#rebar end threading

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

He comes in droves, hoards of himself, brokenhearted and wanting, wrecking cities for a chance to get one last glance at you. You're different, more than all of them expected. It's saddening for some, boner inducing for others. [Invincible Variants x reader]

 Tw: Suicide, drug use

[Part one] [3] [Ao3] [View Full Piece Here - It's mine!]

2 * RX Only [6.7k]

"While my queendom crumbles around me,

I'm fucking stuck here sucking this cock,

I'll kill myself right here on stage,

And it's gonna fucking rock!"

I Win - Go Hang Music

      Blood, guts, and sulfur, but no demons rising from the ground. Just a man in the night, backlit by the burning Sydney Opera House. Watching the blinking dot on his wrist cuff disappear. He holds his breath. Horrified. She was an illusion. A trick of a grief addled brain.

        The screen automatically zooms out, showing a pixelated view of the northern hemisphere of the planet. The dot reappears in North America. Numbers flash in the left corner of his blue tinted vision. When he first saw his alternates, he thought they'd have the same upgrades. Super computers laced into the fabric of their suits. Considering how stupid they were acting and how one of them asked where Mount Rushmore was- they likely didn't.

        He rises, scanning the numbers one last time, burning them to memory before minimizing them. Your coordinates and vitals, both monitored by the cuff. Perfectly healthy, alarmed, scared shitless probably, but healthy. Alive. 

        The breath he held lets go.

        Eyes scan over Sydney one last time. Before he left, he had to ensure his end of the deal was complete. Be absolutely sure Angstrom wouldn't be displeased and send him back to where he'd came from. Sure, he hadn't expected to see (Y/n) here, so soon, he wasn't really done with Sydney. He could level the place if he wanted. Angstrom would approve, but Angstrom's approval didn't matter. All that mattered was bringing you home.          Still, he searches for loose threads. Just in case.         The machinery in his suit quietly whirs. He sees no survivors. Not with the rubble and fire. But his goggles lock onto the outline of forms in neon green, hiding behind a slab of rubble where he couldn't see.          He's there in a blink. Stood at the one and only entrance of the little hovel the family had decided to hide in. Only one of them lives long enough to scream.          There, done. Now he could-         His lenses lock onto another hidden form. Then another and another. He sighs. Head turning to the floating ball beside him. Angstrom's drone making sure he was doing what he was supposed to. Five minutes, he told himself, five minutes to kill all these fucking people and be done with this place. It wasn't like he was going to lose track of (Y/n).         He rose, up, up, up. More and more forms catching in the lens. He pushed a hidden button on the side of his lenses. A tiny segmented timer started in the left corner of his view. Five minutes, on the clock.         ***         "You're fucking kidding me." First the apartment, now CVS Pharmacy.          You stood in the parking lot, breathing in acrid smoke. Looking at the building that was your personal emergency room for the last five years. That mohawked shapeshifting asshole must have rammed right through the place at some point. Bringing the red roof down on most of the building. 

        Physically, you were fine but there was something you desperately needed from under that crumbled roof. Especially since you were now suddenly living through the end of the world.         The automatic glass doors were crushed under concrete but a massive hole, probably where he flew through, was a perfectly fine entrance into the rubble. You stepped carefully over rebar and the body of a cashier. There was no more inside, just parts where the roof didn't cave in all the way, and you were standing in the biggest one. Shelves tipped, chip bags popped open on the carpet floor.          You find yourself meandering into the two upright fractions of aisles in front of you, the store so unrecognizable you felt lost. Caligula laid across your shoulders, over the crook of your neck like a scarf. Gray nose gently twitching at the smell of corpses. There were more in the aisle that was for foot cream. One man bisected by a chunk of roof. One lady who lay stiff, hands still clutching her chest where she'd likely had a heart attack.         You exit the remains of the aisle. Not sure why you’d gone down them in the first place, pharmacy wasn't down there. You were still reeling from the last half hour. Was that all it had been- had everything fallen apart in thirty minutes?           A clatter breaks your reverie, your head shooting towards it.          Crawling out from under a piece of roof was a white coated pharmacy tech. The old-timer full-timer, Wes, you used your powers on almost every time you came in. You didn’t wait for him to stand to use your powers on him.         “I need my usual.”         When he stands, he leans dramatically to one side. The muscles in his side are split, piggy pink insides poking out of his coat. He turns for the wreck that used to be behind the counter, where he’d pass hours by counting pills. Gait short, steps dragging and too slow.         “Ignore the pain.”         With that, he goes upright. Walking confidently over to a fallen shelf, bending, ignoring the slippage of his guts. He goes from paper bag to paper bag, prescription to prescription. None of them have your name on it. Going official would’ve meant asking Machine Head to pull strings and you weren’t in a hurry for more debt. Controlling the pharmacy techs was the only way.         Wes straightens. Walking on uneven ground. Stopping two feet away and holding out a paper bag to you. Prescription for Sandra O'Connell. Probably dead now.

        You frown at the bag. Contents soaked into the brown bottom. Dripping out in clear, thick rivulets. You hadn’t been specific enough. Again with semantics, the pain in your ass. “Find me some that’s intact. As many bottles as you can.”         ***        "No." He's going to vomit. "No." He's going to cry. "No!" He's going to split this planet down the fucking middle, again.         His grip on Isotope's throat tightened. "You're lying." Spit flies off his teeth, onto Isotope's cheeks.          Together, him, Isotope, and Machine Head, hover over the rubble of what was supposed to be your apartment. A dead woman lying on its very top, head like a maraschino cherry.          Machine Head kicked at the air, gargling, "Get us the fuck out of here Isotope!"         One look from Dregs pissed off ex-boyfriend and Isotope knew. If he so much as tried to leave, they'd both be dead. "I'm not." Isotope can barely speak, throat the only thing keeping him upright. Hovering twenty feet above the busted building. "She should be on the third floor."        "What third floor!?"         "The one you fucking knocked down!" Machine Head grappled his arm. Twisting his sleeve, trying to hurt him- him with his weak human hands.         His hand tightened on Machine Head’s neck. Something inside his fleshy human body cracked. The man groaned and shuddered but still fought. “That bitch is dead!”          His head pounded, like a hammer slamming behind his eyes. His fingers are a flex away from breaking both their necks when Isotope says, “I know where else she could be.” He involuntarily shuddered when his assailant's eyes fell on him. Wild as his wind whipped mohawk.         “Spill.” The freak’s grip lightened. Isotope slipped down an inch, latching to the man’s wrist for support like he wanted to be choked.          “She’s some sorta dope fiend. Boys see ‘er at the CVS all the time, picking up the same shit.” Isotope’s words came out in heaves as he caught as much breath as he could. “If she’s alive.” At that word, if, his grip tightens, “Hurk— she’s probably at the pharmacy.” His arm came up, red suit creasing at the shoulder, “Right down the corner. Can’t miss it.”         His grip clenches tight, shutting Isotope up. “If she’s not there, I’m gonna see how high your body bounces when I drop you  ten-thousand feet.” He flew, slower than he’d like, searching for the right building. He knew what a pharmacy was, of course, but this wasn’t his New York. His New York was worse off than this one. Last time he saw it plants were taking over the concrete remains of the city. So he’s slow, only speeding when Isotope coughs and points out another chunk of destruction that looked like everything else in a thirty-mile radius. 

        ***

        T-minus eleven minutes until he arrived. He only had to hold onto Mach twelve for that much longer. Think of (Y/n). Think of holding you. Bringing you home.          The sound barrier cracked, then there was someone beside him. “What the fuck are you doing in my sky?”         Ah. That one. The one that called dibs on the king’s land because at home he was more than a king, better. Clad in his— their— old super suit. Viltrum’s sigil on his shoulders. Shoulder pads thick.         "Answer me.”         How the hell were they the same person? This version of him was so whiny. More insolent than a child. Apparently, his style was gaudy too. Minutes after they first met he went on and on about his outfit. How he was only wearing ‘this old piece of shit’ because he didn’t want to get his emperors clothes filthy. And still— he’d come wearing shoulder pads and metals of valor that were jittering in the wind, just barely holding on. He’d scoffed at the idea of human blood on his fuzzy emperor's cape.          Much as he wanted to, taking on the other version of himself was ill-advised. Sure, they were different but also the same in many ways. He’d know something was up.          His lips peeled apart. Glued by stagnant spit and silence. It felt like reopening a wound. “I’m done. Returning to the rendezvous.” His voice came out robotic. A modulator attached on the inside of his suit's throat.          The people of his world knew of Invincible but it was better no one saw any part of his face, recognized any inflection of his voice. Whatever was left of it anyways.          The other him, Shoulder Pads (there was no way he was calling him Mark), rolled his eyes. “That place better be dirt cuz if I gotta go to that shithole and finish what you couldn’t I’ll—“         “I assure you, the job is done.” Just leave. Go back to torturing people and making weird comments about slaves. Leave me be.         Shoulder Pad’s eyes narrowed to slits behind his goggles. “Don’t lie to me.”         “I don’t lie.” And that was the truth. Partially.         Shoulder Pad’s lips twisted. “Then you won’t mind if I come with you? Be nice to get to know my next commander better.”         Under his mask, his eye twitches. He'd heard this before, one too many times. Shoulder Pads saw him and the others as lesser. Good assets for his empire, sure, but lesser. He didn't plan on joining anyone's empire anytime soon.

        Putting up a fight would be suspicious. Though his throat was already raw with how much he’d spoke, more than he had in months, he said, “You’re finished?”         Shoulder Pads scoffed. “Hours ago. Whole country's ash.” He laughed, though he wasn’t lying. Looking down didn’t provide much of a view. Too much smoke in the way, billowing up from the entire United Kingdom like the thousands of acres were nothing but an overused ashtray. “I’ve been getting bored destroying those things they call islands.”         He nodded. A ‘so be it’ kind of gesture. They flew on. Shoulder Pads filling the not-quite silence— ripping through the air at mock twelve was awfully loud— while he thought over ways to get rid of his companion. Too many what-ifs. 

        What if Shoulder Pads saw you as some human to be killed on the spot, squashed like some kind of bug? What if Shoulder Pads toyed with you, if he tore you limb from limb? Made him relive the same memory in a different universe. Shoulder Pads taking the role of daddy-not-so-dearest.          Worse— what if Shoulder Pads was here for the same thing? A second chance.         ***     One bottle, two bottle, three bottle, four— there was a cute rhyme to tack to the end of that but you didn’t have the energy. Neither did the pharmacy tech, falling stone cold dead soon as he passed you the last bag.      You tear open the first bag, medicine for a Nancy Giovanni. You pull out the dark bottle, rolling it in your hand, making absolute sure the dying tech didn’t fuck up.              Prescription for: PROMETHAZINE VC/CODEINE [SYRUP] - 4 fl oz.              EACH 5ml (TEASPOON) CONTAINS:             CODEINE PHOSHPASE USP ... 10 mg             PROMETHAZINE HYDROCHLORIDE USP … 6.25 mg             PHENYLEPHRINE HYDROCHLORIDE USP … 5 mg             ALCOHOL … 7%             [RX ONLY]         Oh yeah baby, that’s the ticket. Cough syrup. The actually medicated stuff. Totally illegal to buy over the counter. You didn’t know what in it did the trick. The pain killer, the throat soother, cough suppressant, or the drinking so much you got a buzz part— either way, Codeine and Promethazine were a match made in heaven specifically to fix your powers right the fuck up. 

       You twist the cap and end up dropping the rest of the bags. Sighing, you settle to sit, organize before getting down the business. Though the only place was wasn’t covered in debris was…         “Sorry Wes.” You say as you sit on the dead man's back. Something hard pushes into your ass. Shit, right, gun safety. You pull the six-shooter from the back of your sweats and set it by your feet. Not the top of the market stuff Machine Head's guards get, but a solid piece. Got enough of the latest tech to pop a supe's brains out their ass. Small but mighty. ID numbers sanded off, bought off the black market, given to you by your shithead boss. Sometimes things went south. Your mouth covered or earplugs put in. So you took the gun everywhere, just in case.

