#structural drafting Texas

[resdraft]

Role of Structural Engineering in Drafting

Integrating structural engineering into the drafting process ensures that designs are visually appealing, safe, and durable. It also enhances the structure's stability, addressing factors like load distribution and material integrity and environmental factors like wind, soil, and seismic stability.

[your-unfriendlyghost]

Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright

Steviepop Tex AU pt. 2

I think I’m gonna put it up on Ao3 as a second chapter to the previous one, although idk how many there will be. It’s not like a very outlined or plot heavy fic- I think it’s gonna be more like a series of vignettes (sorta like the structure of the book Tex, come to think of it lol)

 Anyhow, in this one Tex thinks about dropping outta school. Soda tries to find a way to stop him.

-

 It is about two months after Mason left, and Pop is back to the rodeos. Tex isn’t surprised, not really. And maybe he’s not completely disappointed, either. There’s more space in the house now. 

  But it’s quieter, too.

  “It’s no big deal. He’s left before,” Tex explains, brushing Casanova, one of the horses, with an old blade. 

  Sodapop Curtis frowns. “Right, but it’s just you. …Alone. You know you can always stay with us again, right?” Tex had stayed at Soda’s place for the weekend a few weeks ago, but that was only because he’d forgotten to pay the heat bill. 

  Tex shrugs. “Hey, I mean, I still got Johnny,” he says, brushing a dust cloud off the horse. “I don’t needa bug y’all, ‘specially now that the heat’s been paid. I can always sneak into Johnny’s.”

  “Johnny…right,” Soda says, eyes darkening briefly.

  “You know Johnny?”

  “Naw. Just…used to know a guy named Johnny. Different Johnny. It’s nothing,” Soda says. He undoes the cinch on the saddle with a click, and fumbles with it for a minute before buckling it back on its hook. “But you’re just…home alone, then. Other than your buddy,” he repeats.

  Tex blinks, wondering what it is that’s got Soda so worried. “I mean, yeah, more or less. Ain’t nothin’ to be done ‘bout it unless I wanna end up in the system. But y’know, I’m sweet sixteen in a week, and I reckon then I can drop out and work full time, and I’ll be okay, y’know?” he explains.

  Soda purses his lips. He doesn’t tell him not to drop out like most grown ups have, which Tex figures is on account of the fact that Soda dropped out of school at sixteen too. He told Tex about that once, but everytime someone else mentions it, he tells some joke about being stupid and changes the subject fast. So it’s pretty obvious Soda’s not proud of it.

  Instead of arguing, Soda says, sorta reluctantly, “...Don’t you wanna get your education?”

  Tex shrugs. “I mean, sure, but I gotta eat, don’t I? Else I ain’t never gettin’ tall like Mason,” he grins.

  “Well, yeah, but I know ya get really decent grades, buddy, don’t ya? I mean,” Soda shrugs, “you could do somethin’ with that.”

  Tex blinks. “Like what?” He genuinely can’t think of anything he’d need a diploma for- not for stable work, not for horse shows, not for rodeos.

  “Well, like…” Soda hesitates. “Well, gee, I dunno. But things that need a highschool degree are sure out there, kid- why d’ya think I worked so hard to get my GED?”

  “To work at a horse stable?” Tex jokes. 

  “Naw,” Soda admits. “But I mean, to get far in jobs. I had to get mine so that I could be a manager at the gas station I worked at, back before the draft an’ all,” he says, flicking the dog tags around his neck. 

  “Gee, Soda, I ain’t too interested in workin’ at a gas station,” Tex jokes, purposefully missing the point.

  “Okay,” Soda says, agreeable as ever. “Alls I’m sayin’ is that it could save ya time and money to have a highschool degree. I ain’t even talkin’ ‘bout college after. Just high school.”

  Tex chews his lip and ties up the billet in a good Texas-T knot. He decides to lay the score on Soda- if anyone gets it, it’s him. 

  “I just…I’ve been savin’ for things, y’know? Savin’ my money for things. And I’ll make more of it if I ain’t gotta go to school.”

  “What’re ya savin’ for, some tuff Mustang? A Corvette? A Roadmaster?” Soda says, with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Naw…” Tex says, looking at the floor of the stable. He doesn’t totally wanna say what he’s saving for. It’s…kind of silly. But Soda’s never laughed at him, not really, so finally he opens his mouth. “I’m savin’ for a horse,” he admits.

  Soda raises an eyebrow. “You gonna get a horse? …Why?”

  Tex sighs. “Well, I’m a good rider. I know you ain’t never seen me, but I am. And if I could ride again, I could go back to riding in rodeos. And there’s money in that, if you’re real good.”

  Soda whistles low. “I s’ppose there can be. How good are ya talkin’, kid?”

  “Good enough to get my job here, and I did well in those junior rodeos growin’ up.”

  “Aw, I did those too. Those are good fun. What events did ya do?”

  “Roped, saddle bronc, and barrel racin’.” Tex says, jutting his chin out. Barrel racing is usually meant for girls, but Tex likes it. 

  “Tuff,” Soda nods. “I mainly did bronc. Always wanted to jockey, but I ain’t skeletal enough for it,” he chuckles. That makes sense- Soda ain’t a heavyweight by any means, but even his lean build isn’t anywhere near slim enough for jockeying.

  “Why’d ya stop?”

  “Bum knee, killed me,” Soda grunts, heaving the saddle off.

  “Oh yeah,” Tex says, brushing a chunk of mud outta Casanova’s coat. Soda’s told him about the ligament he tore before, and how it’s why he can’t ride anymore. Which is too bad, really, because Mr. Kencaide said once that Soda in his prime was one of the greatest riders he ever saw. Tex woulda loved to see him. 

  “Bad enough to keep me outta rodeos, but,” Soda chuckles, hoisting the saddle up, “not enough to keep me outta ‘Nam. Life sure is funny, huh, kid?”

  Tex chuckles too, even though he doesn’t see what’s so funny. 

  He drops the subject of rodeos, and brings up cars instead when Soda comes back from hanging up the saddle. He gets the vibe that talking about Soda’s knee depresses him. 

- 

  Tex gets home as the sun starts to dip down below the trees. The door’s unlocked, and there’s two people in the kitchen.

  “Gee, what’re y’all doin’ here?” Tex says, walking into the house. The motorcycle was outside, so he’s not completely surprised to see Johnny and Jamie Collins standing there. But it’s still weird seeing them completely unannounced.

  Johnny’s looking through the fridge, which is mostly empty if Tex is being honest, and Jamie’s by the countertop, messing with the stove.

  “There ya are, we were wonderin’ when you’d get here,” Jamie says, brisk and quick as usual. “You got any forks, anywhere?”

  “Huh?”

  “They’re by the dishwasher, dummy, I told ya that already,” Johnny says, rolling his eyes. “Hiya, Tex,” he adds, grinning.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Tex chuckles.

  “We gotcha dinner,” Jamie explains, stepping away from the stove. “Mona made too much, and Johnny thought we oughta share ‘em.” 

  The Collins kids all call their Pop ‘Cole’ and their Ma ‘Mona’. Tex doesn’t get how Cole Collins sees that as perfectly normal, when he once yelled at Tex for not making eye contact. It’s real hard to gauge sometimes what Cole does and doesn’t see as disrespect.

  “I called ya first,” Johnny adds sheepishly, “but ya didn’t pick up, so I figured you was at work still. Didn’t think you’d mind if we stopped by anyhow.”

  Tex nods. He doesn’t mind at all- if he did mind, he wouldn’t leave a key under the doormat, now would he?

  “Thanks y’all,” Tex smiles. “What is…dinner, exactly?”

  “Puttanesca,” Jamie says.

  Tex glances at Johnny for clarification.

  Johnny rolls his eyes. “It’s some fancy-type Italian stuff, I dunno. Mona’s real into Italian food right now- our cousin Keith, y’know, the one from the city? His fiance’s some chick who’s Ma’s Italian, and every family dinner she gives Mona another recipe.”

  “I like it,” Jamie says, crossing her arms. “Excuse my brother’s closed mind, Texas,” she smirks.

  “Aww shuddup, I like Marcia fine. I just don’t think I can handle any more pasta, be it spaghetti, linguine, ravioli, or that one that’s shaped like tiny bowties,” Johnny says, tossing his hands up.

  “Farfalle,” Jamie corrects. “It’s called that because that’s how you say butterfly in Italian,” she informs Tex.

  “Oh, yeah?” he says, nodding. Jamie gets a little bit stuck-up about stuff like culture and all sometimes. It used to be kind of endearing, but now that Jamie’s not his girlfriend anymore, some of the things that used to be cute are now sorta annoying. That’s not a bad thing, really, because it just means they’re friends again for real. There’s plenty of things Johnny does that annoy Tex too, so he figures that’s pretty normal with friends, even when that friend’s a girl.

  “Whatever. Ignore the know-it-all,” Johnny scoffs.

  “Already was,” Tex grins, looking at Jamie. She shoves him, face cracking into a good-natured smile of her own.

  “Fine, if you two wanna stay stupid, don’t let me stop you,” she says, tossing her head dramatically.

  “Well, thanks for bringin’ the food by,” Tex says, looking over Jamie’s shoulder at the pot of pasta. He opens the cupboard and grabs three plates. “Guess that since y’all brought the food, I oughta set the table, huh?” He smiles.

  “Oh, don’t bother,” Johnny says, sighing. “We already ate, and Mona said Jamie’s gotta be home by sunset for some damn reason, so we gotta split.”

  “I got swimming practice at the Y at seven in the mornin’,” Jamie explains, wrinkling her nose.

  “Oh,” Tex says, trying to hide his disappointment. “Well, thanks anyhow.”

  “Sure thing, buddy. I left ya some ice cream in the icebox, too,” Johnny grins, bumping his shoulder against Tex’s.

  “Aw, really? Sweet!” Tex brightens. He nudges Johnny back, who stumbles into Jamie on purpose.

  “Jerk,” Jamie grumbles, shoving him back. “Good to see ya, Tex,” she adds, smiling and sticking her hand out. “It’s sure been a while.”

  What with how Tex is in high school now while Jamie’s still in junior high, it feels like ages have gone by since they hung out, even though it’s really just been a month. 

  So Tex bats her hand away and throws an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. “Yeah, well, that don’t mean ya can go an’ be a stranger, okay, Collins?” he grins.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever ya say,” Jamie says, but she’s grinning too.

  “Aw, break it up,” Johnny gags. He knows they ain’t together anymore, but maybe it’s hard to forget about your best friend and your little sister goin out, even if they did only go out for a month. “See ya Monday, Tex?”

  Tex shakes his head, letting Jamie go. “Doubt it. I think I’m gonna pick up another shift at the stable.”

  Johnny’s smile dips just a fraction. “...Right. Yeah. Okay.”

  “Definitely Tuesday though, yeah?” Tex says, clapping Johnny on the back.

  “Sure thing, buddy,” Johnny says, clapping him back. “Jamie,” he adds, nodding at the door.

  “G’night, Tex!” she waves, and with that, the Collinses are out the door.

  “Night,” Tex calls back.

  He scoops up a plate of pasta and eats it there in the kitchen. It’s pretty good- there’s olives and like…peas or something in the tomato sauce. 

  But man, the house really is quiet.

  Tex flicks on the radio and turns it up loud. 

  Mason doesn’t get outta basketball until eight, and he’s usually not back at his dorm until nine, and Tex has learned the hard way that Mason’s roommate never shuts up. That wouldn’t be so bad on its own if it weren’t for how boring he is. Last time Tex called before nine o’clock, the roommate talked for a solid half hour about the weather.

  But finally, as the evening talk shows fade away into the music programs, the clock strikes nine.

  Tex dials Mace’s number.

  “Hey, it’s Tex,” Tex says into the receiver.

  “Hey, Texas! It’s Harris! How ya doin’?”

  Tex stifles a groan. “Hey man, can ya put Mace on the line?”

  “Aw, Mason ain’t here now.”

  “But…it’s nine?”

  “Yeah, but your brother ain’t some kinda shut-in, kid, he’s at Olsen’s party!”

  Tex frowns. That doesn’t sound like Mason. But all he says to Harris is “So…if you ain’t, then you’re a shut-in, then?”

  “…No. I didn’t say that. …You’re a kid, you don’t get it.”

  “Really? ‘Cos, like, you’re home…” Tex says. He’s not trying to be mean. He’s just bored.

  There’s a click, and the line goes dead. Harris must’ve hung up. 

