boromir, as though this were but another meeting after a brief parting. Then his gaze turned to Théodred. “You I have not met, I deem—but by your bearing, I would say you are—were—of the Rohirrim.”

At least he spoke the Common Tongue—Théodred had no confidence he could manage Sindarin without stumbling over every other word at this point in his life—no, death—by wind and mane, adapting was hard!—and he privately vowed to haunt his grandfather’s ghost if he were ever made to learn it again.

“Well met, Master Elf. I am Théodred, son of Théoden King of Rohan—the late Prince, as you have most perceptively observed, both with your eyes and with your tongue.”

“I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood,” said the Elf with a light laugh, before shifting into a more formal tone. “We have met your father, son of Théoden. I am glad to report that he has recovered from his grievous state, and was well and hale when we left him at Helm’s Deep. Even now, as we speak, he rides to war.”

A wave of disbelief and wonder washed over him—and for the first time since his death, Théodred felt something warm, like tears, rise in his throat.

“Tell me more,” was all he could say.

And so he heard what had passed after Boromir’s death—how the three companions gave pursuit in a bold attempt to rescue their little friends, how they were reunited with Gandalf in the haunted forest, and how their road led them at last to the Golden Hall.

Boromir listened just as intently. At the mention of Gandalf, he gave a small grunt and muttered something under his breath—and Théodred thought he caught words like: “Thrice-blasted wizards!”

“I could stand here and speak with you from night to dawn—and fill the hours with tales of Helm’s Deep and the roads that led us here,” the Elf said with a mischievous smile. “But folk may begin to wonder why I linger so long… and seem to be speaking to empty air.”

“You took the Paths of the Dead—under Dwimorberg,” Théodred said, still turning over all he had heard. Even he shivered at the name of that place. “Glad I was not the second Prince of Rohan to venture in there. But you are right—we have lingered too long. Any chance we might join you on the road? And… perhaps you could exercise a bit of discretion, and not mention us to the others—so they do not, well, panic. Not everyone is as composed as Lord Angbor of Lamedon, as we have come to learn.”

The Elf laughed. “I intend to do exactly that, my late prince. My Dwarf friend, Master Gimli, son of Glóin, would surely appreciate the peace of mind. Come, friends—war awaits us.”

By the time they set off, they saw many more arrivals. The sons of Elrond were a wonder unto themselves. “I once read they rode with Eorl the Young to the Fields of Celebrant,” Théodred murmured to Boromir.

The Dúnedain of the North were no less impressive—tall and grim, each seeming cut from the same cloth as Aragorn himself—and Théodred quietly wondered whether they, too, would linger after death, as he and Boromir had.

Angbor of Lamedon arrived with a great host of men, though he no longer seemed able to see Théodred or Boromir—a quiet relief to both. Aragorn bade them ride north on horseback, and so they did not embark with the others.

Going upriver in man-made ships was nothing like their passage in the Elven boat—and it was not an experience Théodred was accustomed to. Even knowing full well there was no real danger of drowning, he quickly grew seasick. Boromir, by contrast, seemed far more at ease, his confidence born of past experience. The fleet rowed steadily throughout the day, and as evening fell, a red glow rose in the north.

“Minas Tirith is burning,” Boromir said with a grimace. Théodred observed that he grew graver with every league they gained northward.

“We are getting there,” he said, placing a hand on Boromir’s shoulder—and silently wishing the ships would move faster. I wish we had a horse, he thought once more. Could the Mearas see us? Would Shadowfax be willing to bear a late prince? After all, he bore a wizard.

Hope stirred in the middle of the night. A wind arose, blowing up from the sea, and before long, all the ships raised their sails.

In the third hour of the morning, they came to Harlond, riding the heels of rain and the returning sun.

“I never expected to see that banner raised in my lifetime,” Boromir said, his voice thick with feeling. “When I was young, I used to wonder why my father was not king, when he ruled as one. I asked him once—how many hundreds of years needs it to make a steward a king, if the king returns not?”

He let out a low, self-mocking laugh.

“And he told me, ‘Few years, maybe—in other places of lesser royalty. In Gondor, ten thousand years would not suffice.’” [1]

Théodred looked at him—once the heir to the Stewardship, a mighty man born to bear the weight of duty, yet fated never to hold the sceptre nor wear the crown.

“Did that trouble you?” he asked.

“Aye,” Boromir admitted after a pause. “For a little while, at least.”