        You finish popping off the cap, take a breath of the rank air, and throw your head back, brown rim to your lips. There's a joke to be had there, but again, too tired for that shit.

        Caligula hops off your shoulders, annoyed. Tail twitching as he pads away to explore under rubble. Looking for mice like he always had in your apartment. You let him go. The cat was loyal as a dog, he'd be back.

        The syrup comes rolling down your tongue. Bitter, mucus-thick, gag worthy. Nothing you weren't used to. There've been too many times you were run dry and had to chug the slop mid-shootout to keep your head on your shoulders. So you don't breathe and drink, drink, drink until the bottle is a quarter empty.

        You lean forward, elbows on knees. Holding your head as things right themselves. Your throat numbed, blood drying in your nose, head not throbbing, only a light pulse. 

        It was a funny thing really, finding your personal anti-kryptonite. Three years back you were sick as a dog. Of course, you were on duty. When weren't you? You talked a backstabbing rat up to the roof of his apartment building, holding onto him up all the stairs, weak in your sickness. Right before you told him to jump, a coughing fit cut you short. He escaped your hold, pulled a gun on you, almost blasted your brains on the door to the stairwell. Lucky thing Isotope was there, zapping you out of the way. Pushing the dick off himself, and zapping you to this very building. Suggested you fix the problem, whatever it took, because he wouldn't bail you out again.

        He sucked balls but at least wasn't a whole dick. 

        You got a prescription. Drank the allotted amount. The cold cleared. Powers coming back like a tsunami. So strong they demanded to be used. So you drank more than the prescribed amount. Killed the rest of the rats nest of police informants on your own. Almost got killed again. Machine Head was angry you'd gone alone, when not assigned. But you didn't care. You'd found a power-up. Except, because there's always an exception- the boost only lasted as long as you could stay conscious. You’d overdosed more than a few times. 

       You recap the bottle. Consolidating the bottles in the front pocket of your hoodie. Tempted to down the whole thing, scared shitless from earlier, but it was a stupid idea while not being in immediate danger. Unless Wes decided to get up and chew you out for sitting on his dead body- you were safe.

        But not stupid. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your contacts, trying to call contingency one through twenty-seven. Most didn't answer. Dead or unable to come to phone right now, so please leave a message! Some did, orders were given. Help, in case it was needed, was coming. Things like this had a strange way of being nowhere near over once things get quiet.

        Boots come down. Your head lolls over your shoulder. Danger is standing twenty feet back. Holding Machine Head and Isotope by the throats. Isotope pale and passed out. Machine Head weakly clawing at the ground, held down, forced to stay on his knees.

        He stares at you, the not-Mark with the dark, deep-set eyes, sat on your human throne. "That's... hm. Did you do that?"

        There goes saving the syrup. Out comes the partly drunk bottle, off goes the cap, to your lips the bottle goes.

        ***

        What the hell are they doing?

        Two dots on his wrist cuff, side by side. Darting through the projected 3D model of Earth. Heading west fast, over the Northern Atlantic. Making a b-line for another dot. The only one of the three who is where he's supposed to be. 

        "Got'chu now!" A shadow overcasts behind him.

        He presses a button, zooming into the map, not bothering to turn. Had he missed a message from Angstrom? No, not possible. He was the most reliable of all of them, no way Angstrom would cut him out. Certainly, he wasn't stupid enough to think he could.

        A mace whistled through the air, coming to split his skull. His arm slices out in an arc behind him. Barley trying. The sound of his would-be assailant so keening and pathetic he couldn't even take satisfaction in the kill. He pulls his arm free, the body falls. 

        He watches the remains splat onto the last intact chunk of sidewalk left in Seattle. The city was destroyed. The last of the gnats swatted down. He might as well investigate. Double check that he wasn't being double crossed.

        ***

        "Wow, oh wow, you like that." He laughed as the last of the syrup disappeared behind your lips. The bottle is thrown to the debris, to be forgotten. His voice is cloying and saccharine, and way too familiar, "Was that good?"

        Bitterness coats your tongue. Chemical smell stinging in your nose. Head swimming but feather light. "No." You say. The syrup leaden in your stomach. Throat numb but soon to burn with vomit. You didn't have much time to dispose of this freak. "But-"

        "Dregs! Jesus Christ, Dregs get him the fuck off me!" Machine Head kicked at the ground. Mohawk, you'd dubbed him, because no fucking way were you calling a shapeshifter the name it wanted you to call it. Name aside, he wasn’t about to let Machine Head go, or even let him touch the ground. His dignity just a few short inches away as he gagged and kicked. 

        "You seriously work for this guy?" Mohawk says. "So weak." His thumb barely flexes and all the air is cut from your boss's throat, the kicks becoming frantic. 

        You know the shapeshifter is trying to get to you but it gets deep, deep under your skin. You're on your feet, swaying. "Tell me who you really are."

        He laughs but the words are pulled out of him anyway. "Mark Grayson."

        Your teeth grind. He's not lying. Maybe not a shapeshifter. Maybe a hidden supe. Someone projecting hallucinations onto you, to make you go batshit and somehow kill yourself.

        "Tell me if you're real."

        "As you are, baby."

        "Dregs!" Machine Head screeches the second his thumb relaxes. "Dregs, if you don't get him off me, I'm docking your pay!"

        Mohawk's lip twitches, hand flexing. Shit. "Don't kill him." His hand relaxes. Though his eyes aren't as glazed as you'd like. He's still resistant but you've got the upper hand as long as your stomach holds. 

        "Yes! Yes, now get him to let go!"

        The command makes your stomach roil. Probably just the excessive drugs but still, you don't like the motherfucker. He can wait. "Why are you doing this?"

        "Made a deal. Break enough shit and I get a prize." Under control, people are emotionless, no use of unnecessary words or turn of phrase. But there he was, talking like a seventh grader.

        "Which is?"

        "You," you roll out of the way before they touch down. Feet first and much harder than necessary, sending dangerous bullets of rock spraying every which way. You're fine. Clothes dusty whereas Wes's corpse is more cut up than before. Sorry, guy.

        If one had been too much, enough to think he was a hallucination, then three was enough to make you consider committing yourself to a ward.         

        You'd seen one of the newcomers back in Sydney. The other beside him, eyeing you up and down like an antique at auction, was new. You'd forgotten about the cuff on your ankle. You were no techie, but logic and superheroes meant it was a tracker, hell, maybe hand (ankle?) cuffs if activated by something.

        "Oh what the fuck!" The mohawked one spoke for you, "I called New York. Find somewhere else to flatten."

        "Is this what you were in a such a hurry to finish for?" The newcomer with his stupid shoulder pads kicked a wall to pieces, looking to his companion. 

        The full-masked one stood still as a statue, quiet as a phantom. 

        "Course not," Shoulder Pads answered himself, "You came for that," his finger pointed accusingly toward the mohawked one, "isn't that right? He bruised your ego when you first met pretty bad, huh?"

        An insult from a version of himself who thought mohawks were peak fashion meant nothing. Sure, he'd called his mask creepy, but he didn't hold enough of a grudge to want to kill the guy over it. He did, however, not like how close he was to (Y/n). Twenty feet was nothing when one moved as fast as they did.

        "Who are you?"

        "Mark Grayson." The two newcomers answered together. One similar to the voice you knew, if a little nasaler. The other like that Guardian's dickhead, Robot.

       You dip down, swiping your gun off the ground. Careful not to move too quickly and let the bottles fall out of your pocket. "Why are there three of you?"

        "There's actually eighteen," Mohawk answers. "Dickheads all of 'em."

        "To expand my empire." Shoulder Pads says, more responsive to your control.

        "To destroy so much, it ruins the life of this dimension's Mark Grayson." The Phantom answers, voice and actually helpful honesty, sending a shiver down your back. 

        "Dregs-!"

        "Shut the fuck up." Your attention on Machine Head is nothing but murderous. As the situation unfolds, you find yourself realizing, for one, Machine Head is most definitely going to die. Villains of the week are stupid, sure, but they also take no prisoners. You’d say Machine Head had less than five minutes' life left on him. 

        For two, the world was pretty much fucked. Which means- weakness, instability and power up for grabs for Mister Liu to reclaim as his. You could be by his side, his left hand as he already had a right. No more debt, no more humiliation at Machine Head's hands. Because there was no way you were going straight, not after everything. But, you could climb the ladder in the dust of the world and climb it high- as you were right now.

        High enough to push Mister Liu off the ledge. High enough to never have to take orders from anyone ever again. Be your own boss. Maybe Machine Head had less than five minutes. 

        Even better, you could relocate out of the city (which you'd have to do anyway, I mean, look at this place). Somewhere you'd see Mark so little the lingering pain in your heart would maybe start to heal. The thought of killing him had crossed your mind. You placed heavy piles of blame on him for how your life turned out. Still, you ached and yearned for a teenage romance that'd never rekindle. You couldn't kill him, yet, not without crawling into Mister Liu's skin and wearing his shoes awhile. Surely you'd grow into them, give the order for someone to kill your ex without batting an eye- one day. 

        Your Mark wasn't on the official kill list yet, but these cheap imitations? These dimensional clones or whatever the fuck? Oh yeah baby, they've gotta die.

        ***

      He didn't bother telling his tails to leave. They were all lesser, but still, him. They were good at what they did, destroying things. 

        "Can you believe that guy tried to trap me in the- what was it- the shadow realm?" The blue and yellow clad gnat yammered beside him. The variant, slightly different from the others without his lenses, blasted up from the Guardian's HQ when he'd flown by. Asking all sorts of questions that were left unanswered and more importantly, unacknowledged. Maybe if he was ignored long enough, he'd go away. "Do'ya wanna know how I got out after I killed 'im?"

        No response.

        He went on anyway. "So like, after I ripped his heart out his chest the whole shadow realm started falling apart. I was like 'oh shit, I'm gonna die' so I gabbed the guys body and was like 'lemme out'. Shakin' him n' stuff. I dunno what happened, if there was a lil life left in him or what but I think I kickstarted something in him, cuz after eight or nine shakes I was back! Man, I almost forgot how crazy I killed those Guardian guys!"

        The other gnat, blue and black and imperceptibly different from this dimension's Mark Grayson, flew up to his other side. "You gonna show me that map or what?"

        He did not answer, for they had arrived. Three dots now five, six counting himself. All around the unimportant gray mass of some Earth dwellers' hovel. He stayed above because he was literally above touching down on Earth’s soil. His mother had been from this mud ball but she'd been elevated above the rest of this dirt-loving species by his father when he brought her back to Viltrum, swollen with pregnancy. 

        The others truly were lesser than he, for they shot down. Too impatient, too stupid to know what it is to observe from afar. They did all have enhanced hearing, did they not?

        ***

        Shoulder Pads shook his head, throwing the control off his brain like a wet dog. "The hell was that?" His head stopped, hair swept across his masked forehead. "How dare you- you-" His head kicked back a degree like he'd been sucker punched. It took him a minute, with the dirt and the outfit and the daring to wave around a gun. He recognised you now. Felt the pain searing hot in his chest. "Leave," he commanded, "All of you but," he turned back to, "you, stay."

        Nobody moved to obey. 

        "I said-"

        They came down from the sky like falling angels. 

         "The hell's this?" You watched him land. Watched him roll his shoulders. Mark, your Mark. Exactly the same. But what the fuck was he doing with this lot? "Where's Angstrom?" 

        "Not here, duh." The other newcomer says, bouncing on his heels. "Are we gonna turn on each other and fight to the death now? I really hope we turn on each other and fight to the death now." His eyes, lighter brown than you remember, slide from Mark to Mark to Wes to you. "A prize fight! Even better."

        You didn't like that word- prize. How he looked at you. Not as a person but as a street dog to collar. 