  Tex sighs. What’s Mace doin’ at a party? It doesn’t sound like him at all. 

  He rises from the chair by the phone. He doesn’t really wanna think about it.

  So he flicks on the radio again, letting the evening rock segment blast.

  “But I wish there was somethin' you would do or say. To try and make me change my mind and stay…But we never did too much talking anyway. But don't think twice, it's all right…” Bob Dylan croons. 

  Tex turns the radio off again. He likes Dylan fine, but tonight things are just hitting a little close to home.

-

  “You there, Sodapop?”

  “Hm?” Soda says, glancing up across the dinner table. 

  “I was askin’ ya to pass the napkins,” Steve says with a gap-toothed grin. 

  “Right,” Soda says, sitting up. “Sorry.”

  “You okay? You’ve been tapped out all evenin’,” Steve says, taking a mouthful of soup.

  “I have been? Sorry,” Soda says again.

  “No big deal…care to let me in on it, though?” Steve says, kicking him gently under the table. Soda kicks back harder, and Steve’s eyes narrow like a hawk’s. He leans back in his chair to get a better angle, and clobbers Soda’s shin. 

  “Ain’t nothin’, really,” Soda shrugs, sweeping his leg up to dig his heel into the soft flesh of Steve’s thigh. “Was just talkin’ to Texas at work today.”

  “Oh yeah? How’s he doin?” Steve says, eyes softening. He met Tex for the first time a few weeks ago, and he’s built a bit of a soft spot for the kid, asking about him and all constantly.

 Soda chews his lip. “Well, he was sayin’ somethin’ about havin’ to drop outta school soon.”

  In his effort to free his leg, Steve spills a few drops of soup onto Evie’s nice tablecloth. “...So?” He takes another sip of soup, feigning properness. “Kids drop out all the time.” He stops fighting for a second to look at Soda. “You dropped out.”

  “Yeah, but I was stupid and failin’ all my classes, and I had Ponyboy to look out for. Tex ain’t half bad at school, he just needs more money…”

  Steve’s eyes narrow. “What’re ya sayin’ here?”

  “Well, I just thought- and I know we gotta discuss it with Evie, too, and I will when she gets home- I just thought we maybe could…I dunno, lend him a hand?” Soda says, all in one breath. 

  Steve takes a bite of soup, not answering. Finally, he says “Does Tex really not have any type of family to help him out?”

  “No, he don’t, Stevie. His Momma died, an’ his old man may as well have, ‘cos he runs away to rodeos majority of the year. I ain’t sayin’ we pay for his college fund or nothin’, Christ, I ain’t even sayin’ we do all that much at all. Alls I’m sayin’ is…maybe we could cover his school lunches, or somethin’.” Soda explains.

  Steve sighs. “Hey, I’m down for lettin’ him hang ‘round here when he’s gotta, but this…I mean, I dunno that this is any of our business, man.”

  “Hey, you did it for me and Ponyboy,” Soda says, chewing his lip. “An’ it wasn’t really your business…”

  Steve stirs his soup. “Shoot, Soda…”

  “I’m just sayin’ we oughta think about it.”

  Steve smiles, just a hint. “...Fine.” Under his breath, he mutters “You an’ yer goddamn bleedin’ heart.”

-

  “Hey hey, McCormick!” Soda yells, hopping up onto the gate of the arena. “I gotta talk to ya!”

  Tex starts, looking up from the pile of hay he’s swept. “Soda! Mornin’! Didn’t see ya there!” He props the broom up against Casanova’s stall, and heads to the arena. Soda’s wedged his boots between the bars, and is leaned over the top a foot above Tex.

  “Look, I wanted to give ya a uh…” he says, pausing to pluck the toothpick he’s chewing on out of his mouth, “...a deal: I’ll help ya buy a horse, so long as ya don’t drop outta high school.”

  Tex feels his eyes widen. “Aw, what? I couldn’t ask ya to do that!”

  “You ain’t askin’, I am,” Soda says.

  Tex bites back the urge to say yes- He can’t let Soda give him money, he can just hear Mason telling him not to. He can hear Mason warning him, saying something about how dangerous it is to let anyone lend him money- it’s an act of power, and there’s gotta be some kind of catch…

  “Still,” Tex forces out, “I…that’s too much, man,” he says, voice weak. “I couldn’t…accept that, let ya just…buy me a horse…Mason would kill me.”

  Soda considers it, twisting the toothpick in the corner of his mouth. “...Okay…if ya say so,” he frowns. “Just…think about it, will ya?”

  Tex smiles. “...I will.”

  “Good,” Soda grins. “Hey, tack me up Ruby, will ya? I got a lesson to teach in ‘bout half an hour, an’ it’s one of those Socy kids who don’t like gettin’ her hands dirty.”

  (Soda uses weird words like “Soc” still. Tex figures it comes from growing up in the city- Soda grew up in North Tulsa, back in the days when kids slicked their hair back with Vaseline or fancy cream and dressed like Elvis Presley. Soda’s hair is pretty normal now- long-ish and wheat-gold- but Steve Randle, Soda’s roommate, still wears his hair like he’s on the cover of some 50s rock album.)

  “Sure thing,” Tex says, already getting a sinking feeling of disappointment at turning down Soda’s offer. “Hey, Soda, thanks anyway, man,” he says before turning to Ruby’s stall. “I really ‘preciate it.”

  “Hey, I like ya, kid. I mean, you need anything, ever, lemme know, yeah?” Soda says. “It’d be a real damn shame to see ya drop outta school.”

  Yeah, it would be. But it ain’t like I got a choice, Tex thinks, gritting his teeth.

  But he’s happy, too, anyway. Maybe he can’t take Soda up on his offer, but it’s nice to know someone’s got his back. Especially someone as cool as Soda.

-

  “Ooh. Soda’s makin’ dinner,” Evie whistles, leaning over his shoulder. Soda smiles.

  “Evenin’, babe,” he says, pecking her cheek. “How was work?”   Evie sighs. “It was a lot.”

  Steve snorts from his perch on the countertop, and Evie whips him in the knee with a dishtowel. 

  “Steve’s already got the briefin’, eh?” Soda grins, looking up from the burgers he’s frying.

  “Yes, but you ain’t,” Evie pouts.

  Steve reaches for her, and she stands between his legs, letting him play with her hair. “Sorry, baby,” he chuckles, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Go on, rant.”

  “Thanks for your permission,” she says flatly.

  “Ignore the lug, I wanna hear,” Soda says, flipping a patty.

  “Thank you,” she says, grinning. “You know that old guy, the one who was convicted of runnin’ stock scams in the Depression?”

  “Sure,” Soda nods. She’s complained about this old guy before. He doesn’t think she’s ever said his name or anything- just calls him “The old guy”. Which ain’t too specific, seeing how Evie practically works at a nursing home.

  “Well today he tried getting the high school volunteers to sell him grass!” she says, tossing her hands up in the air. Steve chuckles. 

  “I’m serious, Steven!” she says, poking his chest. “The little fifteen year old honor students! Poor Naomi O’Byrne- she had no clue what to do ‘bout it!” But Evie’s smiling toothily too, trying not to laugh at her own words. “I mean, if he’d come to me for grass it woulda been okay-”

  “Because yer all stocked up on it?” Soda teases. 

 “No, ‘cos I know to tell him that his respiratory system ain’t in any shape for smokin’- but poor Naomi went out to the courtyard and came back with a handful of lawn…” Evie giggles. 

  Steve laughs. “She live under a rock or somethin’?”   “Well, if she lived under a rock, she’d know ‘bout grass,’ Evie says, laughing into Steve’s shoulder.

  Soda laughs too, and brings the platter of food to the table. 

  “There ain’t no food colorin’ today, is there?” Steve says, eyeing it with his brow raised. 

  “Course not,” Soda says. For once, he does mean it. It wouldn’t bode well to convince his partners to do what he wants while also dying their tongues green.

  “Really?” Steve says suspiciously. He glances at Evie, who shrugs. She doesn’t have the same suspicion for Soda’s concoctions as Steve does- she wasn’t there for the Easter dinner incident of 1964. Thirteen years later, and Steve still double checks that there’s no raw eggs or  excessive food dye in anything.

  “There ain’t, I promise,” Soda chuckles, sitting down across from them.

  At the table, Steve and Evie dig in. Once they’ve slowed, ensuring they’ll be in the best moods possible, Soda makes his move.

  “So. Evie, you remember a few weeks ago, when Tex stayed over here?” he says slowly, twisting the ring on his left hand.

  “Sure. Good kid. What about him?” Evie says, reapplying her lip gloss using her reflection on her spoon.

  “Oh…” Steve mutters.

  Soda glares at him, waving his hand. Steve shifts in his seat and shuts up.  

  “Thank you. Now uh…look, so the kid is fixin’ to drop out of school so he can buy a horse and make money offa rodeos. I…shoulda probably told ya first, but today I offered to uh…help him financially so that he don’t have to pick up even more shifts and drop out.”

  “You- Sodapop-”

  “Hey, hey, he said no! He said no,” Soda says sheepishly. Evie raises an eyebrow. 

  “So…what’re you sayin’?” she says.

  “I’m askin’...what d’ya think we can…y’know, do for him? Because you know him, we all like him, and I just don’t think he should have to drop out when he’s got decent grades. And more importantly, I don’t think a sixteen year old kid should be stuck without any support livin’ home alone.”

  “Dallas did,” Steve says without thinking.

  “Yeah,” Soda says, “exactly.”

  Steve’s face falls fast. He squeezes the St. Christopher pendant ‘round his neck, till his knuckles are white and a vein pops outta his hand, and Soda knows they’re both picturing it, that night all those years ago when Dally ran, crashed, fell, bled… 

  Evie reaches for Steve’s other hand on the table, rubbing the back of it with her thumb. “Well,” she says, trying to steer the conversation away from their dead friends, “we’ve already offered to let him crash here when he wants, which I am completely down for. But if he’s told you no, what else do you think we can do?”

  Soda shrugs, looking away sullenly. “I dunno. I just…I don’t get it. I know he ain’t Ponyboy, and I don’t think he’s got it in him to go off to university or nothin’, but I know I wish I’d gotten my diploma- sure it seemed like no big deal when I was sixteen, but man, it sucked gettin’ a hold of that GED.” 

  Evie and Steve glance at each other. They were both in college in Arizona while Soda was getting his GED, so they don’t exactly understand how awful it was. 

  “Seriously, while y’all were mixin’ cocktails an’ given’ kids piercings, I was in night school with Curly goddamn Shepard,” Soda says, jutting out his chin. “Four hours, five o’clock to nine, every day. Only to get drafted right after.”

  “Hey, bartendin’ was harder than the DX,” Steve says, almost joking.

  “Yeah, yeah, tell yerself that,” Soda scoffs, grinning. “But y’know, I just don’t want Tex to deal with that. It was so lousy, an’ I only passed ‘cos Ponyboy did all my homework.” He shrugs, and tilts back in his chair. “I just…I wish I hadn’t dropped out, y’know? I wish someone coulda helped us back then.”

  “Hey, I wanted to,” Steve says, sitting up. “I told Darry, ya know that, I wanted to. But he wouldn’t let me. Didn’t wanna owe no one nothin’, not even his kid brother’s best friend. Wouldn’t even take my loanin’ Pony-kid some of his college fund until I convinced him it was my rent for stayin’ at yer place.”

  Rent…

  “You’re right…” Soda murmurs, turning it over in his brain. “Hell’s bells, yer right. I’ve been thinkin’ bout this all wrong.”

  “Hm?” Steve frowns.

  “Oh!” Evie exclaims, eyes widening. “You mean…”

  Soda snaps his fingers. “Texas ain’t thinkin’ like me…he’s thinkin’ like Darry.”

-

  “Tex! Texas! McCormick, man!” Soda says, hopping outta his truck. He bounds down the gravel drive, racing towards Tex. Tex jumps, nearly dropping a halter. 

  “Soda!” he grins, catching it in a way that hopefully looks tuff. 

  Soda skids to a stop, bending over to heave a breath. He coughs. “Doggone it, I shouldn’ta run like that,” he gasps, completely winded. 

  “I thought you was in the army,” Tex teases.

  “Hey, that was ‘bout nine or ten years ago,” Soda groans, still bent over. He leans against the barn wall and heaves himself up. “An’ ‘sides…cardio ain’t never been my strong suit…an’ all those years of hangin’ ‘round everyone’s cancer sticks ain’t so good for the ol’ windbags…” he wheezes. Tex laughs. 