He fell silent for a moment, then spoke again.

“But I never thought I would witness the return of the King. I wonder what my father will say.”

“Do you think we can somehow take part in this?” Théodred asked, as the ships pulled into the harbour and the Dúnedain, the sons of Elrond, the warriors of Lamedon and Lebennin, and others from the southern fiefs disembarked to join the battle—Aragorn son of Arathorn at their head.

“I doubt it,” Boromir said, as one man ran straight through him without noticing. “See? We still cannot touch them.”

“At least let us get closer,” Théodred replied. “I see the Rohirrim—my father and Éomer must have arrived!”

“There—that is your cousin, is it not?” Boromir asked, pointing toward a Rider in the distance beside a high standard, where the white horse flew upon green.

“Aye,” Théodred said. “But that is the King’s standard next to him—and I do not see my father.” A shadow of worry crossed his face. “Go on ahead—I need to find out what has happened!”

“I will need to head to the City as well,” Boromir replied. “Seems we will have to part ways—for now. I will meet you at the Citadel. I need to find my brother—and my father.”

As Théodred moved through the fields of the Pelennor, he began to understand. It was true—not all lingered. In truth, very few did. With the sight granted him in death, he saw that most of the lives lost in the slaughter—men and beasts alike—rose and faded, vanishing like wisps of silver smoke amid the ruin, the blood, and the bitter fury of war.

So many deaths—it astonished him. So much hatred, so much blood.

I wonder what can come of this, once everything settles, he thought.

He did not find his father on the battlefield. But soon enough, he understood what had come to pass.

”Mighty was the fallen, and meet was his ending.” And it grieved him—more deeply than he had expected.

I may yet find him, Théodred thought, a small flame of hope rekindled. If I linger because of my Elvish blood—then he had it, too. I may yet find him.

But before that, he came upon the place where it had happened. The foul carcass of the fell beast still lay there, stinking of death. As he approached the spot where the King’s guards had fallen, he saw a horse—or rather, the ghost of one—standing alone. White of mane and body, the creature lingered, forlorn and sorrowful.

“Snowmane!” he exclaimed.

The horse turned to look at him, eyes still clouded with bewilderment, fear, and sorrow. Then they widened—just a little—in recognition.

“Come here,” he said. And the horse came.

“Great—I wondered if one of the Mearas could see me,” Théodred said, rubbing the white ghost-horse’s neck. “I heard what happened.”

The horse tensed beneath his hand, growing restless.

“It was a foe beyond you,” Théodred said gently. “Not everyone can be like Shadowfax.”

The horse stiffened, then snorted in protest—as if to say, “That is no comfort.”

“What do you wish to do now?” Théodred asked with a faint smile, his hand passing once more along the ghost-horse’s neck in a soothing motion. “Will you ride with me? My friend and I could well use your strength.”

The horse protested fiercely.

“Shhh,” Théodred murmured, fixing him with a look—one he imagined Eorl the Young might once have given to Felaróf.

“Do you truly want me to say the words?” he said softly. “All that talk about being Mansbane, owing a life or a weregild, and so on? You are no one’s bane. Come with me—we have yet a world to see. Together.”

The proud horse stood motionless for a heartbeat, then bowed his head in assent.

And together, they turned toward the White City, the great fortress of the Free Peoples, while all about them, the servants and allies of the Dark Lord were being driven out and slain, and the tale of Gondor’s wrath and terror was written in fire and steel.

Notes:

[1] Boromir's question and Denethor's answer are quoted from LotR.

Next: Chapter 3. Ascent

[seo678]

What is copper clad steel wire used for

Copper clad steel wire (CCS) is a composite material that combines the strength of steel with the electrical conductivity of copper. Manufactured by bonding a copper layer onto a steel core through electroplating, cladding, or other metallurgical processes, CCS offers a cost-effective alternative to pure copper conductors while maintaining critical performance characteristics. This article explores the diverse applications of copper clad steel wire across industries, highlighting its role in modern technology and infrastructure.

Telecommunications and Cable Industries CCS is widely used in telecommunications, particularly in coaxial cables for cable TV (CATV) subscriber lines and broadband networks. Its ability to leverage the "skin effect"—a phenomenon where high-frequency signals travel primarily along the conductor's surface—allows CCS to match the conductivity of pure copper at frequencies above 5 MHz. This makes it ideal for inner conductors in coaxial cables, where copper ensures signal integrity while steel provides mechanical strength. For instance, Shanghai BISCO International Corporation’s CCS products, compliant with standards like ASTM B227 and GB 12269, are deployed in CATV systems and local area networks (LANs), offering durability and cost efficiency.