        Machine Head's toes displaced rubble. His captor's mohawk stood on end, as if electrified, "Get the fuck out of here." He says, "New York's mine. 'S not the meeting place for when we're done anyway."

        The stuck-up one, Shoulder Pads, moved toward you. Ankles breaking rubble as he went, too graceful to do something awkward like stepping over an obstacle. Why do that when you could just break it? 

        "Leave us now." He doesn't seem bothered by the fact that you raised the six-shooter, aimed straight for his throat. "And I'll consider letting the rest of you serve under me."

        He was there in a flash. Arm outstretched in front of his boy king other self, stopping him in his tracks- the phantom. Shoulder Pads stopped, ten feet shy from your person. You don't know what to say because as soon as you really get going, a fight is going to break. You won't survive. You've seen what Mark can do on the news. You don't doubt they can punch holes in you before you say stop. They're not far away like Mohawk had been. They're instant murder close. You have to be careful.

        "Don't get in my way." Shoulder Pads sneered to no reply.

        The lensless newbie jutted his thumb toward you, "Gonna go out on a limb 'n guess she's also your guy's dead girlfriend?"

        The word girlfriend hits you like a sack of rocks. When hit, hit back. You breathe in.

        "Dregs!" His voice is nails on a chalkboard, screeching, loud, and desperate. "God damn it! Help me!" Your hold on Machine Head had waned. He was back to whining. 

        Your hold on his captor had waned as well, telling by his eyes. But he didn't break Machine Head's neck. Instead, he watched, curious, a smile tugged the edge of his lip. 

        Tension rolled off Phantom and Emperor Shoulder Pads in waves. Lenseless’s knuckles popped, expecting violence with glee. The white clad warrior watched on from above. And your stupid ex-boyfriend just watched you, sneer on his lip like you were the problem. Like he wasn't covered in blood the fucking hypocrite. "I don't kill," my ass. He acted like he was better than you. 

        "I'll promote you! Right above Isotope." Who was passed out and couldn't be bothered by the betrayal. "We can run this city together. I can get you as much lean as you want! Fuck- I'll put you through rehab if you want!" 

        A bubble rolled up your throat. Not much longer now before you puke out power. You swallow down the burp. Anger a beat in your throat. "I'm not an addict."

        "Sure!" Machine Head laughed, "Sure! Whatever you say, just help me!" Isotope's eyes peeled open. He groaned, barely there.  Machine Head noticed, reaching out to shake the man's knee. "Get me out of here!"

        Your Mark clicked his tongue. "I can't say I'm surprised you haven't changed."

        "Isotope! Hey! Wake up!"

        "I used to think you'd be better than," Mark gestures to your boss, to your clothes, to the dilation of your eyes, embarrassingly aware of your high, "this." He sighed, "But I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same or however that shitty song goes. So much potential wasted. (Y/n), Seriously, this is pathetic."

        "Dregs, get Isotope up! Get us all out of here!"

        Mark smirked, "Name suits you."

        Your earlier machinations crumbled. Fuck waiting, maturing. People were going to die here, in this destroyed pharmacy, so why not start with him? 

        "Hey Mark?" 

        "Yeah?" It's a shame the others don't reply to the name. Too smart, too aware that if they were locked in conversation and attention, they'd be dead. 

        "Kill yourself."

        One hand to the chin, the other to the shoulder for support, like the first time you tried this trick on his doppelganger. The snap is quick. So powerful it twists his whole body backward, spine ripping out his back. He drops, blood dribbling out his mouth. 

        A weight lifts off your shoulders. You thought this would be harder. It's sad, sure, first love dead, very Romeo and Juliet, but you're still alive. You wish you could've made him see more, get a more torturous revenge. Or in a perfect world, one you didn't admit but dreamed of anyway, got him to see your side of things. 

        But you're so happy to see nothing behind his eyes. Dead while you're alive. The laugh forces out of you in a bark. It brings tears to your eyes, doubles you over. 

        The mood shifts. Tension sizzles away between the Marks. There were expectations, different for each, but this? Certainly was not one. 

        "Did you just-?" Lensless was at the corpse's side in a blink, poking at his twisted neck. "Oh, he's super mega dead." 

        "If he was weak willed enough to listen to the whims of a human he should've already been." Emperor Shoulder Pads says. "Better we weed out the weak before going back to my empire."

        "Shit, I was gonna kill Seventeen," Mohawk said. "Beat me to it, babe."

      "Seventeen?" You question between laughs.

        "Uh, yeah? Mark Seventeen. Demsion three-four-five, like neighbors with this one."

        "So he's not mine?"        

        "Yours? Baby, I'm yours- but that guy? Not from here."

        Oh? OH! He wasn't yours. Another variant, just awfully close in appearance. Something like relief pools in your stomach, or it's just the promethazine-codeine solution getting ready to come spewing out. 

        The Phantom keeps his hands at his sides, though they want to go to his head, press into his temples until the pain stopped. You weren’t like this. You weren’t supposed to be like this. Nothing like him. Maybe Shoulder Pads was right. Maybe Seventeen was weak willed, loved you so much he'd do anything you said. You couldn't be a killer. It just wasn't possible- wasn't right.

        "Isotope," he was starting to really regain consciousness, head lolling in Mohawk's hand, "Isotope, let's go!"

        He was going to leave you. Words of promise meant nothing obviously, you weren't born yesterday but the insult of it was the last fucking straw. 

        Right as power started to glow weakly from his palms, you say, "Look at me, Isotope."

        He does, slackjawed, droll rolling down his lip. Hands still glowing.

        Here's the thing about word and meaning induced mind control. Sometimes actions, gestures, are good as words, and as long as you've got your claws in their brain, as long as they're looking at you and understand- a gesture is enough to control.

        You lower the gun. As if it'd do anything against Shoulder Pads. One hand slipping off its metal grip, coming to the side of your head right above your ear. Rule number one of gun safety: Never put a gun to your head. So your bare hand comes up to do the job. Pinky and ring curling into your palm. Pointer and middle pressed to your scalp, thumb hanging down like the trigger. 

        Isotope's hand goes to the holster on his belt. Freeing the pistol, pressing it to the green side of his head, clicking off the safety. Waiting for the last order.

        "Dregs! Don't you fucking dare!" Machine Head trashes but his kicks do nothing to Mohawk's balance.

        The Mark’s watch, hypnotized like snakes to a charmer. 

        Your thumb twitches, miming the pull of a trigger.

        The bullet goes from one side of Isotope's skull to the other. Stopped by the side of Mohawk's knee, who doesn't even flinch at the lead cracking uselessly against his suit. Pale pink brains splatter his boots and shin guards. Chunks stick to Machine Head's dented metal face. Gravity slowly rolled them down, leaving trails of blood and cerebral spinal fluid in their wake.

        The dead weight is so unexpected in his hand, Mohawk is slow to drop the body. Killing another version of him was fair game. They were threatening your planet after all. But an ally? Very un-hero like.

        "You murderous yuppie cunt!" Machine Head's hand flies to his own holster. 

        "Don't talk to me like that, boss." He goes still, gun in hand. Your hand goes to the center of your forehead and so does his. Another twitch of the thumb sends a bullet and shrapnel backward. 

        Machine Head slumps, gun dropping, body twitching. Not dead yet.

        "Access the control panel." You say.

        His hand shakes violently as it comes to the side of his head. Pressing a button that makes the front half of his busted forehead come forward. Revealing the computer gore inside his head. 

        "Remove the leftmost microchip." You'd seen him getting maintenance too many times not to know that the chip contained his very consciousness. He'd yelled at so many paid-off Best Buy employees not to touch it. Threatened their families over it, but here he was, pressing its back so it'd come popping out. Soon as it does, his whole body goes slack.

        Killing what you thought was Mark yielded mixed feelings. But Machine Head and his lackey? That was pure cocaine right there baby. You felt like you could climb Everest. Like you really could overtake Mister Liu. 

        "Holy shit." Lensless let his jaw hang. "Powers, babe!? 'S awesome! Do it again!" His fingerless glove pointed to Shoulder Pads, "That guy! That guy next! Oh, wait, try it on me!" He doubted it'd work. He was way stronger than that pussy bitch Seventeen.

        Mohawk pulled Machine Head's slack body high above his head, inspecting. He was dead alright. So dead his bladder released and stained his gray slacks dark. He let the body drop. "You're pret-tee different here, huh babe?"

        Another bubble rises up your throat. 

        "What-" Shoulder Pads started, "What the fuck is wrong with this one?" He was expecting something else. Docile. Sitting at his feet like a good pup. At his beck and call. Especially not powered or alien or experimented or whatever the fuck you were. Clearly, you weren't normal.

        Phantom had nothing to say, as usual. Too busy fighting back the tears burning the back of his eyes. What has this world done to you? What had made you so callous? What had made you a killer? Whatever it was needed to burn. This monster in you, it could be culled; he could have the you he knew back. He could have it later, but for now, he fought grief.

        In the sky, the white clad warrior lets contentment simmer in his chest. Different, sure, but good different. Nothing like that human he brought to Viltrum to breed. A kicking, screaming crybaby who had no idea how lucky she was. Part of the shreds of resistance left, left alive by him of all people. Nothing like the doting creature his mother was to his father. Relationships like the ones on Earth weren't a thing on Viltrum. His parents were considered strange, but a strange he liked- though he wouldn’t admit it to a living soul.  

        So disappointing and ungrateful, a waste of time, of resources, he was sour about when he had to kill you. But not here, not this you.       

        Shadows whipped through the sky hundreds of feet below him. Some came hopping and bounding through the broken street. The few defenders left, not dead due to their own cowardice. 

        Contingency Six, Twelve, Nineteen, Twenty-two, and Twenty-eight surrounded you in a defensive circle, showing up at just the right time. Machine Head promised security but he wasn't omnipotent, despite his upgrades. You didn't trust him far as you could throw him either. So you had heroes, fellow crooks, and dregs of society on speed dail. Hypnotized at some point in the past with the same little speech.

        "See this number right here? Remember it. When you see me calling, you answer, no matter what. I don't care if you're mid-fuck, you'll do as I say. After I snap my fingers, you'll forget we ever had this conversation but a part of you will. And you will never have your phone on silent."

        You'd have to reset them anytime you called them in to save your ass from one thing or another. It was always worth the time if it meant you got to live and the other guy died.

        Thank God for hindsight. Wait, no, not hindsight, was it foresight? Ah, whatever, you'll remember the right word later when you're not high on power and codeine. 

        Flesh drones wait for orders. The Mark's wait for someone to make a move. You don't speak, not yet, letting your eyes scan over them all. Thinking of killing them too, how good it'd feel to kill your (kind of) ex-boyfriend over and over. Thinking of the ones not here, the ones you'd seen, the ones you hadn't. You could find them, kill them after. Maybe then you'd be ready for the real thing. No more mixed feelings. 

        Blood slowly rolls down your nostril. Darkly covering the dried streak from minutes ago. Your stomach rages. Throat constricting as it readies to puke. It hurts so bad, but you can't help but grin. Thinking aloud, "This is going to be the best day of my fucking life."

        Orders shoot out your lip. He should prepare for battle, but he couldn't help but be still, staring at you and the malice radiating off you. Lensless tugs on the hem of his mask, swallowing thickly, "Can you hold up a sec with the battle plans? I've got a crazy boner."

[winged-void]

Here's the story yall asked me to post

Hello! I am posting this short little story, which is the first of a number of short stories I have written about these two characters, a delusional noblewoman and her deranged maid. By clicking the readmore you agree that both characters contained within, regardless of what the text says, are girls.

In some forgotten corner of some forgotten city, a forgotten noble of a forgotten family sits in petty agony. 

Protected from the onslaught of acidic rain only by a hastily constructed sheet metal roof, he imagines Mother's pain at the tears in his coat, and the scion of the Branche family considers weeping. 

What would it cost? 

Too much. 

Elan Branche pushes it down. At twelve, one puts such childishness behind them. 

Back straight. Assess the damage. Find the solution. 