  “Seems to me yer gettin’ old, Sodapop,” he grins. Soda grins back, ‘cos he’s real great at takin’ jokes for an adult.

  Once he’s finally steadied himself, he puts his hand on his hips. “Okay, okay, you remember how yesterday I said I’d buy ya a horse?”

  Tex’s heart sinks, wishing he could say yes but knowing he can’t. “Oh…”

  “No, I ain’t offerin’ again, don’tcha look at me like that- Christ, ya look how my high school girlfriend looked turnin’ down my engagement ring,” Soda says fast. Tex schools his face back to being neutral as he can get it. “Listen, how’s this- you got stable space, don’tcha?”

  Tex swallows. The thought of the empty stable in the backyard still makes him feel all empty inside, even a whole year later.

  “Sure, it’s been empty since ole’ Mace sold Negrito an’ Red,” Tex grunts, leaning against the wall next to Soda. 

  Soda snaps his fingers, hand shooting out to grab Tex’s shoulder. “That’s it!” he exclaims.

  “Huh?”

  “I tell ya what- I pay ninety-five bucks a month keepin’ Whinny here at Kencaide’s. I’ll pay ya the same to keep her at your place, how’s that?” Soda says. “That way you ain’t gotta pick up more shifts, an’ I ain’t givin’ you the money- I’m payin’ ya for your property. How’s that for a deal?” Soda grins.

  “You’d do that?” Tex says, trying his damndest to temper his enthusiasm.

  “Yes, completely! An’ you can practice ridin’ on her ‘till ya got enough for yer own horse. I know she ain’t the fastest or nothin’, but hey, she’s real nice, right?”

  “I can?” Tex says, bouncing on his feet. “You’d- you’d let me?”

  “Hey, so long as she’s taken care of by someone, I’ll pay anyone for stable space. And you already know her, so she’ll be happier with you than anyone else, much as I wish I could keep her in my backyard…but Evie don’t want her tramplin’ the flower beds, and I don’t think the neighbors’d go for that,” Soda rambles. He pauses, and glances at Tex. “So…yer down? Ya ain’t gonna…drop out?”

  Tex shrugs. “Well, ninety-five a month plus the salary from the shifts I got now, plus Mason’s checks in the mail…I’d be set, man!” he grins. “It’s a deal!” he says, sticking out his hand.

  “Sweet!” Soda says, pumping his fist. He shakes Tex’s hand enthusiastically. “I’ll drive her over this weekend, an’ I can start bringin’ her stuff by after work!”

  Tex smiles, a fluttering feeling in his chest. “Soda, man, I- I dunno what to say, man,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

  Soda squeezes his shoulder. “Hey, ain’t nothin’, lil’ buddy.”

  Tex doesn’t know what to say to that, either, because it isn’t nothing. It’s huge. But he still can’t find the words. So he opens his mouth, closes it, and then dives into Soda and throws his arms around him tight. 

  Soda says “Oh! Hi!” and then hugs him back gently. “Hey, hey, I’m happy to help ya out, any way I can, kid,” he says softly.

  “You do too much for me, man,” Tex chuckles into Soda’s shoulder. 

  “Nah. Ain’t doin’ much at all,” Soda says. “Yer a good kid. I got yer back, buddy.”

  Tex smiles wide, and pushes off of Soda, racing to the other end of the barn, whooping and laughing loud all the way. Soda laughs too, running just behind, hopping over a hay bale and landing next to Tex.

  Tex grins and falls down into a pile of hay, looking at the roof of the barn. Boy, Johnny will be real glad he ain’t droppin’ out anymore.

  And then he thinks Mason will be real mad. Which almost kills his mood.

  But then he hears Whinny neighing and thinks about getting to ride again for the first time in a year, getting to tack a horse for himself, and about Soda and all the warmth Soda and his friends have for him, and he puts Mason out of his head.

  “Come on over tonight after work why don’tcha?” Tex says finally, looking up at Soda. “I got some leftovers from the other night, an’ we can start movin’ yer gear in, yeah? Maybe I’ll call Johnny too, make a night of it.”

  Soda helps him up and claps him on the back, grinning. “Sounds like a plan.”

[sportspuckball]

2024 Writing Wrap Up

I joined HRPF in mid-summer and haven't really looked back. I tentatively put a toe in the water with my first fic in July and then launched an entire universe (accidentally) a few weeks later. I have a lot of plans for more works and universes and making these ding dongs use their words for 2025, so thanks again for liking my words so far. Here's to a calendar turn and symbolic fresh starts.

(List of Fics written this year below the jump)

ONE SHOTS

Secret Keepers (M, 13k) Matthew and Leon are completely convinced that none of their friends know about them. Nearly all of their friends know about them. This gives them the bravery and structure to come out and change hockey in the process.

german wolverine and the st. louis kid (M, 10k) Matthew gets drafted by the Oilers, Leon has a thing for curly hair he can grab onto, Connor is the long suffering one stuck in the middle of their pining, but they finally figure their shit out via Christmas gifts.

We Need a Little Christmas (M, 2k) Matthew had a rough week at home, so Leon decorated their house for his favorite holiday, even though it's July

Commitment to the Bit (T, 2k) Leon cannot believe Matthew sent a text to a reporter to roast him, and yet he totally can, because his husband is a menace.

Light the Lamp, Not the Rat (M, 3k) They get engaged, Matthew introduces Leon to Muppet Christmas Carol, and Leon learns a bit more about the man he's in love with.

Four Christmases (M, 7k) Slices of their lives through four key Christmases

SERIES

chase all the ghosts from your head (M, 50k+) (still posting, will finish early January) Mattia Tkachuk is the best athletic trainer in the NHL, Leon hates her for unrecognized horny reasons, they eventually get their shit together. also, there's a lot of hot chocolate.

Addison Tkachuk Fanfiction Universe

All of these stories are about Single Dad Matthew (referred to as Dadthew) who missed the NHL draft because his very sick daughter needed him, and her birth mother peaced the fuck out. She grew up to be a generational talent of a hockey player, and through Plot Reasons, Leon and Connor realize it. As of this day, it's about 350k worth of words and I think it'll be close to 750k when it's done.

Cedar Park All Stars (M, 102k) Leon lost a bet and has ended up spending the first bit of his summer in Central Texas coaching a girls hockey camp. He's specifically there to coach a generational talent on her passing skills and it takes him about ten minutes to decide that he wants to be a part of making her career happen.

Matthew's daughter is said generational talent.

They'll obviously both be normal about each other.

Edmonton Athletics (U11) (M, 75k) Addie gets tastes of Canadian hockey, Matthew and Leon get tastes of what it means like to be in an actual adult relationship.

Edmonton Athletics (U15 Year One) (M, 150k) Addie’s with the big girls now, and is absolutely getting her ass kicked, and is obviously loving every minute of it…ish. Leon’s looking at the standings, and looking at the calendar, and looking at his family, and wondering when he comes out. Matthew’s chewing on an idea about his future, and chewing on how hard to push on Leon’s independence, and chewing on…well…everything.

(INTERLUDE) Dadthew Bonus Content: Birthday Videos (NR, 2k)

Four birthdays, four videos, four peeks into their lives.

[gayeddieagenda]

Hii! Ooo for the director’s cut thing, for Here’s my hand fic?? Unless you’d rather talk about one specific part!

fic director's commentary ask

thank u for asking! here's my hand, there's the itch is one of my fave fics i've written - i think kaitlin once said that it was the most e fic ever, which, true. i'm a sucker for fic about phone calls (emails, texts, whatever) - i love stories that take place at a distance. even before eddie in texas was real, i was obsessed w/ the idea.

i don't actually think i intended to write this fic! i had a couple other 'eddie-in-texas' fics in my drafts that were all a little longer and more involved and then i just ended up falling into writing this instead. i've talked a little about my drafting process before, but i write pretty severely out of order, so it's always interesting to go back and see what the very first thing i wrote was. for this one, the first two things i wrote were (pretty much verbatim) the dialogue that became “Sometimes, Buck. I think, with us. We know each other so well. We let each other get away with not talking about the things we really need to," and then the buck narration lines: "Want is a slow wave, with Eddie. Buck has been riding it for a long, long time."

those became some of my fave lines of the whole fic and it's so funny to me that they were also basically the very first things i wrote! writing--writing cohesively, writing full fics, getting more than just disconnected sentences to actually come together--can be such a struggle for me, but this fic was /easy/. u can tell from my google docs too: nearly every fic i write has, bare minimum, two google docs and a notes app. i start ideating in the notes app, i shift into a google doc when it gets serious, and then i open up a fresh doc for actual drafting from the beginning. here's my hand went straight from notes app -> final draft.

because it was really just went from idea to final, there's not a lot i ended up cutting. there was more in my initial outline about buck worrying about eddie that whole summer without chris. there was also more about how eddie's been flirting with buck for like 2 months, lmao. a part i reallyyyy liked and then cut was a moment where buck is like, should we be talking about this right now? bc it's been a rough summer. chris is about to come home. it freaks buck out, to try to step into something new between the two of them at a moment when it feels like soo much is going on. and eddie just kind of answered 'i'd like to.'

that's a beat ive been thinking a lot about trying to hit in some other fics i'm working on right now - when eddie ends up being the one to come to actually making a move between them more easily, and buck is the one who's scared or resistant. i think it makes a lot of sense for buck's character: he's scared of change! he's scared of loss. he's clearlyyyy putting up a lot of walls btwn himself and the depth of what he feels for eddie right now. it's a beat i want to circle back to, but it just didn't end up totally fitting here.

the last thing i'll say is that i'm sooo relieved when i get positive feedback on my convoluted-ass fics that jump around thru memories. i keep writing the same structure of fic - single scene (usually a get-together) that bounces back thru past moments or scenes between them leading up to this moment - and /i/ love it, but sometimes striking the balance between the present and flashbacks can be a little bit of a negotiation. but i literally love to write like that so i will not stop <3 <3 <3

[lonestarbattleship]

December 12, 2024 Update from the Battleship Texas Foundation

"On Monday, we landed the 75,000-lb foretop of the Battleship Texas in the shipyard. You might ask why we did that. Well, the foretop is in bad shape, and it will be safer, easier, and more cost-effective to repair it on the ground rather than 130' above the water.

The foretop will receive repairs to nearly all the structural framing, reinstall missing supports, repair and straighten bulkheads, repair the overheads, replace the decks, and reinstall missing features on the exterior like antennas and signaling lights.

Below are pictures of the foretop in 1942 and 1948 and its current condition. In 1948, the Navy removed all of the gun directors from the foretop to help reduce the ship's weight and draft so that it could safely transit the then shallow Houston ship channel."

Posted on the Battleship Texas Foundation Facebook page: link

[psychopunky]

Deadly Premonition 2: A Blessing in Disguise Reader Insert

Word Count: 8250

Summery: Reader and York’s first night in Le Carré, Louisiana. (And there is only one bed.) Scrapped Reader Insert intro for a fic I am working on. Thought I’d post it just for feedback. (This is my rough draft but I came up with a better intro.)

Context needed: York and Reader grew up in foster together.

Warnings: None

Sitting outside Casa Pineapple, a hotel in Le Carré, Louisiana. The sun was setting and you were getting worried. York that idiot had decided to actually use that damn skateboard. Now you were left sitting next to a statue of a man who looked very much like the hotel's concierge.

York had once again dragged you onto an investigation. One down in Houston Texas to which you both had flown down for. Then York got the idea to rent a hybrid car and visit New Orleans. You had vacation planned for the whole month. He shoveled the Houston case in a week.

During the trip you both decided to stop at a diner to eat. Only to come out and find the car gone. Suitcases thrown about and a skateboard left behind. York wanted to use the skateboard and you called a Taxi. You thought he would give up and take a taxi but no.

You had checked in, got the luggage set away and now you waited. Worried and panicking that York wouldn’t turn up till after dark. Tapping your foot puts your head in your hands. Letting out a sigh slumping back against the bench.

Silently you promised that if he's not here in the next hour you're calling the cops. What a fun local news report that would be. Local cops called to find a missing FBI agent.

Mentally scolding yourself for not forcing York in the taxi. Almost an hour had passed and the street lights came on. Getting up you walked over to a payphone located next to the bench. Picking up the phone you started dialing.

Hands touched your sides as someone grabbed you. Startled at the sudden touch you screamed, dropping the phone. The hands gripped you harder keeping you in place.