Electrical Power Transmission and Grounding In the power sector, CCS serves as a reliable conductor for overhead transmission lines, grounding systems, and railway electrification. Its high tensile strength, derived from the steel core, enables it to withstand mechanical stress in long-span installations. Meanwhile, the copper layer ensures low electrical resistance, critical for efficient power transfer. CCS is also used in grounding rods for electrical installations, where its corrosion resistance—enhanced by surface treatments like tin or silver plating—extends service life. For example, Jiangsu Reliable Industry Co., Ltd. produces CCS wires with conductivities ranging from 21% to 40% IACS, suitable for power transmission and grounding applications.

Electronics and Component Manufacturing CCS wire is a preferred material for electronic components, such as connectors, leads, and printed circuit board (PCB) traces. The copper layer provides solderability and electrical conductivity, while the steel core adds structural rigidity. This combination is valuable in high-density electronics, where space constraints demand materials that balance performance and mechanical integrity. Additionally, CCS is used in RF (radio frequency) cables for high-frequency applications, such as antennas and wireless communication systems, where its skin-effect properties ensure minimal signal loss.

Railway and Transportation Infrastructure The transportation sector relies on CCS for catenary wires in electrified railways and tram systems. Here, the material’s strength-to-weight ratio is crucial for supporting overhead lines over long distances. For example, Japan’s Shinkansen bullet trains use CCS catenary wires to ensure reliable power delivery at high speeds. CCS is also employed in grounding systems for railway infrastructure, protecting against lightning strikes and electrical faults.

Defense and Aerospace Applications In defense and aerospace, CCS is used for lightweight, high-strength wiring in aircraft, satellites, and military equipment. Its resistance to vibration and extreme temperatures makes it suitable for avionics systems, where reliability is non-negotiable. Additionally, CCS is used in shielded cables to protect sensitive electronics from electromagnetic interference (EMI).

Renewable Energy and High-Temperature Systems CCS is gaining traction in renewable energy projects, such as solar farms and wind turbines, where its durability and conductivity are valued in harsh environments. It is also used in high-temperature applications, such as industrial furnaces and heating elements, where copper’s thermal conductivity and steel’s heat resistance are synergistic.

Conclusion Copper clad steel wire (CCS) has emerged as a versatile material with applications spanning telecommunications, power transmission, electronics, transportation, defense, and renewable energy. Its unique combination of steel’s mechanical strength and copper’s electrical conductivity makes it indispensable in industries where performance, cost, and durability are critical. As technology advances, CCS continues to evolve, with new specifications (e.g., ASTM’s proposed 21–70% IACS standards) expanding its potential in emerging fields. Whether in high-frequency cables, railway catenaries, or aerospace wiring, CCS remains a testament to the power of composite materials in modern engineering. Its adaptability and reliability ensure that copper clad steel wire will remain a cornerstone of infrastructure and technology for years to come.

[claddingservice]

Why Hospital Wall Panels Are Essential for High-Risk, Infection-Control Environments   

Healthcare infrastructure today is no longer just about capacity and care—it’s about control. Especially infection control. In this context, hospital wall panels have become a vital feature in modern medical environments, offering a crucial line of defense against cross-contamination and microbial buildup. 

The Hidden Risks of Traditional Wall Surfaces 

Many hospitals still rely on painted drywall, tiles, or laminates, which—while budget-friendly—pose hygiene risks. Grout lines in tiles trap moisture and pathogens. Painted surfaces chip, peel, and absorb microbes over time. These traditional options demand constant upkeep and may still fall short of hospital-grade sanitation standards. 

Why Purpose-Built Hospital Wall Panels Matter 

Purpose-engineered hospital wall panels are designed with infection control at their core. They feature smooth, non-porous surfaces that resist microbial accumulation and are easy to clean. In high-risk zones like ICUs, operating theatres (OTs), and patient recovery areas, such panels play a direct role in reducing healthcare-associated infections (HAIs). 

Kleenclad’s Approach to Healthcare Hygiene 

Kleenclad is among the few providers in India offering medical-grade hygienic cladding built specifically for clinical spaces. Their K-Bio panels, for instance, are equipped with 24/7 antimicrobial product protection and are compliant with industry safety norms. 