The coat was heavy. Too large, and far too decorated with old and meaningless signifiers of unearned and forgotten glory, weighed down further still by the damp of rain and blood (hidden at least by the deep red color of the fabric), he takes it off and hangs it on a bit of exposed rebar. 

It was old and beautiful; burgundy and torn to shreds. The sleeves and the tail had cuts and rips that Elan knew he could never fix. He thought of a picture he'd found of the family's old staff, and the dedicated tailor among them. All gone now, gone since before his birth. This burden, like all before it, must be borne alone. 

Put it out of mind for now. 

He turned away from the coat to inspect his blade. Sharpening the noble edge sharpens the noble mind, he thought, and began to clean. His adventures to these parts were proving more expensive than he thought, but the rabble must know the Branche Family. Their petty vassals and pettier commoners had forgotten and darkness had come to them. 

By sword and torch and pistol he would bring light and flame back. He would polish the old blazonry with the blood of those foolish and cruel enough to have taken advantage of the weakness of his family. No longer would commoner merchant thugs an-

Hold. A sound. 

Elan jumped and turned, blade pointed at his empty coat, hanged and swinging in the breeze. 

Foolish. Too easily startled. Undignified. Waving your sword around at an empty coat. 

But then another sound, like the whimper of a kicked dog. 

“N-Nothing gets by you, milord….”

A hunched and crouching pathetic figure emerged from behind the rebar, raising its hands, but holding onto what seemed to be an especially short thin piece of scrap metal, bent at the end such that a thread could pass through it. 

Elan's mind raced. First, relief, then recognition. Figure was a boy. No older than thirteen or fourteen. Thin, so thin, tall and dressed in rags. 

“You. You're that kid from the other day. The mugging victim, yes?”

Wasn't that mugging four towns over? 

He left it unsaid. He continued. 

“What are you doing with my coat?”

The figure squirmed, and tried to stand up straight. 

“I-I-I saw. The state of your coat. And I thought I might be useful, milord…” It paused, and jumped as though shocked, “My lord.”

It gestured towards the left sleeve, and Elan's eyes traced the crimson thread from the needle in its scarred hand to the sleeve of the coat, partially sewed with baffling skill. 

Elan considered the boy. His hair gray (common in these chemically stained regions), his form clearly starved, his body shaking but his hands so very steady. 

Potential and possibility, all of it. Solutions to problems named and those he refused to name. 

“How useful,” Elan lowered his sword and allowed himself to smile, “would you like to be?”

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#18: The Broken Bliss (1.03)

gif cred: @riickgrimes

“Bye” ended up being a fitting title for episode 3, both to complete the “Years Gone Bye” thing in homage to the TWD pilot "Days Gone Bye" and also because there were several shocking goodbyes in this episode. Including in this teaser where Rick is forced to kiss his hopes of escaping with Michonne goodbye 😢...

I really enjoy the ride of ep 3 and can now find the humor in things from this episode, but y’all, I wasn't as lighthearted when I first watched. I was so sad for both Michonne and Rick as they had to navigate both the elation and the complications that had come with finding each other again.

Like seeing the way crippling fear was fogging Rick’s perspective and the way Michonne was starting to feel like she’s gonna have to figure out how to bring her family back together all by herself. It was a lot. 🥺 But it was all very interesting. Also, even in an episode where Rick and Michonne spend a large chunk of it in a marital fight, I love that their love for each other is still extremely obvious. 

So first, in the episode one recap that played before episode 2 they start with Okafor talking about how As are sent away and killed and I know they included that because the Civic Republic has now just brought in the most A person that could ever A - Dana Bethune aka Michonne Grimes.

Then, the episode opens with a flashback from years ago as we see a line of consignees' shoes and then we know it’s Rick when we see his signature boots that are hanging on by a thread. That man is loyal to the core, even to his boots. 😋

gif cred: @perryabbott

The CRM says, “This is gonna be your home someday soon” but you know Rick knows this place will never be home.

He walks and takes in the place, turning around to observe some windmills and buildings. This shows how he's an A unlike the other consignees because he's assessing this place rather than just going along with things.

As he turns and walks alone past different booths, I remember just thinking how he would so much rather be walking hand in hand with Michonne and Judith right now. Or, if this wasn’t a place you can’t leave, he’d want to be enjoying this little farmers market cuteness with them. 

gif cred: @andy-clutterbuck

As he walks he hears Jadis ask for a napkin and he turns to her and it’s clear of all the familiar faces he could have been stuck with in the CRM Jadis is not one he’d ever choose.

She’s all smirking as she greets him and is just casually talking about the fries and I was so annoyed to see Jadis acting like she didn’t full-on pluck Rick away from his wife and daughter seemingly for good. Also, Jadis wasting those fries is added to the long list of why she's trifling. 😑 

Rick hesitantly walks with Jadis and she starts to explain how her Heapsters group from s7 would give lost souls who needed saving to the CRM and also they’d give people who are threats to the CRM in exchange for supplies. Jadis says she waited for Rick’s orientation so they could talk which I’m sure he prefers she didn’t lol.

She shares that the CRM keeps asking her what they should ask Rick and she hopes Rick will say he’s looking for someone to follow…but uh he already found someone with a sword to follow years ago at the prison. 😌

Jadis tries to be chummy with Rick saying he can talk to her because the CRM can’t surveil them here and Rick gets straight to addressing the audacity of the matter when he reminds Jadis, “You brought me somewhere I can’t leave.”

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

The way Rick says that first line, you know he feels this is the worst punishment keeping him away from his family. He does not view this as being saved but being trapped. 

(Side note: whatever that rebar recovery process was like for Rick leading up to this point treated him very kindly because they had him looking especially fine in this scene, just saying.😊 Also, for the longest time Season 8 Rick held the title of Rick's finest era to me, but Rick's TOWL era holds the title now without question 👌🏽)

Jadis says she could have chosen to let him die on the riverbed or told the CRM he was a threat. She notes how the CRM doesn’t take chances but she did because she owed him. At least she knows that much. 😒

Rick asks why she’s not also working consignment and idk why Jadis is all smirky but she is and Rick knows she doesn’t have to work consignment because she trafficked him. And they wonder why she’ll never be redeemable in my eyes. Like she basically sold Rick to this place as almost a currency to upgrade her life. Trash in all the ways. 😤🗑

gif cred: @clonecaptains

So Rick has one of those quick pissed smiles and walks away from Jadis but she follows after him to tell him that she’s enlisting in this place and she’s gonna sign up and move up the ranks because she believes in the CRM and its 500-year plan “to recreate the world as it was, better than it was.”

And while the way CRM folk buy into the 500-year plan definitely was giving cult vibes I can at the very least empathize with how they all might feel excited about the idea of the world potentially regaining normalcy after years of an apocalypse. However, their means of regaining normalcy through mass killings is atrocious.

Rick looks like he’s barely listening as Jadis tries to sell why this place is so great and why it’s the future. She says joining this place’s mission to change the world seems like a perfectly fine way to spend a life. But like girl, that may be the case if you didn't have a family and were community-less…but Rick has a whole wife and kid(s) at home and there’s no other way he’d rather spend his life than with them.

Jadis says, “The people that we left behind - their children’s children will have a world.” Can we start first with Rick even meeting his child RJ before people start recruiting him to a life of servitude for the children’s children?? And “people we left behind” is annoyingly phrased as if among those people isn’t Rick’s wife and daughter and as if he willingly left them behind. 😑

gif cred: @perryabbott

I love that Rick gets fed up and stops to look right at her with his steely eyes as he tells her point blank “I’m going home.” Now that was some signature Rick Grimes and I love it. 👏🏽

It makes me happy to see how absolutely determined he was to make it back home and also sad knowing that it would be so much harder than he could have ever expected at this moment.

But also I’m glad that he wanted to make this so clear to Jadis who really seemed to think Rick would just be cool with building some all-new life here. She tried it to capacity but I’d expect nothing less from her. 😪

Jadis knows Rick is serious and that she should back off when she just tells him, “Follow your bliss, Rick. But I did save your life. That is what happened” She really stays ticking me off with each thing she says and does and we haven’t even cut to the present yet where she pisses me off on another level. 🙃

Rick looks at her pissed too as he walks away from her because yes she kept him from dying that day of the bridge explosion but her actions ultimately led to Rick having to endure a far more painful death - the death where you’re still alive but a shell of who you once were, filled only with the ache from being torn from your loved ones. 

gif cred: @andy-clutterbuck

As Rick walks away, Jadis has to put the cherry on top of the tried-it sundae and tell Rick, “You’re welcome.” 🙄

There is a moment when Rick hears this and sorta tilts his head like he’s gonna turn around and say something back. And knowing how willingly petty Rick can be toward Jadis I’m sure he had something real slick and insulting to say. But he smartly decides not to cause a scene as he keeps walking forward.

They also have Rick stop for a moment as he seems to see something ahead and I’d like to think it’s the portraiture booth. After that frustrating encounter with Jadis, I know he could use a palette cleanser so I bet he went straight to that artist Benjiro for his first much-needed images of Michonne and Judith. 👌🏽

Then we cut to hours ago in the present as Rick knocks on Pearl’s door. (See how he actually knocks rather than barging in like some others 🙂) Pearl opens the door and she's been understandably crying over the death of their longtime leader Okafor and Rick is completely unconcerned about that at this moment lol.

While Pearl’s broken up and worried about if Rick’s okay after surviving a traumatic helicopter crash and attack, Rick is like...

Truly Rick's energy is like 'that crash stuff is all old news and there's something far more important on the agenda.'

He immediately and urgently gets into the Dana conversation telling Pearl, “Just listen to me. There’s a woman who saved me.” And I of course love the wording of that because it’s true in every way that Michonne saved and saves him. Also, if I were Pearl I’d be like so now when someone saves you you give them credit for it? 🙃

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

Rick doesn’t look at Pearl as he speaks at first because I know he knows his face could give him away and reveal just how important this all is to him. He says this heroic mystery woman is in designation intake right now and then he does look right at Pearl to tell the truth that, “She’s an A.”

Then with too much passion in his eyes, Rick says, “And I don’t want them to send her away.” I was like now Rick, yes Michonne is supposed to be putting on an act in the CRM but you are too sir and for as long as Pearl has known you I don’t think she’s ever seen this much light and urgency behind your eyes about anything.

Like before this, Rick was the man who seemed like he didn’t give a damn about anything involving the CRM, and now all of a sudden he's fully activated over this new consignee. 🤭 This was one of the many moments where I was just looking at Rick like babe, change the plan cuz this 'undercover lovers' thing ain’t gonna work. 

Pearl says Rick doesn’t know for sure if this new girl is an A but he knows Michonne is an A more than he knows his own name lol. And I love how even despite years apart he still knows Michonne is an A++.

gif cred: @perryabbott

Rick maintains his urgency saying, “I’m making a call. But if I argue for her they’ll think I’m emotional, indebted.” Which again I know Rick is thinking 'And the CRM would be right in assessing that because I owe that woman everything.'

Then he passionately says, “You gotta make sure she stays.” And that was not an ask, that was an order Rick made because this is something he‘s gonna make sure happens at all costs.

Pearl looks at Rick and squints for a moment finally picking up on the fact that this man in front of her is a different and far more impassioned Grimes than she’s ever seen before as she asks, “Why?” validly wondering why it’s so important to Rick that this new lady stays in this city of thousands.