“You’re going to make everyone think I’m assaulting you.” A familiar calm voice spoke. Spinning around quickly you came face to face with York. He dropped his hands to his sides. Giving you a lopsided smile like he didn’t just sneak up on you right as the sun went down.

“God! York!” Slapping a hand against his chest. York laughed, stepping back. The skateboard was propped up against the bench. Crossing your arms you stepped back bumping the payphone. He was a mess, his hair was sticking in every direction. Sweat clung to his forehead, even dripping down his neck. Even with the sun gone the air was still burning hot.

Looking down over him he wore a white button up shirt. Said shirt was now clinging to him as sweat soaked through. His undershirt showed through his button up. His black slacks and loafers were covered in dirt.

“I was about to call the cops you asshole.” York’s eyebrows pinched together. He tilted his head a little confused by your words.

“Why would you do that? I told you I was going to meet you here.” He appeared completely confident in his words. Rolling your eyes you stepped forward catching the smell of York. Grimacing, you reach out grabbing his wrist.

“I will save the lecture for when we are alone. Let's go, you smell horrible.” Pulling him along not wanting to spend any more time out in the heat. York pulled you a little as he grabbed the skateboard. He didn’t resist as you dragged him into Casa Pineapple.

The hotel was a beautiful white creole type of structure with three stories. Inside the lobby was large with lots of paintings decorating it. Couches and armchairs littered the open floor making a nice lounge space. Four large pillars stretched up past the ceiling, each pillar decorated in a diamond pattern painted in gold. Walking through the lobby revealed an open loft. You could see straight up to the very top floor from the grand staircase.

A red carpet leads from the front door to the wood grand staircase. The green tiled floor makes the carpet pop. Really it was a very nice hotel that you wouldn’t mind spending your vacation in. Walking through the lobby a few people were lounging around. David the bellboy was nowhere around.

York walked side by side with you not bothering to take his hand away. His head on a swivel as he tried to take in the hotel lobby. However you were dragging him along at a quick pace. He smelt and looked gross there was no way you’d let him loose right now.

Dragging him up the staircase you both come face to face with a giant mirror. The sight of you dragged the FBI profile around made you chuckle. Catching sight of York turning his head to look at you. You dragged him up the next set of stairs. Across an open air walkway to your shared hotel room. Room 203.

Unlocking the door you stepped into the large hotel room. The room is made up of three parts going from right to left from the entryway: the living room, bedroom and bathroom. The entryway also doubles as the dressing area. Right next to the door is a slim small table, a wardrobe and a dresser.

The living room was surrounded by three walls. One wall being nothing but glass windows to the balcony. A small lounge area with a TV and a small fridge. In the corner was a dining table with two chairs. Plants and paintings decorated the space making it feel comfortable.

Then the bedroom tucked into a corner next to the living room. Windows also lined one wall but this time a door to the balcony was among them. There was a large king size bed with nightstands. Even another couch by the windows for you to lounge on.

Finally the bathroom behind the door to the bathroom layed a lovely set up. A large glass shower and a clawfoot bathtub. With a large mirror above the sink and the toilet hidden in its own alcove.

“Look at this thing.” You let go of York's hand to step towards the one sore spot in the beautiful room. A large statue sat between the bathroom and bedroom. It was a person you think. A cow's skull with horns rested in place of the head. Six skeleton arms jutted out from the torso wrapped in fabric. One of the lower arms held a rope that a child sized rope doll hung from. Fabric draped around the statue making it feel like it might come to life.

“That’s amazing!” York exclaimed. Setting the skateboard by the front door. He walked over to join you in front of the statue. Looking it over with a small frown you didn’t know if you could sleep with that in the room. Oh there was the second problem.

“And there is only one bed.” Taking a few steps into the bedroom. The bed looked very comfortable but there was only one. York and you had shared a bedroom but never a bed. Turning to look at York who was examining the statue. He leaned in, taking a closer look at the statue caught up in the details.

“York.” No response.

“York really, it's a creepy statue.” Still nothing.

“Francis York Morgan.” That got his attention and he turned to look at you. A frown on his lips at the use of his whole name. Using both arms you gestured to the bed trying to get his attention on it. He stepped away from the statue coming to your side. His eyes landed on the single bed but he didn’t appear fazed.

“I don’t see an issue.” York looked over the bedroom area. “It’s more than big enough for the both of us.” He glanced at you. “Or do you not like me?” A smile creeped onto his face. He leaned towards you a little, teasing you. Steeping close you bump his shoulder.

“Go shower Agent Stinky.” York raised an eyebrow before letting out a chuckle. He moved towards the bathroom disappearing inside. Taking the opportunity you leave the room. Heading upstairs to the small restaurant on the third flood. Finding it busy for the dinner rush.

David the chef was running around keeping the buffet style restaurant going. Helping yourself you found the plates carefully to make yourself a full meal. York on the other hand was harder, his love of junk food always causing problems.

Finding a small section full of sandwiches felt like a miracle. Loading York's plate with Turkey sandwiches and chips. Balancing both plates was a task in itself. Somehow you made it back to the room, setting the plates on the dining table.

Stepping just once more to visit the vending machine on the other end of the hall. Stepping back into the room with two cans of cold soda. It felt warmer than before shutting the door behind you. York's voice startled you as he spoke standing in front of the wardrobe.

“Welcome back.” He was only wearing blue striped pajama pants. Ever since York came back from his training with the Bureau he had put on some muscles. It showed as he reached into the wardrobe. The muscle of his arm and shoulder flexed as he looked for something.

“Got us dinner. Turkey sandwiches for you.” The cans in your hand started to get wet from condensation. Your fingers were cold but an idea for pay back popped into your head. York leaned into the wardrobe as he kept looking.

Stopping behind him you pressed one of the sodas fully to his back. His muscles flexed instantly and he stepped forward quickly. Turning to face you he snatched the soda from you faster than you could react. Scurrying back out of his reach giggling manically as you did. A wide smile plastered on your face for getting a reaction out of him.

“I was going to say thank you but I don’t think you deserve it.” York slipped the soda into the pocket of his pants as he turned back around.

“Payback for making me worry.” You shot back going to the dining table. “Your shirt is in the dresser. I ran out of hangers.” Sitting down you opened your soda. York moved to the dresser pulling out a white tank top. Slipping it on before grabbing his long sleeve pajama shirt. Slipping it over his shoulders.

He joined you at the table taking the soda can out of his pocket. Putting it on the table as he started buttoning up his shirt. A blue pajama shirt with white strips. Looking at his chest you watched the muscles flex. York wasn’t ripped but toned. Tone enough for you to admire it for a few moments too long.

“Something wrong?” York asked as he finished butting up his shirt. Fastening it to the top button makes him look a little silly. The outfit looked almost too small on him. As he reached for the sandwich you brought the fabric of his shirt stretched against his biceps.

“How do you only eat junk food but you're still toned?” Digging into your own meal. The food was really good for a buffet in some tiny town. York chewed his food deep in though before reaching up with his right hand. Pressing two fingers to his temple.

“How do we explain the importance of junk food, Zach?” Letting out a groan you sit up. “Don’t bring him into this!” You protested. “Two against one isn’t fair!” York’s lips twitched at the beginning of a smile forming but he didn’t let it grow. He dropped his hand from his temple.

“Junk food shouldn’t be viewed in a negative light. The variety and versatility of junk food is amazing.” York starts to go on a rant.

“Versatility…” You mumbled rolling your eyes.

“Why you could get everything you need from junk food. Vitamins, sugars and protein. In fact did you know that in Japan during the 1970’s people started skipping breakfast or eating later at night due to modernization. Western diets and instant foods were becoming rapidly popular. A company launched something called ‘Calorie mate’.” He finally paused for air, giving you a look. The look that meant he was waiting for you to ask questions.

“Calorie mate?” Asking simply to entertain him.

“It was launched in 1983 and revolutionized the industry by displaying both the caloric and nutritional content. It contains protein, fat, sugars, eleven vitamins and six minerals. It’s available in a block, jelly and liquid but the jelly has less vitamins and minerals. It’s a beautiful combination of nutrition and science to make a quick easy to eat product. Made for people who are busy and on the go. I would love to get my hands on one but they are hard to find in America without going to a specialty shop.” Finishing your food as York was mid rant. Downing your soda before you spoke up.

“We live in Boston. I'm sure we can find a shop that sells them. Finish your food and take the plates back to the restaurant upstairs.” Standing up you walked past him. Reaching out you ruffle his hair feeling the dampness of it.

“I’m gonna shower.” Calling over your shoulder as you walk into the bathroom. Both York and your shower bags were already in the room from your previous unpacking. His stuff sat open on the counter with a few products of his in the shower or scattered around the sink.

Picking up your you brought it to the shower. Stripping down you heard the door to the room open and close. Stripping down you get into the shower that felt amazing after this southern heat. In Bostan you are used to the cold, not this blistering heat. Even in the taxi you had been sweating.

Right after getting the conditioner out of your hair the water suddenly shut off. Standing there confused, you fiddled with the controls. Nothing happened, it didn't even try to spit out any water. Leaving you to an abrupt end to your nice shower.

Getting out you dry off wrapping a towel around yourself. Brushing your teeth before bed you noticed you forgot to bring in some clothes. Cracking open the door you glance around not spotting York.

He probably got distracted by the intricate details of the hotel. Going to the dresser you found pulled out something to sleep in. Dropping the towel you started to get dressed.

“Done already?” York's voice came from the bedroom.

“Showers busted.” Slipping on your clothes you turn to find York standing in the open entry way of the bedroom. Covering your chest in a false attempt to hide your modesty. “Pervert watching me change. Both of you.” Poking at Zach as well.

“Says the person who did the same thing earlier.” He leaned on the entryway of the bedroom. Grabbing the towel you returned it to the bathroom. “The shower is broken?” He called after you.

“Yes. It just stopped, now no water will come out.” Stepping out of the bathroom and heading to bed. Walking past York you drop onto the large bed. York may have skateboarded fifteen miles but you felt the exhaustion. Crawling across the bed to the side furthest from the opening to the bedroom.

“We will have to talk to the concierge in the morning.” York moved to the door leading to the balcony. He opened it up letting a breeze wafted in. The sheer white curtains fluttered around as York pulls out his cigarettes and lighter from his pants pocket.

“So you're fine with sharing a bed?” He looked at you as he took a cigarette out of the pack. Bringing the cigarette to his lips wrapping his lips around it. Dropping the pack back into the drawer.

“It is my motto to never sleep anywhere uncomfortable since we left foster care.” Pulling the covers back you crawl in the bed was soft. The covers were smooth against your skin making you snuggle in deeper. The pillows were very soft, almost too soft.

“That’s an interesting motto.” York flicked the lighter and a small flame burst to life. Rolling onto your side you watch him light his cigarette. Flipping the lighter close he shoves it into his pocket. He takes a drag of it as he walks to the open balcony door. Stepping outside before he lets a cloud of smoke.

There were two pillows on your side and two on Yorks. They were horribly soft to the point your head had already sunk through the two pillows. It left you with little neck support so you fold the pillows trying to get comfortable.

Glancing out the open door you see a York’s back to you with a black sky. He blows out a cloud of smoke leaning on the railing. His head moves as he looks over the street below. Watching York for a solid minute before your eyes start to feel dry.

Pulling the blanket up to your chin you close your eyes. Sleep claimed you easily travel and the stress of the carjacking catching up to you. Somewhere in your half asleep state you registered the bed dipping. Snuggling into the pillows was the last coherent thought you had.

~

Sirens. Flashing lights.

The sudden assault had you jerking out of sleep. Blue and Red flashing lights filled the hotel room as a police siren wailed. Your sleep riddled brain snapped to alert but both faded just as fast. Leaving you rattled from the abrupt wake up.

There was a dim glow filling the room from the streetlights below. Unfortunately the sheer curtains didn’t do much to block out the light. Soft breathing alerted you to someone on your right. Turning your head to look caused a sharp pain to shoot up your neck.

Squeezing your eyes shut you straighten your neck. Grabbing your pillows you found that they were squished flat. Doing your best to fluff them up but the pillows were not cooperating. Carefully sitting up you push the pillows aside. Scooting back you press your back to the headboard. Slowly rolling your neck trying to work out the kinks.

Catching sight of York as you try to fix your neck. He was on his side facing you as he slept. His arm tucked under his head with his mouth parted slightly as he breathed. He didn’t even stir from you moving or from the sirens.

Turning your head fully to the side caused a sudden pain to shoot through your neck and shoulder. Groaning at the pain you squeeze your eyes shut again. Using your hand to gently press around your neck. Finding almost your whole neck was sore.