From scratch resistance to chemical durability and fire safety, these hospital wall panels serve both functional and aesthetic purposes. They’re also backed by expert installation support, ensuring panels are fitted without seams or gaps—critical to maintaining sterile zones. 

Built for Longevity, Designed for Safety 

Unlike quick fixes or frequent repainting cycles, high-performance hospital wall panels offer long-term cost savings and improved patient safety. For facility managers and healthcare architects, they represent a proactive investment in building environments that protect both patients and staff. 

For hospitals looking to modernize their infrastructure without compromising on hygiene or compliance, solutions like those offered by Kleenclad are worth a strong consideration. 

Learn more about Kleenclad’s hospital wall cladding solutions 

[digivicky]

Navigating Building Defects in Strata Properties: The Critical Role of Effective Strata Management

Strata management plays a pivotal role in the operation and maintenance of strata-titled properties, which include apartment complexes, condominiums, townhouses, and other multi-unit buildings. As urban living continues to grow, so does the demand for well-managed, compliant, and structurally sound strata developments. This article aims to delve into the multifaceted responsibilities of strata management and how it provides solutions to key challenges, such as building defects, legal compliance, financial planning, and harmonious living for residents.

Why Strata Management Matters

Maintaining Property Value and Compliance

Strata managers oversee the physical upkeep of common areas, such as lobbies, elevators, roofs, and gardens, which helps preserve or increase property value. More importantly, they ensure the property complies with safety standards, legal regulations, and insurance requirements. Without a competent strata manager, owners risk legal penalties, rising maintenance costs, and deteriorating property conditions.

Building Defects and the Strata Manager’s Role

Building defects are a common concern in strata developments, especially in newer constructions. These can include structural issues, waterproofing failures, cladding problems, or non-compliant fire safety systems.

Early Detection and Action Plans

A proactive strata manager coordinates regular building inspections and reports, enabling early identification of defects. They liaise with builders, legal experts, and relevant authorities to manage rectification processes. This not only minimizes repair costs but also protects property owners from prolonged disruptions and financial loss.

Financial and Administrative Oversight

A critical responsibility of strata management is the transparent handling of financial matters. This includes managing administrative funds for day-to-day expenses and sinking funds for long-term repairs.

Budgeting and Levy Collection

Strata managers prepare annual budgets and ensure timely levy collection from lot owners. They provide financial reports and help forecast long-term capital works. This financial foresight is essential for preventing large special levies or unexpected shortfalls in maintenance funds.

Resolving Disputes and Promoting Community Living

Living in a shared property often means conflicts can arise over noise, pets, parking, or by-law breaches.

Mediation and Communication

Strata managers act as impartial mediators between tenants, owners, and the committee. They help enforce rules respectfully, issue notices when needed, and encourage open communication. This promotes a sense of fairness, reducing tension and fostering a harmonious community environment.

Legal Knowledge and Risk Management

Strata schemes are bound by complex legislation that differs by state or territory.

Ensuring Compliance and Minimizing Liability

A professional strata manager stays informed of regulatory changes and ensures that the building meets all legal requirements. This includes fire safety certifications, asbestos management, insurance policies, and meeting procedures. They safeguard owners from legal risks and potential lawsuits by maintaining proper documentation and compliance checks.

Conclusion

Strata management is far more than just arranging repairs or collecting levies—it’s a comprehensive, strategic service that safeguards the value, safety, and livability of multi-unit properties. Whether you're an owner, investor, or tenant, having an experienced strata manager ensures your asset is protected, your rights are upheld, and your community thrives. As urban landscapes continue to evolve, the demand for skilled strata management becomes not just a convenience but a necessity.

[techlookup]

Why Our CAT6 Cables Are Perfect for High-Speed Networks

In today’s digital-first world, network speed isn’t a luxury — it’s survival. Whether you’re running a small office, a growing startup, or an enterprise-level operation, the backbone of your network defines how fast, stable, and secure your data moves. That’s where our CAT6 plenum cables and CAT6 riser cables come in.

We’re not just selling wire. We’re offering power, speed, and future-proofing — bundled in every roll of copper. Here’s why our CAT6 cables are the ideal choice for high-speed networks.

Built for Speed — And Then Some

CAT6 isn't your average Ethernet cable. It’s built to handle gigabit speeds and beyond — up to 10 Gbps over short distances. That’s not marketing fluff. That’s engineering.