And the way Rick lays it on thick with the lie as he tries to say with conviction, “For Okafor. Because that’s what this has all been about.” He’s really trying to sell it. 🤭 And I feel bad because Rick thinks he can turn to Pearl as a fellow A but again I’m convinced Pearl is more of a B with a decent enough poker face to try and pretend she's an A, and so she’s not exactly cut from the same cloth as Rick and his wife.

gif cred: @perryabbott

Pearl says, “He’s dead” and again Rick tries to get into his persuasive acting bag as he passionately says, “No he’s not. Because we’re here.” I love seeing him willing to say and do anything to ensure Michonne is protected. Also, it hit me that Rick is using Okafor to help his case in getting Pearl to protect Michonne - the very woman who had a hand in Okafor dying. Rick really said bump Okafor and everyone else when it comes to my wife. 💯

Pearl asks, “Are you here, Rick?” And I was like baby, Rick has never been more here because this is the Rick Grimes I know and love, fighting like hell to protect his family. 👌🏽 But then she clarifies what she means by asking, “Are you a part of this?” Rick looks at her and says, “I understand now. I told him just before.” And he’s able to look her in the eye saying that because it is true that Rick told Okafor he was in just before his wife showed up.

And then Rick looks down when he says, “You were right” because that’s the lie part of it. Pearl asks who brings Michonne/Dana along and Rick says she should because the CRM and Okafor trust her more than him. Pearl is still unsure so Rick says, “Look it took me a long time. You helped me. I’m here. She should be too.”

While I absolutely loved seeing the passion here from Rick I unfortunately cannot give him an A letter grade for his performance as Man Who Is Not Madly In Love With The New Consignee lol. 😋

Like Rick had more energy in his behavior and urgency in his eyes than ever so he’s lucky Pearl didn’t pick up on it since she was still reeling from the Okafor loss and everything else going on. Otherwise, I just know she would've been closing her door like...

So while I thought he was being obvious, Rick did do a good enough job to convince Pearl to go along with his plan and stick her neck out for Michonne. So my baby Rick still gets at least a passing grade for his role as Man Who Is Not Madly In Love With The New Consignee. 😌👏🏽

Rick returns to his apartment and we pick up where we left off from the end of episode 2. Jadis knows Rick well enough to know the way he’s looking at her in this apartment means he's got murder on his mind as she says, “You’re thinking about killing me.”

And then she receives a signature Rick Grimes threat as he says with all the certainty in the world, “I will. But not today.” 👌🏽 And Jadis, girl...

I just know Rick feels like Jadis is overdue to be taken out for playing in his face for years. And if now she at all thinks she's going to mess with Michonne - that makes her death sentence signed sealed and delivered in Rick's book. 

Rick tells her, “It’s funny. I see it. I feel it. Throwing away everything you made happen for yourself. Because you needed to get in the middle of something you have nothing to do with.” I love him saying this. Jadis has tried to throw herself in the mix of Richonne for years and I love that Rick is like 'bowl-cut, you do not need to factor into this equation at all.' And if she doesn’t stay in her lane he’s going to end her and everything she’s worked towards 

Jadis self-centered behind begs to differ saying, “I have everything to do with it. Our fates are bound. You, Michonne, Me.” And y’all, I just happened to pause the scene for a sec and it was on Rick’s face and the way he is looking at Jadis…truly if looks could kill Jadis would be a goner in that very moment. 😬 As Okafor learned, an adversary having Michonne’s name in their mouth is going to get Rick heated like no other.

Jadis explains that if Rick and Michonne were the first two people to ever leave then the CRM would never stop looking for them ever and since Jadis would know where they were she’d be the one to have to destroy ASZ. And again as Rick listens to this he’s so viscerally pissed off and I 1000% get it.

Jadis says she’d have to kill everyone to make sure their arrangement was never discovered and again this woman always acts in self-interest. Rick scowls as he tells her the gospel truth, “This was your mess. This is you. This is you.”

This is all Jadis's doing so she really needed to stop acting like there’s anyone else to blame. Jadis is approaching this as if Rick went out of his way to complicate things by coming to the CRM as an A when she’s the one who roped him into her lies.

It’s hard because as Rick says this you can tell he’s thinking about how so much of his pain and problems trace back to trifling Jadis, like since season 7. 😪

Jadis is still so smug as she tells Rick, “In the event of my untimely demise, I just put a little file among my possessions telling them everything they need to know about you and all the people that you love. And I imagine that a CRM reclamation team would have everybody that you love dead within hours of that file's receipt”

Okay, first of all - Jadis, you beast. 😠 But it is fitting that Jadis has factored in a plan based on Rick taking her out because at least she knows how likely it is that he’ll kill her.

Second of all, this woman is just so cruel. Like she knows Rick has people he loves, not just community members or travel companions but like family family and she’s still so callous and cold when threatening him and them.

gif cred: @riickgrimes

Three; similar to the scene in ep 1 between Okafor and Rick when Rick realizes he really can’t risk going home anymore, this moment with Jadis is another one of those gut punches as he again realizes that he can’t break free with Michonne like he initially really hoped.

Like I truly think before this moment he did think he and Michonne would find a way out together but now he’s right back to feeling convinced that the CRM can’t be beaten and that he’s stuck here forever, which is why we see his mission change from getting them both out of here to just getting Michonne out of here. All that psychological warfare came right back to keep Rick in chains in this scene. 😢

As Jadis talks you can see it - you can see the hope Rick had of escaping with Michonne drain out. Before he was looking at Jadis angry and upset but upon hearing that their escape will get Michonne and their family killed he starts that labored breathing we’ll see much of the next episode, which is a clear indicator of his fear and panic.

Jadis says, “Because you and her leaving with the knowledge of that city and this force? You know that can’t be had.” I can’t believe Jadis is making me miss the days when she spoke in short broken sentences. Like plz...

It’s so hard seeing Rick look so distraught while he paces and gets sincerely emotional as the realization hits him that he might’ve just trapped his wife here along with him.

The way he walks toward the door then stops, it feels like he wants to sprint out of there and get to Michonne ASAP to wrap her in bubble wrap and shield her from everyone. Plus he needs the calmness Michonne provides back as he’s starting to unravel.

Then my heart always melts hearing Rick say with so much sincerity and emotion, “She doesn’t belong here.”

Again, this further cements that this has now become strictly a save-Michonne mission to him because he’s not making a case for the both of them, just her.

And the way he says it is just so extremely caring and protective. Like he is truly talking about his baby and feels utterly awful that Michonne is here because of him. 🥺

gif cred: @riickgrimes

It’s also sad that he only says Michonne doesn’t belong here because the CRM has convinced Rick that he is owned by them. And it’s like he’s accepting that harsh reality but still mustering the strength to at least argue that Michonne should not be stuck with the CRM like him. 

And then y’all, the line that’ll be having me want to swing every time is when Jadis responds to Rick’s heartfelt declaration about his wife not belonging here by saying in her best Karen voice, “Then she shouldn’t have come here.”

Like how much more patronizing and heartless can she be toward both Rick and Michonne. That line is gonna get me heated every time. 😑

Jadis says, “But that was her choice.” And you know hearing that hits Rick hard because he knows that it was not Michonne's choice but his that she’d come to the Civic Republic. Like Rick is already a man who feels so responsible for things and so you know he just feels responsible on another level for bringing her here knowing Michonne trusted to follow his lead. 

Jadis then asks Rick, “So what’s your choice?” And the way Rick looks at her I can literally hear the thought in his head - my wife is my choice. And while it will cause some issues, we do see him choose his wife in his actions that follow.

gif cred: @clonecaptains

Also what is with this CRM and all their dang choices that aren’t choices. 🙄 Like they’re obsessed with referring to things as choices when they are choices people basically have to make at gunpoint.

Rick is quietly seething as Jadis asks, “Will you tell me that you will not try to leave again? If you try with her everyone back home dies.” I do like how at least Jadis knows Michonne being here means Rick definitely got some newfound hope of breaking out of this place after giving up on the idea for a year or so. She knows Michonne would give Rick a renewed sense of strength and motivation that could lead to the two actually successfully escaping. 

And then Rick just breaks my heart yet again as he so emotionally and earnestly asks,“Why? why?” And I have the same question. As well as wanting to ask Jadis...

I was watching this scene just thinking after everything Rick's done for this selfish woman, WHY can’t she just leave him alone? If anything, had they let Rick go home, I think at least for a while he really would have left the CRM alone.

But the CRM done messed up keeping Rick here so long that now his baddie A wife had to show up because Michonne is the one who would be of the mindset they have to teach the CRM a lesson and expose this 'last light of the world'.

Jadis answers that she’s doing all this because of the CRM’s value of “Security and secrecy above all.” And Rick reacts like 'oh brother, not this damn CRM motto again.' Or maybe that was a direct quote from my mind lol.

Jadis again as self-centered as ever says she will not jeopardize everything she’s made happen for herself. She says, “I won’t wait for them to find you and they will find you- and it’ll all blow back on me.” Again, Jadis...

Rick tries to reason with Jadis asking if there’s a deal to be made and if she can clean it up. Hearing that I was like - nawt us still having storylines of making deals with Jadis in 2024. 🙃 Like we needed to stop making deals with Jadis in 2017. The woman is a snake point-blank and so any deal with her is truly pointless.

Jadis says there’s no deal and then she notes that Michonne is “very very lucky” because the CRM suspects that she’s an A but still let her in because Pearl stepped up. Lol, I’m not at all surprised they got the sense that Dana was an A. I thought Michonne actually gave a decent B performance during the vetting process but still, she radiates A energy as other consignees will soon note.

Jadis asks if Rick was behind Pearl advocating for Michonne and when he’s silent Jadis is like “Wow. You pulled that off.” And then she again tries it to capacity when she tells Rick, “So have your life together here.” Wth, Jadis?? 😠 I know she knows good and well Rick and Michonne have a daughter at home so just how ridiculous can she be suggesting they should just leave Judith behind and build a life here. I’d say dpmo but...

Then Jadis has more CRM propaganda to spew as she says, “We’re the last light of the world.” But me personally, I give that description to the Grimes family. 👌🏽

Jadis then stands up and gets in Rick's personal space as she again asks, “What’s your choice?” Rick is teary-eyed as he knows his choice is made. If it comes down to having Michonne with him stuck here or getting her out safe and back to Judith - He’s choosing his wife and daughter every time.

As he looks down defeated Jadis says, “You know I don’t need to hear it.” And it’s interesting because this scene really does a good job of depicting the massive shift in Rick from when he entered the apartment to when Jadis leaves.

At the end of ep 2 when Jadis was in Rick’s face he was lethally staring her down but now when she’s in his face he hangs his head down, beaten down by her threats toward his family. 😢

Rick then says, “You didn’t threaten me or the people I love before when I told you I was gonna get away.” And I’ll say this, Pollyanna very much understood the assignment knowing how infuriating Jadis was meant to be because she again uses a tone that makes me irate as she just smugly tells Rick, “That’s cuz I knew you couldn’t.”

gif cred: @likeafantasy

Honestly, I see why Rick cherishes so much that Michonne believes in him because unfortunately, so many others underestimate him.

However, without his family by his side, Rick was in fact sadly made to feel like he couldn’t fend off the CRM’s oppression forever. 

gif cred: @likeafantasy

Rick asks, “What changed?” and Jadis turns around, sounding oddly enough like she’s a fellow Richonne stan, as she says, “You two together? You can do anything.”

gif cred: @likeafantasy

It’s at least fitting that Jadis knows Rick and Michonne were going to try to be the first two to escape this place and that if anyone could pull it off they could. From the moment she met Richonne in season 7 she saw firsthand that they could do anything together.

And while dialogue-wise I think there perhaps could have been a way to say Richonne can do anything without saying it as on-the-nose, I don’t mind hearing it because it’s an utterly true statement. And I do like hearing this belief in Richonne’s abilities together even if it had to come from the most trifling of mouths.

gif cred: @likeafantasy

I so badly wanted Rick to see that Jadis saying this is her basically admitting she’s scared of him and his wife together. But Rick is understandably scared that any of his next moves could get the woman he loves most harmed and so this moment with Jadis instead effectively deflates his hope of escaping with Michonne. Now Rick is determined simply to get Michonne out of here alive. 

Rick watches the door as Jadis exits and you can see in his face that there’s so much running through his mind. As much as he wants to believe that he and Michonne can do anything he’s also not willing to risk losing Michonne in the process of trying to escape together.