Hopefully the police will find the rental car tomorrow. Another night in this bed will have your neck unable to move. The bed shifted and something warm touched your side. Opening your eyes you do your best to look at York.

With what light the street lamps provided you could make out York’s hand on your side. Sliding your eyes up his arm you landed on his face. Mismatched eyes open looking up at you. He pulled his hand away sitting up causing the sheets to fall away from him.

“What's wrong? I heard you make a noise.” His voice was husky from just waking up. He was fully alert though his movements were sharp with no evidence of having just woken up. He sat up finding the small lamp on the nightstand.

“You heard that but not the sirens?” Flinching when York flips on the light. It was somehow impossibly bright for a bedside lamp. Rubbing your face you let out a sigh. You didn’t even know what time it was but you both were awake now. “Sirens?” York asked.

“Police car drove by with the lights and sirens on and woke me up. Now my neck is trying to kill me.” Rolling your neck again this time with the same result. Wincing at the pain in your neck. Slumping back against the headboard you gave up on fixing it.

“And no hot showers until we report it tomorrow.” York added.

“It's the pillows fault. I’m never buying a feathered pillow, that's for sure. I hope they catch the guy who stole the car.” Laying back down you grabbed the pillows folding them in half. Laying on your back with a frown as the pillows instantly flattened.

York turns off the light laying back down on his side facing you. There was a bit of silence between you two as you lay in bed. Staring at the ceiling as you try to brainstorm a solution. Perhaps one of the couches in the room had pillows you could use.

York shifted and the bed dipped as he scooted closer to you. If you could turn your head you would. Instead you kept facing straight ahead. “What are you doing?” Asking as you kept your eyes on the ceiling.

“I have a solution.” York touched your neck making you tense up. He slipped his hand under your neck. Lifting your head as much as you could, you're curious to see what he was planning. His arm slipped under your neck as he closed the distance between you two.

Feeling the heat from his body next to yours. The covers trapping all the heat making you conscious of how close he was. He stopped moving so you dropped your head. York's arm fits perfectly in the crook of your neck. There was a slight relief in the muscles of your neck thanks to the support.

“This should help for the rest of the night. We can find a solution in the morning.” York spoke softly like he might fall back asleep at any moment.

It was a weird feeling because cuddling wasn’t really something you guys did. Sometimes you’d both stretch across the couch when watching movies. Under the blanket it was starting to get pretty warm. If you moved your arm even slightly you’d bump York’s chest.

Taking a shot you move your head trying to see York. This time you did it with only a minimal bit of pain. He was close enough for you to faintly feel his breath on your skin. His eyes were already closed; he appeared to be asleep again in a matter of moments. How this man functioned was a mystery to you even after knowing him for years.

He was right though his arm was helping your neck by supporting it. Add pillow to the list of things York is capable of doing. Closing your eyes you tried to go to sleep. There was a sore ache in your neck that you tried to ignore.

Except despite being tired your body refused to sleep.

Sounds from the street below slowly drifted in. People talking too loud, an occasional car passing and the sounds of people moving around in the hotel. York's steady breathing was in your ear the whole time. You both admired and hated how fast he fell asleep.

Using York’s bicep as a pillow lets you feel every movement. He didn’t move a lot in his sleep but when he did his muscles flexed. His body was close enough that you could feel the heat coming off of him.

Then there was his breathing. Slow, soft and steady. His chest rising and falling with each breath. Listening to him breath almost like a lullaby as you try to sleep.

~

Loud talking stirred you from sleep. Someone was walking by the room talking way too loudly. Cracking your eyes open to bright light. Not even aware you had fallen asleep in the night. It felt like you hadn't slept at all. Like all you did was blink then suddenly it's morning.

It was so warm and toasty in bed so you snuggled under the covers more. Wanting to catch up on the sleep you missed. Blinking a few times as you come to terms with the fact you're awake now. Everything was so warm and there was a weight across your body.

Warm breath fanned over your face. Turning your head there was a slight pain but not as bad. York had closed the gap between you two. His chest was pressing against your arm as you lay on your back.

His free arm thrown over your belly holding you in a loose grip. His hand pressed against your hip. Taking a deep breath you try to slide out from under York's arm. His fingers twitch against your hip gripping at it briefly. Freezing you debate if you should wake York up or not. There was no clock in your line of sight so you didn’t know what time it truly was.

Carefully you grab York’s hand, peeling it off of your hip. Peeling his arm slowly off of your body. When you get halfway York takes a deep breath. His chest presses into your arm as he breaths. He scrunches his face up before he peeks open one eye. Letting go of his arm it drops onto your belly again.

“Morning…” His morning voice was gruff and low. He closed his eyes, taking another deep breath. He didn’t try to move, taking his time as he woke up. It was rare to see York so lazy and lacking energy.

“Morning.” Sitting up in bed, the ache in your neck is still president. If York went to the police you would go to a local shop to find medicine. Rubbing at your eyes you felt the bed shift as York got up.

York got out of bed without a word heading to the bathroom. Slipping out of bed you changed out of your pajamas into the most breathable clothes you had. No doubt today would be just as hot as yesterday. By the time you finished dressing York came out of the bathroom.

“Let’s get breakfast. I am interested in the hotel restaurant after tasting the food you brought yesterday.” There was the normal York you were used to. Turning to look at York as he stood in the bathroom doorway.

“Okay I’ll meet you up there. Get us a nice table.” Walking over to the bathroom you looked at York. He had stubble on his face just from one night. He nodded, giving you a quick smile before walking past you. Heading into the bathroom you get ready for the day ahead. With York around any normal day can take a crazy turn.

Once you are ready you head out of the hotel room. The echo of voices rose up from the floor below. Walking to the railing you peek down over the edge. Even this early in the morning the lobby was bustling. Voices of people mixed together floating up to you in a mass of sound. Pulling away you head upstairs to meet with York.

Walking into the restaurant you couldn’t spot York right away. Doors to the balcony along the back of the restaurant were open letting the natural light in. Scanning over the crowd you didn’t spot that familiar mop of white hair.

There was a mass of voices filling the room with the clinks of utensils. A few small kids darted in and out of the crowded room. Standing up on your tiptoes there was no sign of the FBI agent.

Trudging through the bustling room you searched for York. Hoping he didn’t get side tracked on the way to the restaurant. Circling the outer edges you walked by the open doors feeling the heat of the day. Walking past the doors you try to keep your eyes peeled for him.

A voice called your name over the crowd. Looking around the whole place trying to find the source. Again York calls your name this time you were listening for it. Spinning around you find York sitting on the balcony. A few tables were set up but everyone chose to stay inside.

He was still in his blue pajamas but looked content with his choices. Padding over to the table you slide into the seat across from him. It was just as hot as yesterday with the sun beating down on the streets of Le Carré. York looked content as he glanced over the streets below.

“Here.” York held his hand out to you. Raising your eyebrow at his gesture you didn’t know what he wanted. “Your tea cup.” He clarified.

A quick survey of the table revealed you had a tea cup on your side. Picking up the delicate ceramic cup you hand it to York. Taking note of the large pineapple that sat between you two. As York fills up the teacup you pick up the pineapple by its leaves moving it to the center of the table.

“No coffee?” York glanced up before setting the teapot down. He shook his head as he handed the cup back to you. Taking it from him, the warmth of the tea warming your already hot hands.

“None but tea is fine. After all, we are on vacation and we should try something new.” Taking a sip of the tea was bitter, making you sputter. Not the first thing you were expecting in the morning. York chuckled, taking a sip of his tea before setting it down.

“Not everyone is a weirdo who drinks black coffee.” Glaring at York as he shrugged. York leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his lips.

“Coffee is an important start to the day. It’s important to have a routine. Perhaps you should give it a try some time.” He gave you a pointed look with the smirk staying plastered on his face. Giving him a hard stare as you picked up the teacup again. Taking a sip of tea that was just as bitter as the first time.

“That’s not fair-”

“Order up for the lovely couple.” Interrupted suddenly by a man wearing a chef's jacket who looks very much like David the concierge.

“Oh we aren’t-”

“Thank you chef, it looks wonderful.” York spoke over you. The chef held a food tray on his arm moving to your side. He set down an overflowing plate of food along with a bowl of grits.

As he moved to York's side you inspected the plate. A whole lobster, dirty rice, okra and a dinner roll. All this on top of the grits seems like way too much food for breakfast.

“Is it possible for us to get something to sweeten the tea?” York meets your eyes giving you a wink as if to say he’s got you covered.

“Of course coming right up.” With that the chef disappeared for a moment only to return with a bottle of honey. When he set it down on the table he took off again disappearing just as quickly as he appeared.

“I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of ordering for you.” Reaching for the honey you dump a copious amount of it into your tea. “I hadn’t noticed.” Shooting back at him as you take another sip of tea. This time it tasted more of honey than anything but that was fine.

“Someone is grumpy in the morning. I’ll be sure to consult you for all future ordering. I shouldn’t have assumed that twenty years we have known each other was long enough to know what you like.” York teased as he looked out over the street. Opening your mouth to argue with him you snap it shut. There was a large fresh, hot meal in front of you and a beautiful day ahead.

Ignoring York as he people watched you grab the rolled up silverware. Unraveling the napkin you find a shell cracker along with the normal utensils. Digging into the hot and fresh food in front of you. It was a wonderful breakfast but you wouldn’t admit out loud to York about it.

“Should we check with the police today about the rental car?” Asking York as you try to crack open one of the lobster's claws. York, who has been staring out over the streets this whole time, finally looked over at you.

“I’ve given them the hotel we are staying at. Any news will be given to the front desk.” He took a sip of tea not even bothering to sweeten it. The claw cracked letting you get at the meat inside of it. Munching away you noticed York hadn’t touched his food at all.

“York.” Taking on a stern tone swallowing down the lobster meat. He raised an eyebrow very much knowing what your tone meant. Looking down at his food you look back up at him. His eyes followed yours looking down at his food.

“It’s a wonderful meal. Truly a work of art from the chef themself.” Narrowing your eyes at him you wipe off your hands before crossing them. York reached up pressing his fingers against his temple. “Really this whole vacation has been amazing wouldn’t you agree Zach. Not to mention the case before this was riveting. Who would've thought that stuffed hu-”

“Ahhh! I’m eating!” Yelling over York’s voice trying to block out the memories of the last case. An entire collection of stuffed humans. Just thinking about it makes your skin crawl. Shaking your head you reach out tapping York’s plate. “Eat or else I’ll bug you all day about it.” Stealing a piece of okra off his plate.

York watched as you popped the piece of okra into your mouth. His lips twitched as he fought back another smile. He kept his fingers pressed to his head. No doubt Zach had something to say to him.

He dropped his hand reaching out for his utensils. Watching him takes a bite of the dirty rice. No doubt Zach was on your side giving York a scolding. A smile broke out across your face as you watched him eat.

A bird landed on the railing of the balcony next to your table. Both of you look over at the American Robin that settles on the railing. The bird hopped around on the railing stopping near you. Seeing it closer you saw a worm wiggling around in its mouth.

York took a sip of tea before looking down into the cup. Pressing his fingers against his temple before he spoke.

“Zach, it looks like she wants us to join her for breakfast. Perhaps this town’s finally starting to warm up to us.” York looked up at you with a smirk on his lips. Shrugging you finish your tea holding the cup out to York.

York sets his teacup down grabbing the teapot refilling your cup for you. Just as he finished filling the cup the bird suddenly tossed the worm onto the table. Recoiling a little as the worm landed next to you. Setting the teacup down you looked between the bird and worm unsure what to do.

“Look at that! She’s welcoming us with open arms.” Glancing to York who had his fingers pressed to his forehead. “She’s even willing to share that tasty morsel with us. What an honor!” Caught between a grimace and smile you weren’t sure how to react. York for his part still had a smile on his face.

“Well that's a good omen if I’ve ever seen one.” Looking at the bird as it spoke. Then to York returning his smile. The robin turned flying off into the sky as you both sat there. Picking up the honey you almost drop it as someone suddenly spoke.

“Hurry up and chow down, mister. Unless you like your breakfast stale.” The chef from earlier spoke. York and you both turn to look at him as he walks onto the balcony. Inside the restaurant was much more sparse than earlier. So caught up in eating breakfast with York you hadn’t noticed. York spoke up as the chef stopped at the table.

“What an amazing place. I’ve been on top of the moon since the moment I got here.” Giving York a pointed look as if to remind him of the pillow incident last night. He met your eyes but didn’t comment on it.