Precision Matters: Bandwidth and Performance

CAT6 cables deliver up to 550 MHz of bandwidth, ensuring fast, uninterrupted data transfer. No more lag in video calls. No buffering during streaming. No stutter while gaming. Just pure, seamless performance.

If you’re setting up high-speed networks for business or heavy-duty home use, CAT6 gives you the headroom to handle current demand and tomorrow’s growth.

The Power of Plenum: Safety Meets Speed

You’ve probably seen it before — cat6 plenum 1000ft, bulk cat6 plenum, or cat6 plenum cable on product pages. But what does plenum even mean?

What Is a Plenum Cable?

A plenum-rated cable is designed for air-handling spaces (like ceilings and ducts). It’s wrapped in a low-smoke, flame-retardant jacket, which prevents toxic fumes if it ever burns.

If your building codes demand plenum cables — or you just care about safety — this is a no-brainer.

Bulk Cat6 Plenum: The Real-World Use Case

When you’re pulling hundreds of feet across floors, walls, or commercial buildings, you need a cable that’s:

Durable

Flexible

Code-compliant

Our cat6 plenum 1000ft rolls are easy to install and meet all fire safety standards. Perfect for professional installers and IT pros who don’t want to risk performance — or safety.

Shielded Strength: When You Need Extra Protection

In high-interference areas — near fluorescent lights, elevators, or heavy equipment — standard cables can get overwhelmed. That’s where cat 6 shielded plenum cable makes a difference.

Why Choose CAT6 Shielded Plenum Cables?

Shielded CAT6 cables feature an extra foil barrier that blocks EMI (electromagnetic interference). It’s like noise-canceling headphones, but for your network.

Cleaner signal

Less data loss

More stable connections

So, if your setup demands performance in tough environments, cat6 plenum shielded cables are your best bet.

What About Riser? And Why Should You Care?

Not every installation requires plenum cables. In vertical runs (like floor-to-floor applications), riser-rated cables are the better fit — and easier on the budget.

CAT6 Riser Cable Explained

A cat 6 riser cable is built for non-plenum areas — specifically vertical shafts, conduit systems, or interior walls. It offers solid flame resistance without the premium cost of plenum-rated options.

Our Best Seller: Cat6 Riser Copper ETL Listed

Let’s talk about quality. Our cat6 riser copper ETL listed cables are crafted from 100% pure copper conductors, not CCA (Copper-Clad Aluminum). Why does that matter?

Because copper conducts better. It means:

Faster speeds

Less signal loss

Longer life

And the ETL listing? That’s a third-party stamp of quality, certifying that the cable meets strict safety and performance standards.

Buying in Bulk? Go 1000ft

If you’re wiring a large home or commercial space, you want uninterrupted runs. Our cat6 riser cable 1000ft spools give you that — with minimal signal drop and maximum value.

You can buy cat6 riser 1000ft from us and be confident it’ll support your high-speed infrastructure without compromise.

Built for Installers, Loved by Users

Whether you’re a DIY techie or a professional network installer, our cables are built with you in mind.

Smooth Pulls, Hassle-Free Installs

Sequential markings every foot

Tangle-resistant spools

Easy strip jackets

Every feature is designed to save time, reduce waste, and eliminate frustration.

Real Performance. Real Feedback.

Our cables power:

Offices

Schools

Hospitals

Smart homes

And we don’t just claim quality — we prove it. Every batch is tested for:

Attenuation

NEXT (Near-End Crosstalk)

Return loss

You’re not just buying cable. You’re buying confidence.

Why Settle? Upgrade Your Network Infrastructure Today

Here’s the truth: Not all CAT6 cables are created equal. Some are cheap. Some are fake. Some just don’t deliver when it matters.

Our CAT6 cables are built for:

High-speed networks

Secure data transmission

Long-term performance

So whether you need bulk cat6 plenum for a massive install, or want to buy cat6 riser 1000ft for your next project — we’ve got the quality, certification, and performance to back it up.

Don’t let weak cabling hold your network hostage.

Final Thoughts: Speed Starts Here

If your network matters — and let’s face it, it does — then cable quality isn’t the place to cut corners.

CAT6 is the new standard for high-speed, future-proof performance. But the real difference lies in what’s inside the cable:

Pure copper

Correct certification

Proper shielding

Plenum or riser-grade jackets

We’ve combined all that with competitive pricing and reliable delivery — because we believe your network should be as fast as your ambition.

Upgrade to better cables. Upgrade to better speed. Let’s build something faster — together.