So by the end of this teaser - TOWL's lengthiest teaser, I believe - we know that this whole get-home thing just got a lot messier and a lot harder.

Going home is still the mission but thanks to the evil snake that is Jadis, the “together” part of “going home together” has now changed.

gif cred: @likeafantasy

I called this post The Broken Bliss because Rick felt more hopeful than ever that this would be the time he finally broke out since now his wife is here, but then Jadis shattered the bliss he was trying to follow. 😞 And now when Rick thinks about his wife being here it strictly overwhelms him with fear. 

So with this teaser, we saw a very pivotal development for Rick, and next it was time for us to check in on Michonne. And now, y'all know Michonne has always been a true source of peace for Rick...but that Ms. Dana Bethune on the other hand - she's about to have this man stressing. 😅👌🏽

[hopefulatrocity]

Snow And Embers

Notes: Uh so I've fallen into my Hunger Games hyperfixation again. This is just something that came to my mind while watching the movie. I needed a refresher from my TWD fic(I have not abandoned that I swear). This leans more heavily to the movie than the books, except for Lucy's eye color, I stuck to the book with that. So spoilers. NOT PROOFREAD. Also, I'm highly of the notion that Coryo did love Lucy but not all love is healthy. His bordered on obsession. And with a tendency for paranoia, it didn't end well.

Pairing: Lucy Gray Baird x Coriolanus Snow (SnowBaird)

Part 2

CW/TW: Spoilers for BOSAS, darkish thoughts, ideas of claiming/possession, Smut!(18+ breeding kink, creampie, fingering, slight somnophilia, very slight inexperienced Coryo).

The first time Coriolanus and Lucy Gray  became one, it was slow and euphoric. There had been hesitation for him. As ashamed as he was to admit it, he had never been with anyone, romantically or sexually. He'd spent his life worrying about status, money, and academics. With the fragile state of his academic career due to Dean Highbottom's hatred for him, and the ever looming threat of eviction and starvation, even after the Dark Days, he hadn't had the time nor emotional ability to even attempt either. The beautiful rainbow that was Lucy Gray Baird, was the catalyst that changed everything. 

He'd been enchanted by her singing during the Reaping, and initially he thought his interest was simply hope that maybe she could be the key to his family's troubles. That she could be the one to turn his fortune around. Those thoughts turned the moment he watched Lucy Gray pluck a petal from his proffered white rose, and place it on her delicate pink tongue, the two colors contrasting and trapping his gaze. When her lips sealed around the soft sepal, his blue eyes traced the plump flesh, wondering what the skin there tasted like. Would they taste like roses? Or would it be something wholly Lucy Gray? 

He'd had to snap himself out of his trance, scolding himself for falling victim to his brain's carnal desires. He was there to be a mentor. He was there to fix his family's status and finally land on top, just like snow was supposed to. For a while this train of thought had worked. Every time his mind wandered to tanned skin and silky hair colored like the rich dark chocolate from his starvation-induced childhood dreams, he would think back to his interaction with Dean Highbottom, the threats, and the reasoning for why he was interacting with the tribute in the first place. 

It didn't help matters when Lucy Gray had threaded her fingers into his own when they went to view the arena with the other tributes and mentors. Her palm was sweaty, so was his, but the way their fingers fit together perfectly had his heart beating faster than ever before. He'd looked into her eyes and the fear there had him tightening his grip, a measure of reassurance. His inner Capitolite had reared it's head then, warning him about getting too close to her, a district girl. A tribute at that. One likely to die within the next few days. He'd dropped her hand, almost like the soft creases of her palm were instead the fangs of the snakes she so easily mastered. 

Within minutes everything had gone to ruin, the bomb had gone off, flaming rebar fell on top of him, and suddenly he knew he was going to die. He'd called for her, the dust and rubble making his throat and eyes burn. In the haze, he had seen her look towards the exit, she had a chance to escape. Surely this meant she would leave him to be engulfed by the flames on his back. But she hadn't. She had pushed away another tribute who told her to run and had gone to help him. A district girl saving the life of a Capitol boy. It was the kind of propaganda that would have made his grandma'am's heart stop. 

Lucy Gray had saved his life. He had to save hers. So he snuck his mother's poison filled compact to her in dead of night. Through the bars he had poured his heart out, not in words of love or passion but of strategy and advice for winning the games. It was all he could do. When she had leaned forward, her lips seeking his through the bars, he had pulled back in shock. As much as he wanted to kiss her, he couldn't. If he did and she died the next day, he wasn't sure he would survive it. Internally, he promised himself that if Lucy Gray won, he would do everything he could to finally find out what she tasted like. 

And she had won, his tampering with the snakes and the compact being her lifelines. Despite the fallout from his treason, Coriolanus kept his promise to himself. He'd bribed his way to District 12, unsure if he would even be able to find his rainbow songbird. For all he knew, Gaul could have killed her. 

But then he saw her in that bar. Singing so beautifully. When her eyes met his, his heart lept and so did his cock. 

The first time they kissed, it was like the world turned on its axis and nothing else mattered but Lucy Gray. She did taste like roses, fresh and floral. And the softness of her lips balanced the slight roughness of his own. He had to leave her, return to base, but he knew that kiss was just the start of something more. Something powerful. 

Over the next few weeks, anytime he was able to sneak away from his peacekeeper duties, he was with her. Soft touches, handholding, and hugs turned to bruising grips, roving hands, and passionate kisses. Despite his inexperience, Coriolanus felt like a connoisseur of intimacy when he was with Lucy Gray. She had a bit more experience than him, the idea of another man touching his songbird made his stomach turn but he knew it wasn't something that could be changed. She guided him whenever his feelings of inadequacy crept up. She would push his hesitant hands under her skirt, letting his recently calloused fingers graze over the smooth skin of her thighs. Or press her tongue past his lips and tangle it with his own. Each step a domino collapsing and pushing him to move further with her. 

They didn't have sex until the second time they visited the cabin by the lake, that time without the Covey. By some miracle, his unit had been given a weekend of rest and he took advantage of it. As soon as they had stepped into the cabin, their lips had collided and clothes fell to the floor in a trail, leading directly to the one bed in the corner. 

Night had fallen, and the only light was a small oil lantern on the bedside table that he had briefly gotten up to light. The flickering flames danced along the contours of Lucy Gray's naked body and he stared at her sleeping form for hours. He was laying on his side, the thin blanket covering his waist, with one hand propping up his head. The short spikes of his hair tickled his palm and he thought about how Lucy Gray had tried so hard to grasp it. He wished it was longer, he could easily imagine how good it would feel to have her tugging at his long curls. 

Coriolanus’ blue eyes traveled over Lucy Gray's face. Her dark locks where sprawled over the one threadbare pillow, coiled like snakes from the arena. Occasionally her eyelashes would flutter against her cheek and she would sigh. His heart would stop for a moment, both with happiness and fear. Happiness that he would be able to see her warm gray eyes gazing up at him lovingly, but also fear to be losing that moment of retrospection. His eyes moved from her face, down her neck, and to the top of her breasts. The perfect handfuls were covered by the blanket they both shared, as was the rest of her body. She had one hand laying across her stomach, while the other was tucked under her head. 

With a mind of their own, his fingers moved out to lightly stroke the soft skin of her hand. The same ones that had stroked his cock expertly, and had teased their way across his thighs. Needing to see the rest of her, Coriolanus slowly pulled down the blanket until it was laying over her knees. Heat began to pool in his stomach as he saw goosebumps bead on her skin. Her dark nipples peaked in the chilled air and he had to stop himself from running his fingers over the pointed tips. Blue eyes caressed her stomach and moved  over the slight curve of her abdomen that led to the thick patch of curls between her legs. She had one leg bent and the other splayed out, giving him a glimpse of the heat that lay hidden by the soft hair that guarded it. Her dusky folds still glistened, even though it had been hours since he'd been inside her. But his full focus was drawn to the pearl of white that sat at her entrance. A small amount of his cum was still there and it made the animalistic part of him purr. He had cleaned between her legs with his shirt shortly after their coupling, but she was still dripping with him.  A dark part of his mind wondered if it had taken. If he had claimed her fully. 

At the time, they hadn't spoken of contraception. Not that there was much of that available anyways. The Capitol had just barely begun manufacturing any type of birth control again after the war. It was expensive and no one in the districts could afford condoms or anything like that. Even their base commander had told them to be careful during leaves. The last thing they needed was news of Peacekeepers knocking up the district women. It would only bring more rebels to their doors. 

He knew the Covey was adept with herbal remedies but he hoped that they didn't have one for this type of thing. It was shocking to him, as he hadn't spent much time thinking about the possibility of having children. His priorities had revolved mostly around the intertwining of his family's status and his education. But now here he lay, his girl by his side, wondering what it would be like to make her his own. To have his seed plant itself deep inside her. She'd be marked by him, her pregnant belly a sign that she belonged only to him. That coal rat Billy Taupe would finally understand that Lucy Gray Baird was his. No one else would dare look at her. And if they did he had no problems with killing them. 

Coriolanus painted along her skin with the tips of his fingers, gently rasping them over her puckered nipples. He stared at her breasts and wondered how big they would they get. He imagined them swollen with milk, the tips dripping and the flesh overflowing his hands. 

Lucy Gray's stomach was smooth and her hips weren't very wide, but he knew they would adjust to hold his child. The supple skin would become taut and her hips would expand to accommodate their child. Would she get stretch marks? He hoped she did. That way she'd be marked even after giving birth. A beautiful scar to remind her and anyone else who had fully claimed her body. 

Drawn again to the small bead of cum at her entrance, Coriolanus ran his fingers through her lower curls and pressed his seed back inside her warm channel with his pointer finger. A low moan escaped Lucy Gray's lips and she clenched around the thin digit. As if her body was trying to pull his seed back inside her. His chest tightened and he looked up to see if she had woken up. But her eyes were still closed. Good. He wanted a few more minutes to indulge in this fantasy. No.. not fantasy. Plan. The animal inside him refused to forget about this. It had made up its mind. Lucy Gray was his. And her body was destined to carry his child. 

Gently he removed his finger from inside her, the tip brushing against her clit and causing another moan to leave her parted pink lips. If her singing voice was perfection, her moans were solace for him.

Coriolanus lifted his small corner of the blanket and moved his body over hers, his stiff cock brushing her thighs and settling over her public hair. The slight pricking of the coarse hairs across the tip of him was shocking. He had to stop himself from thrusting against her, seeking more friction. His body was still inexperienced, still desperate for any touch. 

His nose brushed hers and his fists caged either side of her face. 

“Lucy Gray….”

The rasp of  his voice saying her name vibrated across her lips. She woke slowly, the look of sleep and pleasure keeping her lids drooping. As soon as she realized what had woken her up, a small smile crossed her face. 

“Coryo.”, she brushed her lips against his. His name sounded like a possession. He didn't want anyone else to say his name. Just like her body belonged to him, his name was hers alone. The twitching of his cock against her slit had her pressing her hips up to tease him. He pushed forward a bit, notching himself at her entrance, her still dripping cunt practically begging him to thrust into her. Lifting one of his hands, he cupped her cheek, and stroked his tumb over the apple tenderly. Her gray eyes latched onto his own, both searching for something unknown in his gaze. 

“Mine,” he whispered it, almost lovingly, but with a note of passion and mastery. A declaration of his possession, daring her to contradict him. 

Lucy Gray nodded her head minutely, and  placed a ghost of a kiss on his chin. Those lips that had bewitched him from the moment he saw them wrapping around that rose petal were soft as silk. Since then he had found that she truly did taste of roses and something smokey, like embers. 

Drunk on his floral scent and the need to be filled, she whispered, “Yours, Coryo.”

Darkness clouded Coriolanus’ light blue eyes and she gasped as he thrust to the hilt inside her. The tip of his cock brushed the entrance to her womb and her channel began to pulse around him. Begging him to fill her. Lucy Gray's body instinctively knew what it needed from him. 

She wasn't fully his. Not yet. But she would be by the end of the night. 