“And the name of this wonderful town, Le Carré … sounds like French to me. But what does it mean?” He takes a sip of tea before setting it down. Bringing his eyes back to the chef as he spoke. Reaching over you steal the other piece of okra from York's plate.

“I’m the chef, David.” David grabbed the teapot refilling York's cup. “If you wanna know about the town, you’d better ask the concierge.” He turned to you but you shook your head. Dumping another large amount of honey into your teacup. David set down the teapot taking a step back.

“Only amateur chefs flap their gums about stuff that ain’t food-related.” David crosses his arms looking between you both. With a nod he turned around heading back inside. Taking a sip of tea you look out over the railing. Looking out over the small town with its palm trees and cramped together buildings.

“Did you hear that, Zach? He’s a true professional.” Turning back around to find York with his fingers pressed to his temple. David paused in the doorway of the balcony turning around to look at York.

“You say somethin’, mister?” York shook his head. “No, not to you. I was just talking to Zach.” David looks at you but you shake your head. Taking a moment to introduce yourself to him. “This is FBI agent Francis York Morgan.” Holding your hand out to York.

“Please don’t ask me about Zach. It’s a private matter.” York tacked on. Having already memorized his normal greeting to people. Finishing off your tea you lean back in your chair. David shrugged, shaking his head. “If you say so.”

“Still … Never thought the FBI would ever come out to a little old town like ours.” David's words made you pause. Turning your head slowly to look at York as he spoke. “I do work for the FBI, but I didn’t come here for an investigation. I just happened to stop by on my way to New Orleans.” David sighed, crossing his arms again.

“Never thought there’d be a murder out here, either.” Slumping in your seat with a groan at his words.”And it was a sixteen year old kid. I tell you, this country’s seen better days.” Propping your arms on the table you hold your head in your hands. Knowing that you’d be trapped in this town now. This man never gets tired of murder or anything.

“Folks say the killer used an axe… Helluvan old-fashioned choice, if you ask me.” Zoning back in as David spoke. Between working for the newspaper and hanging with York you were always looking for information. Picking your head up you drop your hands.

“Actually…” York started. Shaking your head you start mentally going over how many days of vacation you had left. “Chef David if you don’t mind. I’d like to ask you a few questions about the incident.”

“Hold up.” Raising your hand the pair look at you.

“I’m going back to the room. York, eat your food.” Standing up York doesn't try to stop you. Leaving the pair behind you walk through the restaurant. Snagging a muffin from the buffet before you make your way back to the hotel room.

Setting the muffin aside for later you head to the closet. Opening it up you dig through pulling out York’s black suit. Laying it out on the bed along with a red tie. Knowing that York will be doing all he can to get a look at the crime scene.

Even though you were dressed unlike York you still had to get ready. Digging your cross body bag out of the wardrobe. Moving to the bed you sit down, opening it up and dumping out the contents.

Your notebook, an extra one just in case, wallet, keys and pepper spray. After hearing about all of York’s cases you decided to get something to defend yourself. Picking up the notebook a pen was wedged between its pages. Opening the notebook you slide the pen out.

The door to the room suddenly opened. Setting the notebook and pen down you get up. Moving to the bedroom entryway. Peeking out, you spot York walking inside the room.

“That was not enough time to eat.” You scold York as he strolled in. “I ate.” He tried defending himself by shutting the door behind him. “Bullshit, your bad habits are gonna catch up with you one day.” York just flashed you a lopsided grin heading to the wardrobe.

“Suits on the bed.” Moving back to the bed you sat down next to your bag. Picking up your notebook you flip through until you come to a blank page. Writing Le Carré at the top of the page tracing the letters a few times to make sure they are bold.

“I believe that I have become predictable, Zach.” Not bothering to look up knowing York is talking to Zach. “Though I must say we are lucky to have such a great best friend.” Rolling your eyes you know York was trying to get on your good side. It’s not like you could hide how you felt from him. He was a damn good profiler so it was hard hiding things from him.

“What are Zach’s thoughts?” Looking up in time to see York begging to unbutton his shirt. His hands work at the buttons revealing his white tank top underneath.

“Zach is also interested in the case. I have a hunch that there is more to this case than we know.” He slips his pajama shirt off, tossing it onto the bed. Looking back down at your notebook. Writing down the date and what transpired to lead you both here. As you write you can hear York undressing next to the bed.

“As long as we are back in Boston before I need to start work.” Glancing up in time to see York in boxer briefs. His thighs and calves had the same lean muscles as his upper body. Even with his habit of smoking he might be able to outrun you.

“I’m sure we will have time for our vacation and get you back in time.” He grabbed his dress pants, slipping them with ease. Zipping his pants up he grabbed his belt looping it through the belt loops. He caught sight of you looking at him.

“Pervert.” He retorted by throwing your words from yesterday back at you. Sticking your tongue out at him you turn back to the notebook. Finishing up the short description of everything up until now. Once you finish you look up finding York almost fully dressed.

York flipped the collar of his dress shirt up. Grabbing his tie and looping it around the neck of his shirt. He paused, turning to you fully closing the space between you two. He stands in front of you as you sit on the edge of the bed. Wedging the pen between the pages you close it. Looking up at York tilting your head in a silent question.

“Would you help me with my tie? Please?” Confused at his sudden request, you narrowed your eyes. Never in your life had York asked you to help him with his tie. Setting the notebook aside, you stand up standing in front of York.

“What’s gotten into you today?” Gripping each end of his tie in your hands. Focused on making sure you tie it correctly.

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean.” Peeking up at his face he was looking right at you. Not watching your hands as you work on his tie. Yanking on his tie hard enough to make him step forward. His foot bumping yours as he does.

Finishing his tie you tighten it around his neck making sure it's comfortable. Taking the extra step to smooth down the collar of his dress shirt. Smiling up at him as you step back. Placing your hands on your hips.

“There we go you big baby.” York didn’t move for a moment just watching you. He then moves to the wardrobe, opening it up and pulling out his luggage. The one thing you didn’t want to touch was his equipment.

He unzipped his luggage pulling out his shoulder holster. He slipped it on, fiddling with it as he tightened it. The leather straps from a X over his back with the gun holster under his left arm. It wasn’t hard to admit that he looked good when he put on his equipment. Something you have had the privilege of watching multiple times. It was something you never got tired of watching.

He knelt down his hands going into the luggage out of your sight. Only hearing a series of clicking before he stood up holding a handgun and mag of ammo. He checks the magazine before sliding it into the gun. He checks over the gun before putting it into the holster.

Then he grabs one more thing out of his luggage. Clipping his handcuff holder onto the back of his belt. Finishes getting everything together including his wallet and badge.

“Look at you Mr. FBI.” Picking you York’s suit jacket you meet him halfway. Holding his jacket out to him. York took his jacket, slipping it on concealing his gun.

“Excellent, now we just need to go over the case so far.” York left the bedroom with you following after him. Moving into the living room he moves to the far wall. Finding your muffin you left earlier you plop down in an armchair getting comfortable.

“Saint Rouge.” York mumbled his back to you as he stared at the wall. His hand raised, pressing his two fingers to his temple, his single he was talking to Zach. “We’ve been chasing it all over America but…” Taking a bite of the muffin watching York and Zach at work.

“I feel like we’re finally on the verge of finding something now. Don’t you, Zach?” York turned to his briefcase that you had placed next to the wardrobe. “I think it’s about time we ordered a new briefcase.” He dropped his hand pausing for a moment.

“Yes, I know this one carries a lot of memories. But it’s seen too much.” Staying silent you always struggled on when to interject. Without hearing Zach himself you didn’t know when to speak up. So instead you kept busy peeling the wrapper from the muffin.

“This hotels from the shoot-out in Tucson … and the stains from Miami.” Heart sinking at the thought of York in the middle of a shoot out. His job was more dangerous than you could imagine. You sat behind a desk all day typing away on a computer. York chased psycho killers and occasionally dragged you along but you were never involved.

“Ah, Miami … Now that was a fascinating case. Billy, our perp, cut his own torso right in-”

“Ah! No, I don't need to hear that!” Grimacing at the thought of what York would suggest. Looking at the briefcase you pictured it sitting in a pool of blood. Wiping your hand on the armchair at the thought of you carrying the bag yesterday.

York looked over his shoulder at you with a flash of a smile. Then he picked up his briefcase digging through it he pulled out a few things. A handful of papers that you couldn’t make out. He sets the briefcase back where it was before going back to the blank wall.

“I was just saying that even with drugs it was a feat of mental fortitude to pull off such a thing.” Looking around trying to find a pillow to throw at him but there were none. There goes plan A for tonight to prevent your neck from hurting.

“I know, Zach, I know. Now isn’t the time for a trip down memory lane.” Slumping in your seat, this was a trip you wanted to stop. Finishing your muffin you ball up the wrapper throwing it at York. It nails him square in the back with the flimsy wrapper.

“Assaulting a federal agent is a felony you know. I could arrest you for that.” He didn’t look at you, instead busying himself with the papers in his hands. He started pinning stuff to the wall. First it was an evidence bag containing the wrapper for Saint Rouge.

“Oh no don’t arrest me.” Speaking in a flat monotone voice as you watch him. York chuckled before he started speaking to Zach again.

“An emergent drug that’s been on the raise in four southern states. Personally, I think it originated right here in Louisiana.” This sentence you started to connect the dots. “And Lise Clarkson’s murder-”

“York … Did you disguise our vacation as a way to investigate Saint Rogue?” Standing up you move around the couch standing next to York. He turned to you giving you a smile like nothing was wrong.

“Just a happy accident really. I truly do want to visit New Orleans. Rich with history and all kinds of wonders. I promise you this vacation will be one you can fully enjoy.” York turned to you, reaching out and patting your head like he was talking to a kid.

END

[typingatlightspeed]

Hmmm..... What if pyro really wanted to take Engie on the best date he's ever had, and have dinner at the most Texas style restaurant with the biggest 72oz steak. And some extra fluff too because I'm a sucker for those two being bff's and lovers. Maybe it'll be a double date with two of their buddies that just happened to have the same idea?

TF2 Fanfic - Flesh and Blood

Filled with new clarity on his feelings about Engineer's body modifications, Pyro takes him out to dinner to talk about it and spoil him a little.

Ao3 Link! Part of Monstrous Intent!

Hope you don't mind I deviated a little, Dizzy!

---------

"So you see my problem here, Doc?" Engineer asked, gesturing to a drawing in a well-worn notebook that sat on his drafting table. "With arms and legs, I can observe 'n get good enough photos for easy replication o' detail, but with face and torso, I'm fightin' one hell of an uphill battle, 'n I'd rather not just rely on photography. It can only catch so much accurately, especially with the finer details, like depth of colour 'n subdermal stuff that shows through. And hair patterns."

Medic stroked his chin as he peered over Engineer's shoulder at his notes. It was one of many battered and rumpled spiral-bound affairs that contained his scrawling and theorizing on his life's passion project. "Perhaps degloving?"

"You think flayin' me's gonna be the best option?" Engineer asked earnestly, crossing his arms over his chest in thought.

"Nein, not simply flaying. It would need to be a degloving to preserve detail."

"The difference bein'?"

"Flaying is simply removing the skin from the body. Yes, often kept intact for preservation, but it usually does not bring with it the subcutaneous tissues, so the structure is not maintained. Degloving is usually from a shearing force, and removes the subcutaneous tissues still attached to the skin, which not only can help better preserve shape but also structure, which—I wager—will allow you to better map the details to your artificial reproduction. It will also protect against stretching or distending during the removal, which would be done with proper tools, rather than an actual shearing injury, of course," Medic explained, grinning excitedly. He wanted to go fetch his tools right away, even though they were mostly talking suppositions and theory for a much-later project. After all, Engineer had a lot to build before he started working on the exterior facade for a full-torso replacement.

Engineer nodded thoughtfully. "So how're we gonna work around respawn, is the next question? After all, you can take the skin off o' me, but it'll get picked up by respawn quick as the rest o' me, with nothin' to show for it save you havin' a fun afternoon."

Medic chuckled at that and walked over to the work bench, hopping up to sit on it and crossing his legs knee-over-knee. "We would need to keep you alive, then," he reasoned.

"I don't see myself gettin' much work done while I'm screamin' in agony 'n bleedin' all over the place what with havin' no skin." A little chuckle hefted out of Engineer at that, and he uncrossed his arms, leaning one elbow on the drafting table as he regarded his friend.

He loved these sorts of conversations. Medic was just as excited as he was to work on this project, as un-squeamish as a man could be, and made a great sounding board to bounce ideas back and forth. He'd never has gotten as far in his bodily conversions as he had without his friend's help, both by virtue of his surgical expertise in installing the new parts and in his way of figuring out a solution to damn near any problem, no matter how unlikely or outlandish. The word, 'impossible,' did not exist in Medic's vocabulary, and that fact alone made the man worth his weight in Australium.

Silence fell as both men thought, a few quiet 'hmm's filling the space. Finally, Medic perked up with a soft hoot of excitement. "I have an idea! The medigun regrows tissue easily, after all. All I would have to do is keep you alive, deglove you, and regrow the tissue, good as new!"

"That could work," Engineer hummed, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Medic hopped to his feet, talons clicking on the cement floor as he began to pace, one arm tucked behind his back, the other gesturing as he spoke. "I can medically induce a coma, then perform the degloving procedure while you are unconscious, so that your body will not go into shock from the pain! Then it would be a simple matter to focus the medigun beam on you, set it to high charge, and allow it to regrow your tissues, which would only take a few minutes at most. In fact, the whole procedure would be just a morning, really. We could do lunch afterward! Depending on how quickly you come out of the coma, of course." He tittered. "The removed skin and subcutaneous tissues would need to be kept in refrigeration or they would begin to rot within a day or so, but if kept cold, could last several days before they rot enough to discolour. I could store it in formaldehyde, but I would need quite a lot, and it may alter colouration and structure, which would make it useless for your study, then."

"Reproducin' it realistically would be an issue then, yeah. I'll just have to work fast, I s'pose," Engineer mused. "Worst comes to worse, we just do it again so I can get another fresh piece to work with."

"That is absolutely an option," Medic conceded. "Though I would assume the amount of labour this entails, plus the time sensitivity, means it would be best pursued during a furlough rather than trying to work around our combat schedule."

Frowning a bit at that, Engineer had to nod in agreement regardless. "Yeah. Shame to waste a vacation stayin' on base, but I guess that just means I gotta time it right. And make sure Pyro ain't got plans for us already once I do pull the trigger on settin' this up."

"Speaking of Pyro," Medic hummed, giving his wings a stretch, "how are things progressing with him?"

"With my prosthetics 'n all?"

"Ja."

"Well, ever since we figured out the magic of it, 'n the how of why the Australium's been the only material to make this cockamamie project actually work—somethin' that causes me no shortage o' consternation since it means I gotta admit I was just kinda chuckin' science at the wall to see what stuck—it's been a little better. He's still not too keen on me swappin' out healthy tissue, but he ain't all unsettled by the parts themselves anymore, now that he understands why they look the way they do to his magic sight."

"He needed to look even deeper."

"I could'a taken it at face value," Engineer countered with a shake of his head. "But I ain't gonna sit here 'n tell a man older than my species what reality is. That's way too philosophical for my reckonin' anyway."

Medic made a shooing motion with one gloved hand. "Bah, reality," he dismissed with a chuckle. "But I'm glad to hear things are getting better."

"Me too. And for once it wasn't my fault for bein' a stubborn horse's ass."

"I mean, you are one. It just wasn't the problem this time."

Engineer slugged Medic in the shoulder with his left hand, laughing all the same.

"I am surprised by one thing, however."

"What's that, Doc?"

"That you're able to recreate your own body with such detail, down to veins under skin and pigmentation variations. It's an incredible artistic achievement, Engie. Especially for a man without formal training."

"Oh, I got an art degree," Engineer countered, matter-of-factly.

"I thought all of your degrees were in hard sciences."

"All my PhDs are. I got a bachelor's in fine arts when I was workin' on post-grad for my bio master's."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Also got an associate's degree from a two-year vocational course in special effects makeup. Once I decided this was what I was dedicatin' my life to, I knew I needed more than just the metal. Prosthetics are one thing, but a full body conversion should be able to look however you want. And I've gotten enough positive feedback on all o' this," he gestured vaguely to himself, "from fellas over the years that I'm keen to keep it."

Medic laughed. "You never cease to surprise me, Engie."

"Someone's gotta keep you of all people on your toes. Well. Talons."

The door to the workshop opening drew both men's attention, and Engineer broke out in a broad grin upon seeing Pyro slip through the door in his chemsuit, mask in hand. "Well hey there, darlin'!"

"Hallo Pyro! We had just mentioned you! Were your ears burning?"

"My ears are always burning," Pyro chirped, giving Medic a grin as he trotted over to Engineer and wrapped his arms around him. "Hey there, baby bear."

"What's up, firefly?"

"Wanna go out for dinner tonight?"

"Ooh, getting asked on a date by the hottest man on base!" Medic teased, taking this as his cue to leave, clapping his friend on the shoulder before heading for the door. "Have fun! Make good decisions! Don't do anything I would do!" he called, giggling as he slipped out of the room to the sound of exasperated groans.

Shaking his head, Engineer pulled Pyro close, threading his arms around the djinni's waist. "What's the occasion?"

"Demo told me there's a really good steakhouse in town, and I wanted to treat you," Pyro replied, nosing in to press a kiss to Engineer's cheek. "So, can I pick you up around five?"

With a chuckle, Engineer gave him a squeeze. "Sure thing, just gotta go get all gussied up."

"Oh good, one of us should be dressed appropriately, at least."

*

"You sure that's gonna be alright?" Engineer asked as he watched Pyro unscrew the side filter of his mask and thread a straw through the gasket inside. The straw led down into a hurricane glass filled with a bright blue beverage, a pineapple skewered with a paper umbrella mounted on its side.

"Oh yeah, it's fine. To be honest I messed up the seal on this mask a while ago so I only wear it for aesthetic reasons, not to actually filter anything. Work masks stay in my locker."

"So this is your casual, day-to-day gasmask," Engineer reasoned, smiling against the rim of his pint of beer.

"Look, when you can't let ninety-eight percent of people know what you look like, you learn to accessorize for the occasion," Pyro teased, punctuating with a sip. "Oh man that's way stronger than I expected. Really good though."

"It's bright blue."

"Blue is objectively the best colour for a beverage to be. That's just science," Pyro reasoned, taking another sip.

"Knew I should'a done at least a bachelor's in culinary," Engineer chuckled.

A slim young man in a smart black uniform rounded on the booth they shared, pulling a notebook and pencil from his apron. "And have we decided on food yet, gentlemen?" he asked, eyes lingering on Pyro, unsure if he used the appropriate form of address. "...o-or if you need more time, I can swing back around in a little bit." He looked to Engineer, then nervously back to the person in a full chemsuit and gas mask sitting in the middle of a steakhouse, and decided that, indeed, the stout man in a stetson, yoked shirt, and nice jeans was the one he should be talking to.

"Sure, I'll have—"

"The thirty-two ounce prime ribeye—rare—with the garlic and herb butter, and the loaded baked potato," Pyro interrupted, looking pointedly to Engineer, who could tell from his body language that he knew exactly what he was doing.

With a chuckle, Engineer shook his head. "You heard the man. That's what I'll be havin'. And, uh, add a side salad on there, too. Ranch dressin'."

"Anything else?" the server asked, eyes darting between them in confusion.

"I'll take the twelve ounce tenderloin, medium rare. With the sweet potato mash, and a slice of cheesecake. Bring that out in a to-go container with the check, though, okay?"

"You want the ribeye here?"

"Yeah."

"Sure thing, sir," the server replied, spine stiff, deeply unsettled as Pyro's darkened lenses seemed to stare right through him. "I'll—I'll go get that order in for you," he stammered, peeling off to be as far from the table as possible.

"The wild thing is, this is still more relaxed than people would be around me outside the suit," Pyro mused, shaking his head. He plucked the straw from his mask and sat up. "And a side salad?!"

"Ribeye with butter's a lot o' fat 'n protein. Even more so prime grade, all that marblin'. I ain't gettin' any younger, darlin'. I'm gonna need the roughage; keep things movin'."

Pyro snorted a laugh, reeling back in his seat. "Gross! So does that mean I'm not topping tonight?"

"That's gonna be your risk-reward calculation to make," Engineer chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. "So what's the real reason for all o' this, anyway?"

"I can't take my Delly Sandwich out for dinner?"

"You absolutely can, but spoilin' me with the nicest cut on the menu feels like more'n just general appreciation. This some kind o' occasion? I ain't forgettin' an anniversary, am I?"

Pyro laid a hand atop Engineer's and tilted his head a little, indicating a smile. "No, nothing like that. I just—I wanna spoil you a little. As an apology."

"An apology?"

With a nod, Pyro squeezed his hand. "For making things hard with the whole... cyborg thing. My hangups shouldn't be your problem." A gentle frown settled on Engineer's face, and he set his beer down to hold Pyro's hand with both of his. "Py, you got a right to feel how you feel about about it."

"Yeah, but not to expect it to change something you've been working toward your whole life, and finally have the tools to accomplish. That isn't fair. And it isn't right. And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you needed to choose between me and your life's work. I promise you: you don't, and you never will."

"Thanks, darlin'," Engineer said softly, giving his hand a squeeze.

"Actually, Soldier said something that got me thinking."

"Oh lord..."

"No, seriously! It's... it's like you said. You're not getting any younger. You're in pain basically all the time."

Nodding, Engineer conceded, "Sure. Some days are better'n others, but..."

"And a lot of that can't really be fixed short of replacing things. And sure Medic can do a lot with his exotic animal parts, but what's sturdier than machinery? It can be maintenanced, and cared for, and parts swapped out when they get too worn down. It can last. Dell, you're already middle-aged. And someday, you'll be an old man. And someday, you won't be. But I never age." Engineer averted his eyes. He'd never been a fan of thinking about that fact.

"I'm used to outliving lovers. But I don't wanna be. I don't wanna keep doing it. I wanna be with you as long as you'll have me, but it's hard when I realize that in what's the blink of an eye for me, I'll be burying you. I can't handle the idea of a world without Dell Conagher in it, which says a lot, considering just how long I existed before Dell Conagher ever did." Pyro dipped his head and took hold of both of Engineer's hands with both of his, lifting them to the front filter of his mask as a kiss. "That's how important you are."

"Pyro..."

"If replacing meat and bone with plastic and metal means you won't be in so much pain, and maybe I won't have to stand at your grave..." Pyro's voice choked out, his shoulders slouching, and Engineer knew tears were rolling down his burning cheeks.

"Oh, Firefly," Engineer sighed, rising from his seat to circle the table and scoot in beside Pyro on his booth seat. He wrapped his arms around him, and Pyro leaned into him and tried to hold back sobs.

He fought down his own anxiety about such a display in a public place, casting a glare at anyone who would dare look their way. Pyro needed him, and that was more important than anything.

He rubbed soothing circles on the djinni's back, holding him close. "I dunno if I can wring forever outta this project. But I can get more time. And with that time, I can figure out how to get even more time after that." He nudged a hand under Pyro's chin and tilted his face up, looking into darkened lenses with a warm smile. "So if you're tellin' me you wanna be with me the rest o' your life, I'm gonna do my damnedest to make that happen."

Pyro squeezed him tightly, burying his face in the crook of his neck, and let out a weepy little sigh. "Okay," he replied, his voice wobbly. "Sorry for crying; I didn't mean—"

"It's alright, darlin'. Took a lot to come out with all o' that. I'm just sorry we're in a restaurant so I can't hold you proper."

A dreamy little hum cut through Pyro's quiet sobs. "Later, then."

"If you're still cryin' later that's a whole problem," Engineer chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to the crown of Pyro's mask. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Pyro sighed, nodding against him.

"Alright." With one last squeeze, Engineer let go let Pyro scoot over to give him room. "Want me to stay here next to you?"

"Won't it look silly, both of us on the same side of the table with nobody across from us?"

"Don't it look silly, a feller in a cowboy hat havin' dinner with a feller in a gas mask?"

"Okay, fair."

"Don't worry 'bout it, darlin'. I'll stick by your side, and if you need to lean on me, that's what I'm here for."

"Thanks." Pyro's smile was audible in his voice, and he nudged Engineer's shoulder with his own.

"You wanna hear a story, Py?"

"Sure," Pyro said, gathering his emotions back up and taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He half-turned, leaning against the side wall of their booth so that he could face Engineer as he spoke.