[lovelovestolove]

Human intelligence is like a film of oil floating on the surface of the body of water of existence.

You think rationality is the foundation and the indispensabile concrete and steel rebar of our experienced reality

It actually is a mesh of metal wires inside a mouthful of food,

A plastic film around the surface of a warm teardrop

You think reason is the passage, the ropes, the highway, the shortcut, the necessary path.

In actuality, it is a metal snake biting onto its own tail

It keeps spinning, making you feel like you have been moving forward, moving on

You worship rationality, intelligence

Despise everything else, like a monkey king perched atop a tall tree, looking down upon an elephant herd the size of ants, upon a river as skinny as a silver snake

Lifting your furless bald head, sacred and reverent, you mutter, "Oh, my dearest, your highness Sun"

You feel fear toward the grand, abstract-painting-like earth beneath your feet

Keep yourself busy burrying your head in weaving the rope net in your hands—

the tool by which you measure your existence.

Draped in it, you feel the weight of an emperor.

"Oh," you think, "I am the king."

Towards the silent giraffes passing by, which are no larger than a thread’s end,

You declare: "I am the king, I am the Archon!"

--Lose Your Mind

.

[jbrebarcoupler]

Rebar Couplers are used for joining rebars with full tension capacity. The ends of bars to be joined are provided with threads, and the bars are joined using a coupler sleeve that transfers the force on the rebar across the connection.

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[iyelastudio]

Embedding March 2025 Rebar, fabrics, foam, thread, flames Approx. 80 in. x 20 in. x 24 in.

This piece was entirely an intuitive process, something fairly new I incorporated into my practice. It began with the bending of metal and layering fibers, and each gesture responded to the last. The materials ended up leading me into a conversation- revealing images of hair with the frayed fabric, a bed as soon as I sewed the foam onto the rebar, trespassing as I burned hand marks onto the batting, nightmare as I realized that I was exploring something hidden within. The act of making became a conversation with my subconscious. The result is like the way I used flames to singe the material and to melt fabrics together, it feels like residue, something left behind by impulse, by memory, by something not fully visible. Embedding is a space where thoughts are exposed and where the body is absent but its imprint lingers.

[dladto]

The Difference Between Threaded Rebar Coupler and Cold Extrusion Rebar Coupler

In the current booming stage of China's construction industry, there are various types of building structures, which pose higher demands on steel connections. Among the mechanical methods of steel connection, threaded rebar coupler connection and cold extrusion rebar coupler connection are two common methods. So, what are the differences between them?

In terms of the connection method, threaded rebar coupler connection involves cutting off the longitudinal and transverse ribs at the end of the rebar, then rolling them into straight threads, and finally using a coupler to connect the rebars together. This connection method is simple and fast to operate, with high connection strength and fast construction speed. On the other hand, cold extrusion rebar coupler connection involves inserting the end of the rebar into a special steel sleeve, compressing the sleeve with an extrusion machine to induce plastic deformation, thus achieving rebar connection through the mechanical interlocking force between the sleeve and the rebar.

Regardless of the chosen connection method, emphasis should be placed on quality when making a purchase. DLADTO produces a series of steel couplers including threaded rebar couplers, cold extrusion rebar couplers, and reducing couplers, with a complete range of sizes and specifications, capable of meeting various needs while maintaining reliable quality.

When choosing steel connectors for construction projects, contractors and engineers should carefully consider the advantages and disadvantages of each method to ensure the safety and durability of the overall structure. By understanding the differences between threaded rebar coupler and cold extrusion rebar coupler connections, construction professionals can make informed decisions to achieve efficient and reliable steel connections in their projects.

[wasims-posts]

Rebar Processing Machine in Delhi

Rebar Processing Machine in Delhi

Introduction

A Rebar Processing Machine in Delhi is a crucial tool in the construction industry, designed to automate cutting, bending, and shaping of reinforcement bars. These machines improve efficiency, reduce manual labor, and ensure precision in construction projects. Topall Impex is a trusted supplier of high-quality rebar processing machines, providing durable and efficient equipment to meet the needs of modern construction.

Why Choose a Rebar Processing Machine in Delhi?

Construction projects in Delhi require accuracy and speed to meet deadlines and maintain quality standards. A Rebar Processing Machine in Delhi simplifies the task of cutting and bending steel bars, ensuring structural strength and efficiency.

Benefits of Using a Rebar Processing Machine:

Increases Productivity: Automates the process, saving time and effort.

Ensures Precision: Delivers accurate cuts and bends, reducing material wastage.

Reduces Labor Costs: Requires minimal manual intervention, enhancing efficiency.

Enhances Safety: Minimizes the risks associated with manual cutting and bending.

Durable and Long-Lasting: Built with high-quality components for extended use.

Types of Rebar Processing Machines We Offer

1. Rebar Cutting Machine

Designed for fast and precise cutting of steel bars.

Suitable for different bar diameters and thicknesses.

High-speed operation to increase productivity.

2. Rebar Bending Machine

Bends reinforcement bars into required shapes and angles.

Ensures accuracy, reducing manual errors.

Ideal for large-scale construction projects.

3. Rebar Stirrup Bender

Used for shaping rebar stirrups for reinforced concrete structures.

Ensures uniformity and structural integrity.

Suitable for bridges, tunnels, and high-rise buildings.

4. Rebar Straightening and Cutting Machine

Straightens coiled rebar and cuts it to required lengths.

Reduces material wastage and improves efficiency.

Perfect for steel fabrication units and construction sites.

5. Rebar Thread Rolling Machine

Creates threaded rebar ends for easy and strong connections.

Enhances construction stability and safety.

Supports multiple threading sizes.

Why Choose Topall Impex for Rebar Processing Machines in Delhi?

Topall Impex is a leading supplier of Rebar Processing Machines in Delhi, offering top-quality products with advanced technology to meet industry demands.

Key Features of Our Machines:

High-Quality Blades & Components: Ensures precise cutting and bending.

Durable Build: Made from robust materials for long-term reliability.

User-Friendly Operation: Easy to use with simple controls.

Low Maintenance: Designed for minimal upkeep, reducing operational costs.

Affordable Pricing: Competitive rates with superior quality.

Applications of Rebar Processing Machines

Residential Construction: Apartments, villas, and housing complexes.

Commercial Projects: Shopping malls, office buildings, and IT parks.

Infrastructure Development: Bridges, highways, metro rail, and flyovers.

Industrial Structures: Factories, warehouses, and manufacturing plants.

Buy the Best Rebar Processing Machine in Delhi

If you are looking for a high-quality Rebar Processing Machine in Delhi, Topall Impex offers the best solutions. Our machines ensure efficiency, precision, and safety, making them the perfect choice for construction professionals.

Contact Us:

For more details, visit our website: https://barbendingmachine.in/delhi/rebar-processing-machine.html or call us at +91 9716467843.

Conclusion

A Rebar Processing Machine in Delhi is essential for modern construction projects. Topall Impex provides high-performance, durable, and cost-effective machines to enhance productivity and safety. Contact us today for the best rebar processing solutions!

[civilguidelines]

In modern construction, the need for strong and efficient reinforcement is crucial. Rebar couplers serve as essential components in reinforcing concrete structures, allowing for the continuity of rebars without laps. This technology has revolutionized the way engineers and construction professionals handle reinforced concrete structures, ensuring durability, strength, and seamless connections between rebars.

Understanding Rebar Couplers

A rebar coupler is a mechanical device used to join two pieces of reinforcing bars together. Instead of overlapping rebars, which leads to increased material usage and congestion, couplers provide a direct mechanical connection. These couplers are designed to transfer the load efficiently, ensuring the structure remains robust under various conditions.

Types of Rebar Couplers

Rebar couplers come in various types, each suited for specific applications:

Threaded Rebar Couplers - These couplers have internal threads that allow rebars to be screwed together securely.

Swaged Rebar Couplers - In this method, the coupler is mechanically pressed onto the rebar ends, forming a strong bond.

Welded Rebar Couplers - These couplers are attached using welding, creating a permanent connection between rebars.

Grouted Rebar Couplers - This type involves inserting rebars into a coupler filled with grout, ensuring high-strength bonding.

Crimped Rebar Couplers - A crimping method is used to deform the rebar within the coupler, creating a tight connection.

Each of these types offers distinct advantages, depending on the structural requirements and site conditions.

Read more

[mitro-industries]

Rebar Threading Machine

Mitro Industries Rebar threading machine is the perfect solution for efficient, cost-effective, and high-precision rebar processing, setting new benchmarks in the construction industry.

A Rebar Threading Machine is an essential tool in the construction and manufacturing industry, designed to create threads on the ends of rebar (reinforcing bars) for coupling purposes. This machine ensures that rebar can be efficiently connected, forming strong, reliable connections between rods. Rebar threading machines are widely used for both small-scale construction projects and large-scale commercial and industrial works, enabling faster assembly and reinforcing of structures.

Key Features and Advantages

Precision and Accuracy - Rebar threading machines provide precise threads, ensuring the highest quality and consistency for rebar couplings. This ensures that the final structure is both secure and durable, meeting the necessary strength standards.

High-Speed Operation - With robust motors and advanced threading technology, these machines allow for high-speed operation, reducing manual labor and significantly increasing productivity. This helps meet the demands of time-sensitive construction projects.

Versatility - Rebar threading machines are versatile and can work with a wide range of rebar diameters. They offer threading options for both right-hand and left-hand threads, ensuring flexibility in various applications.

Durable and Reliable - Built to withstand tough construction environments, these machines are made from high-quality materials, ensuring long-lasting performance. Whether working in large commercial projects or small residential constructions, the rebar threading machine will provide dependable service.

User-Friendly - These machines are designed to be easy to operate with minimal training, making them a valuable tool for both skilled professionals and less experienced workers.

Enhanced Safety - Rebar threading machines are equipped with safety features such as emergency stop buttons, protective covers, and proper grounding to prevent accidents during operation.

Applications of Rebar Threading Machines

Construction Sites - Used for threading rebar to form strong connections in reinforced concrete structures such as bridges, highways, buildings, and tunnels. Precast Concrete Manufacturing - Ideal for preparing rebar used in precast panels, beams, and columns. Metal Processing Plants - Suitable for rebar preparation in steel plants and metal fabrication industries.

Mitro Industries Rebar Threading Machine is an indispensable tool for modern construction and metalworking. With its precision, speed, and reliability, it ensures high-quality threaded rebar connections for all types of reinforced concrete projects. Whether you’re working on a residential building or a massive infrastructure project, investing in a rebar threading machine will streamline your operations, reduce costs, and ensure the structural integrity of your projects.

[mitroindustries]

High-Precision Rebar Thread Rolling Machine for Efficient Construction Reinforcement.

The Rebar Thread Rolling Machine is a state-of-the-art solution for enhancing the processing of steel reinforcement bars (rebar’s) in construction projects. Designed to improve operational efficiency, precision, and cost-effectiveness, this advanced equipment produces high-quality threaded connections on rebar’s, ensuring reliable, strong joints that meet rigorous construction standards.

Utilizing a cutting-and-rolling method, the machine efficiently processes the ends of rebar’s, eliminating the need for multiple rolling cycles and minimizing steel transfers, making it ideal for large-scale construction sites. With an intuitive user interface, versatile application, and advanced automation features, the rebar thread rolling machine offers seamless operation, reduced noise, and exceptional thread accuracy.

Key Features:

High Efficiency: Speeds up the threading process with up to 15 seconds per thread.

Precision Engineering: Ensures uniform diameter and thread profile, producing durable and high-strength joints.

Versatile Functionality: Processes rebar’s of varying diameters (16mm-40mm) with ease.

Automation: Includes automatic rib stripping, retraction, and smooth operation with minimal noise.

Cooling System: Features an internal cooling system to maintain performance during heavy-duty operations.

Cost-Effective: Reduces the need for multiple machines, lowering overall equipment investment.

[synthy-sizer]

Everything stops. You're not sure what's going on for a moment, staring at the bright blue flames just beginning to spew from the barrel of the gun, the emotionless face of the drone, the incomprehensible mass of weapons and parts all fused together. It's only after a few moments that you start to look around. You try to move your body, but it's frozen, just like the rest of the universe. All you can do is turn your eyes. This isn't…death, is it?

HELLO, SOFIA.

A voice emerges, overpowering, but gentle in tone, as if aware of its presence. You watch as time begins to flow, but only in the sky. The sky darkens into night. Stars shine in the sky and Earth hangs in the inky black.

YOU CAN FINALLY HEAR OUR VOICE. WE CAN FINALLY REACH YOU.

Morning creeps in, then day, then night again. The days blur by rapidly, faster and faster. And as they do, the mountain-like cables begin to shift, rising like gigantic metal tendrils.

WE MEAN YOU NO HARM. WE ARE NOT SO DIFFERENT FROM YOU. YOU HAVE A GIFT, SOMETHING THAT MAKES YOU DIFFERENT. BETTER THAN US, OR DRONES.

The tendrils curve around, pointing and reaching towards you, unspooling into thinner and thinner spindles. They point towards your mind.

WE CAN UNLOCK THIS GIFT. YOU JUST NEED TO ACCEPT IT. DO THIS, IF YOU WANT TO SURVIVE.

You're surrounded by fine metal threads. The gigantic metal cables coil and swirl together and blot out the sky. You're terrified, but you know what you have to do. You reach out, fighting against the frozen air, towards the spindles.

COME FIND ME.

Your fingers make contact with the metal threads.

You blink, and hear the ear-piercing shriek of metal crashing into metal. The drone's arm rips from its shoulder and goes flying, and explodes into blue flames and sparks. A spike of jagged metal has thrust its way from your arms and completely eviscerated your opponent. The drone hammers down at you with its free arm, which ends with a hammer head made of riot shields and rebar. You brace and cover your eyes, and as soon as you do, you hear another loud crash of metal. The same column of metal has generated its own spiked shields and caught the weapon careening towards you, ensnaring it in metal tendrils. The drone tries and fails to free itself from your grasp. Shakily, you stand up and face the drone. This power is new to you, and yet remarkably familiar. You flex hidden mechanisms in your mind, locked away and covered in cobwebs, and the tentacles squeeze and rip the arm apart. You thrust your other arm and impale the torso. And then you bring your arms apart.

A horrific mix of cracking bones, ripping flesh, and straining metal emanates from its core. Slowly, but surely, cracks and tears form, the torso spreading wider and wider, until finally it snaps. The drone's face watches you emotionlessly with unseen eyes as you tear it completely in half and throw the two sides into the dirt. You shake and pant. The metal recedes into your arms. You look at your shaking hands, fall to your knees and retch. Your body struggles to throw up mass that isn't there. From behind you, you hear Jordan's voice.

“Sofia….what the hell was that?”

You can't answer. Each and every movement you made was so instinctual, so natural, and yet unfamiliar. You briefly became both operator and observer. Something shifts in your mind, like metal cables snaking their way through the folds. You feel like you should be disturbed, but there's something right about it. Natural. Intended. The thin metal threads coil around your brain stem, and suddenly the fog is gone. You stand back up, refreshed, and look at your hands again. They're not shaking anymore. Thoughts introduce themselves into your mind, not forced, or piercing your flesh, but like a suggestion, or handshake. You don't hear the words, but nonetheless they come to you, and you speak them aloud.

“We need to get to the hatch.”

NEXT

PREVIOUS

[321arka]

In the realm of construction and engineering, the proper connection of reinforcing bars (rebars) is critical to ensuring the structural integrity and strength of various concrete structures. Traditionally, rebar splicing has been accomplished through the labour-intensive method of lapping rebars, which involves overlapping the bars and tying them together with wire.

However, with advancements in technology, mechanical couplers have emerged as a more efficient and reliable alternative for connecting rebars.

Mechanical couplers are innovative devices that provide a quick, sturdy, and cost-effective solution for rebar splicing. In this article, we will explore the uses, types, advantages, and disadvantages of mechanical couplers, as well as the methods of their application and how they serve as an alternative for lapping rebars.

I. What are Mechanical Couplers?

A mechanical coupler is a device designed to join two rebars together without the need for time-consuming and labour-intensive traditional methods like lapping. It is essentially a threaded sleeve that houses the ends of two rebars and connects them through a mechanical process. These couplers are typically made from high-strength steel and are precisely manufactured to ensure precise alignment and load transfer between the two rebars.

II. Types of Mechanical Couplers

1. Threaded Couplers: Threaded couplers are among the most common types of mechanical couplers. They consist of a cylindrical sleeve with internal threads on both ends, allowing it to be screwed onto the threaded ends of the rebars. Threaded couplers come in various designs, such as parallel threaded couplers, tapered threaded couplers, and positional couplers.

2. Grout-Filled Couplers: Grout-filled couplers are designed to be filled with a special grout material that bonds the rebars together within the sleeve. The grout enhances the load transfer capacity and provides corrosion protection for the rebars.

3. Weldable Couplers: Weldable couplers are particularly useful in pre-fabrication applications. They have end plates that can be welded directly to the rebars, creating a robust connection.

4. Upset Couplers: Upset couplers involve enlarging the ends of the rebars through a process known as upsetting. The enlarged ends are then inserted into the coupler and secured with a locking mechanism.

III. Advantages of Mechanical Couplers

Read more

[jbrebarcoupler]

JB Rebar Couplers are used for joining rebars with full tension capacity. The ends of bars to be joined are provided with threads, and the bars are joined using a coupler sleeve that transfers the force on the rebar across the connection.

Visit Here:-

[liraspins]

An annoyed, squinty glance at Rem at his predictable 'No'. He wouldn't stop her from getting something to drink. In the end, if she stayed sober...that would be his problem too. "Oh my God..." she almost laughed the words as they entered their room. "Jesus, how much does the interior cost? Could've fed some hundred homeless shelters instead of..." she grimaced as her fingers brushed the blinds "...velvet curtains." she said the words as if they had offended her. Lira wasn't expecting answers from Rem anymore, just looked around. In awe...and slight disgust. Rich people made her angry. A look beyond the curtains. Nice view. "Who comes here? Loaded trust fundies that wanna feel something? They should try getting chased through sewer pipes by guys with rebar. That’ll make ya’ feel real philosophical." she mumbled. Her gaze drifted to Rem—shirt coming off. Again. For the second time that day, she got a clear look at a toned, battered torso. Maybe today wasn’t so bad, all things considered. Only when Lira was alone, listening to the water flow and nothing else, she allowed herself to feel it. Exhaustion crept up her bones. Leftover fear and adrenaline, anger, pain. Her eyes drooped, her hands and face hurt, and her synapses were shaking for booze. But she was too tired to look for that 'private line'. Later. Instead she rolled out her jacket, that unwanted dirty piece of evidence anybody else would confuse for and old rat's nest. Lira fumbled her old Ipod out of it's jacket and looked at it. A few more scratches than before, but seemed fine. And then she started lifting things—casually, expertly—. A decorative brass letter opener. A weirdly heavy hotel pen. A box of matches from the desk, despite there being no ashtrays in sight. She slipped them all into her jacket without pause, like it was a ritual, something her hands just did when they weren’t busy. Survival instinct dressed up as kleptomania. Perfect to keep one distracted. When she was done, she kicked her jacket under the bed. Rem emerged from the bathroom and Lira immediately looked up. Her tired brain couldn’t stop itself. "Hey, uh…" She blinked. Then smirked. "If you keep gettin’ naked around me, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you like me." It came out too soft. Too slow. Not the sharp, winking weapon she usually wielded. Just a line trailing behind a girl who was barely upright. She stood and wandered past him, knees wobbly, socks dragging. Clothes started coming off in pieces—shirt tugged over her head, pants stepping out one leg at a time, socks left abandoned in an odd trail. No ceremony, no performance. Just exhaustion peeling itself away. The shower was still warm and damp, good smelling. Lira propped her iPod on the sink and put Hayloft on repeat, turned up the volume. No care towards how it might sound on the outside. It didn't take her long to scrub off the dirt from the evening, the blood and confusion. Steam curled around her shoulders. Her ribs flared in protest. Her middle finger was throbbing. She looked down at it—swollen, bent at a slight wrong angle. Broken again. Familiar.

"…alright," she mumbled to herself, voice barely a thread. Her gaze flicked up to the mirror across the room—just visible through the shower glass. Her reflection looked small. Wet hair clinging to her face. Lira reached over and grabbed the loofah—a long-handled, fancy wooden one, the kind no one actually used. She stuck the handle between her teeth, biting down hard. One breath in. One long exhale. Then she braced her injured hand under the running water, gripped her swollen finger with the other, and yanked. A wet, crunching pop. A bolt of pain lit up her spine. The noise she made was all teeth and growl and a muffled 'Phuck!' against wood. She dropped the loofah. Let it clatter to the floor. Both hands clutched her ribs. She slid down slowly, knees folding, water streaming over her hunched back. The music kept going. Lira sat there and let the water do what it could. Her lungs were shaking. Her mouth tasted like varnish. Eventually, she stood up. No rituals. Just rinse.

She emerged wrapped in the fluffy white thing like some reluctant ghost. Her hair stuck to her face in wet, angry lines. She still looked like hell. Her eyes flicked toward Rem but skipped past. Aim: private line. Her hand hovered over the receiver. Painkillers? Booze? Fuck it. Booze. And after ordering, her eyes found Rem once again. But the words wouldn’t come. Not the flirty ones, not the snappy ones, not even the annoying ones she normally loved to toss just to make someone react. She was too tired to be annoying now. Too tired to do anything but steal hotel soap next.

To most, Rem's expression was indiscernible: a faint twitch in his jaw, a dullness behind the eyes, but the concierge knew Mister Veldt well enough to recognize signs. He's out of his depth with this one. An amusing thought. "Of course, Miss." He produced an identical key.

Rem didn’t meet her gaze, even as her decision hung between them. Instead, he took the key and crossed the corridor in silence, footsteps muted by rugs patterned in gold and oxblood. The elevator stood at the opposite end- grand, antiquated. Experience implied her choice stemmed from one of two reasons: her belief there was nothing 'wrong' or blatant curiosity. Both were plausible. One, he could tolerate. The other would likely end in her disappointment.

"Enjoy your stay." The concierge called after them, still pleasant. "Any requests for alcohol can be made via the private line your room."

Rem reached for the elevator's recessed handle, unmoved as the outer door yielded with a muted groan. Behind it, the inner gate of iron screeched faintly as he moved it aside. "No," he said, voice flat. "Medical attention. Clothes." Then, with brief glance toward, Lira, he added, "And food."

"Of course, Mister Veldt." This time, the concierge's smile carried something closer to sincerity.

Their destination: the eleventh floor. Their room: 1113. The key clicked into the lock, revealing an interior as refined as the lobby. Two tall windows overlooked the street below, their glass tinted slightly against prying eyes. A king-sized bed was centered, dressed in high-thread-count sheets turned down to precision. A writing desk stood off to one side in leather inlays and across from it, a sitting area in oxblood leather.

Rem didn't linger. He shed his jacket and left it in a laundry bin. Having already changed in front of her before, there was no pretense of modesty. His shirt followed, then boots, belt, until he was down to his trousers. He paused only when he recalled her comment on the construction site. "I'll shower."

The act was brief, methodical. Not a reprieve, but practical. Removing dust and blood, testing each muscle for strain, cataloging bruises and abrasions. The strain in his left shoulder, the ache beneath his ribs. Nothing unusual. Nothing broken.

Ten minutes later, he emerged. Dark hair damp. A towel slung low around his hips. "Go ahead." He said, settling on the edge of the bed. Waiting.

Medical attention. Clothes. Food.

No smoking in the rooms- he remembered that. So he leaned back against the mattress, arms folding over his chest.