"When I was a little boy, I was fascinated with my grandaddy's Gunslinger. He built it outta necessity; lost his arm in some contraption, so he slapped that baby together outta steel 'n Australium, hooked it into his nervous system with a damn pair of pliers and a whole mess o' laudanum to calm hisself down. Worked better'n the arm he lost, 'cept he was always in pain from it. Never said a word about it; that's how he was, but I could see. The way he'd wince if he hit the cuff that capped his stump, or how he took to wearin' a leather glove over it when he was workin' in the sun, since it'd heat up real nasty. No insulation in the build, y'see. Kinda like how I did with my Gunslinger, 'cept I used rubber to insulate for when I'm workin' with electricty."

Pyro nodded, listening intently, sniffling a little and wishing he could wipe his eyes. Stupid mask.

"And that's the thing. I saw how that thing helped him, and how it hurt him, and I wanted better for him. I wanted to make somethin' better. Then the accident happened."

"Accident?"

"When I was ten, the horse I was ridin' got spooked by somethin'. Bucked me off. I landed bad 'n messed my back up somethin' awful. Herniated disks, messed up a few vertebrae. Ended up needin' surgery. Took a lot 'o physical therapy to get me back on my feet, 'n even more to get me back to fightin' trim. Could'a killed me, if I'm honest. I was lucky to be alive, but I sure didn't feel lucky."

"So your back's been bad ever since you were a kid?"

"Essentially," Engineer admitted with a half-shrug. "All the liftin' I do ain't that kind to it, though. I learned real young how to lift my with knees, but that wasn't to kind to them neither. By my twenties I knew I was cruisin' for a knee replacement by my fifties. Was basically a matter o' time, 'n put a hell of a ticking clock over my ability to take mercenary jobs, 'n work on the kind o' machines I really love. It was after my first PhD that I decided I was gonna start workin' on prosthetics as a personal project on top o' my schoolin' 'n refinin' my granddaddy's sentries, 'n my daddy's dispensers. Both of 'em did a pretty number on Australian teleporters with their iterations, 'n I did the same, too."

"You based your machines on your dad and granddad's blueprints?"

"Standin' on the shoulders o' giants," Engineer hummed. "Conagher tradition. Every generation has his breakthrough, but he also inherits a legacy o' the work that came before, to get him started out 'n learnin' to iterate on a design proper. Granddaddy Radigan invented the Gunslinger, so I invented fully artificial legs 'n arms that can adjust to temperature 'n serve as the base for upgrades, 'n housin' for 'em that looks like flesh 'n blood if the wearer wants it to. I invented a spine I can replace this ol' busted thing with 'n won't leave me paralyzed. Assumin' the Doc installs it right." He chuckled. "And eventually, I'll invent a total body conversion."

Pyro nodded, understanding more than he thought he ever had. It wasn't just curiosity, it wasn't just drive, and even though he invoked it, it wasn't just legacy either. Engineer was in chronic pain, so like anything else, he decided to solve that problem. That had been the start of it all.

There was something just so right about that.

"You're always in pain," Pyro murmured.

"And I can fix it," Engineer said, reaching across the table to retrieve his beer.

Pyro smiled behind his mask, wonder in his eyes. "I know I'm not a scientist, or a wizard, or even a particularly good artist or anything, but if there's anything I can do to help with your... transition, I will."

Engineer smiled softly at that. "Thanks, firefly. I could use the perspective of someone who knows my body real well," he chuckled. "And if you got any suggestions for upgrades."

Pyro tilted his head to the side in thought as Engineer raised his glass to his lips with his free hand, taking a sip. "...vibration."

Engineer choked, snuffling as he fought to keep beer out of his nose and gulped it down with great effort. "Pyro!"

[bimpro123]

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[darkmaga-returns]

We go to the legal guys for their views.

As soon as the first EOs began to drop, law prof Jonathan Turley was perhaps the first out of the gate to point out that the EOs were well thought out. What he meant—and made clear that he meant—was that the EOs went beyond coherently addressing their subject matter and showed clear evidence that they had been framed with an understanding of the likely legal challenges they might face. Turley professed himself to be quite impressed.

For my own part, I’ve been at pains to point to the person who is almost certainly the architect behind all this, who came up with the detailed plan for bringing the building down and understood how to structure the teams that would be needed to both accomplish the task and defend it in court. That person is almost certainly Russ Vought, Director of OMB both then (Trump 1.0) and now. Vought discussed all this at length with Tucker Carlson before his (Vought’s) confirmation, but it was all in place long before the inauguration. After all, Vought was also a key person behind Project 2025.

Shipwreckedcrew, another legal guy I’ve been referring to frequently for the ongoing lawfare assault on Trump 2.0, has weighed anchor and written a substack on the EOs. He begins on the same note as Turley—Trump 2.0, unlike the first time around, appears to be fully prepared for the battles ahead:

Sometimes The Battle Is Well Worth The Fight -- The Upside To The TRO's Coming With The Imperial Judiciary Who was Humphrey and why is his Estate such a big deal for the Trump Administration?

... There has always been a plan this time around. The Executive Orders (EOs) that are the source of the lawfare now being waged by the Democrats’ Marxist/Progressive allies were carefully written — unlike in 2017 when the new Trump Administration was largely unprepared for the surprising upset of Hillary Clinton. ... In 2025, the Trump Transition Team had a plan. Dozens of EOs were carefully drafted with a coherent theme — directly attacking the Administrative bureaucracy — the “Resistance” — that strangled his first term in its cradle. There was never any question that the Democrats and the Administrative bureaucracy would rerun the same playbook — charge into federal courts where they knew they would find politically sympathetic judges (GOP did the same to Biden in Texas in 2021) and seek TROs and Injunctions to grind all the new reform efforts to a halt. But I don’t think the Democrats/Progressives anticipated Elon Musk and his engineer boy-geniuses, nor did they expect that the first target that would take multiple incoming torpedos from DOGE would be the federal programs that have funneled huge sums of money to the left-wing NGOs through a variety of slush funds.

[gooopy]

duuude id love to hear your thoughts on engineer if you’d wanna share :333

YAYYYY YAHOO!!!!! now my interpretation isnt going to be the only one i want to note that. i am just one guy and i cannot claim the title of engineer expert. HOWEVER!

i do think that a lot of fanon sands down his sharp edges a lot. i dont think that he would bea good dad or father figure in general? maybe a not-abhorrent masculine figure but not like. dad. i think he is just some dork who was raised in texas, has a complex relationship with god and his family, and has a legacy to uphold. also this guy has such a fucking god complex guys can we play with his god complex more PLEASEEEEE his voicelines make me insane in the head.

i think people really reduce him to the found family nuclear family structure dad. and i think that does an injustice to his character. he makes stupid nerdy jokes and probably comes up with them and iterates on them repeatedly to make them work. hes probably ine of the mercs who knows the most about the reality of the gravel wars. he probably doesnt necessarily need to fight in them, just keep the machinery going. radigan wasnt on the front lines fighting. theres a nonzero chance that hes fighting because he wants to.

maybe theres canon evidence for it but i dont fully understand where the 'engineer cooks for everyone' thing comes from. like im sure he can cook and i know he can do magic on the grill (my heart and soul told me <3) but like. he is not making pancakes for the team he is in his workshop on hour 43 of no sleep drafting the blueprints for a machine that can crunch all the bullet casings into new bullets instantly on the battlefield so his turrets shoot more and he worries less. yknow?

idk again my interpretation is not the only one out there. however i think people really really need to let him be more fucked up. i need him to be a little meaner and a little freakier. this is important not ebcause i care about authentic depictions of characters but because i think its hot and clearly that is the most important thing.

[resdraft]

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[howdywrites]

Tall Handsome Stranger - Yeehawgust 7

Part of Yeehawgust 2023

[ WIP intro ] [ my Yeehawgust tag]

Summary: Caleb Caldwell descends upon Goldridge with promises and lies. (he is the primary villain in my WIP)

Warnings: descriptions of violence, blood, arson, and death

Word Count: 460~

The devil made his home in Goldridge on a pretty spring day. He wore a fine linen suit, perfectly tailored to his willowy frame. The shadows seemed to kneel before him wherever he walked, his stride purposeful and movements graceful. Cunning eyes bore into every person they met, seeing into the depths of their soul.

“I’m here to make you a deal,” he declared, standing before the town mayor. He held his hat between his fingers, dark hair perfectly coiffed on top of his head. The devil flashed this perfect smile, showing off his pearly whites and dimpled cheeks. 

He promised to make something out of Goldridge - a paradise of rivers teeming with gold. He promised to turn water into wine, dirt into oil, and set the citizens of Goldridge up for generations of wealth and influence. The mayor, with his rose tinted glasses and naivete, eagerly got to work drafting a contract over some cold whiskey and steak. He bargained with the devil through the wee hours of the night, their close friends enjoying themselves in the bustling saloons and at poker tables.

Before any contract could be signed, gunfire rang out from the mayor’s home. The sound pierced the quiet night air of Goldridge. Then another shot rang out, taking the sheriff to an early grave.

By the break of dawn, an entire posse of the devil’s men stormed into the small West Texas town. Most of the townsfolk had little time to prepare. By the time many of them picked up their guns, one of the demons would strike them down.

“Spare the women,” the devil told his men with a sly smile, tossing the torch into the little white chapel just beside the general store. The flames engulfed the wooden structure, licking the steeple and busting out the stained glass windows. “String up the men for all I care.” 

By noon that day, more than half of Goldridge lay dead in the streets. Blood pooled in the trenches made by horse hooves. The chapel, along with the general store and a few homes continued to burn, the smoke billowing into the pretty blue sky above. The survivors cowered, holding one another. Their stomachs lurched every time another shot from a pistol went off. The devil marched across the veranda of the dead mayor’s home, wearing a pristine white suit with flashy gold buttons. He smiled down at the women his crew rounded up, a cruel edge in his pale blue eyes. 

“Fear not,” he spoke, his voice as smooth as ice. “You’re under the protection of Caleb Caldwell now. Your salvation begins here.”

Goldridge was reborn in a matter of hours, screaming and bloodied like a newborn babe, with its devil masquerading as its savior.

-

Taglist: @draculinawrites @rosesonneptune

[lonestarbattleship]

October 1, 2023 Update from the Battleship Texas Foundation

A view from the dry dock's wing wall.

DRY DOCK TOURS

Dry Dock Tours until December. For more information please visit: battleshiptexas.org/drydock

The 8 AM tour getting a great look at one of the ship's keels and bragging rights on having 28,000 tons of battleship over their heads.

SHIP REPAIRS

TORPEDO BLISTERS - The new torpedo blisters are a slightly different design and square off at the bottom below the waterline. This design change will make the new blisters easier to maintain increasing their longevity. The torpedo blisters are now completely plated over.

View of the forward and midship starboard side. Note how the blisters abruptly end before curving under the hull, this is the main design change we've made which will reduce future maintenance burdens.

Stern end of the starboard torpedo blisters. The blisters are fully plated up now.

Steel draft marks being installed on the stern, with chalk markings for the marks that haven't been installed yet.

A lot of plating has been installed underneath the ship, between the keels. Most of this is difficult to photograph due to low lighting.

Draft marks installed on the bow (a matching set is installed on the opposite side).

A bulkhead repair in one of the ship's tanks. After hot work is done, the tank will be washed out as much as possible and coated.

COATING - The inside of the blisters, and the ship’s hull will be coated to protect against possible corrosion.

TANK CLEANING - Tanks inside the ship are being inspected, cleaned, and repaired if need be. Some will be coated with a marine coating to help prevent corrosion.

LEAK TESTING - All welds continue to be tested for leaks. They are done via vacuum box, dye penetrant, or magnaflux depending on the area.

SUPERSTRUCTURE REPAIRS - A lot of steel deck and structure is being replaced on the various levels of the ship’s superstructure. There are some very serious issues that have to be addressed before this area will be ready for tourism once again.

A reproduction splinter shield or "gun tub" to be installed above the Signal Bridge for a Mark 51 Gun Director.

The incorrect splinter shield or "gun tub" that has been cut off and is being replaced.

The opposite side incorrect splinter shield, which will also be cut off and replaced.

A look up from the Signal Bridge at the sheer volume of scaffolding in place for superstructure work.

AFT FIRE CONTROL TOWER - Work continues in the AFCT as the old grating that was installed in 1988 has been completely removed and replaced with a steel deck. Small repairs to the bulkhead are currently ongoing as the plan is to have it look as it did in 1945.

Visit our website at: battleshiptexas.org."

Posted on the Battleship Texas Foundation Group Facebook page: link

[longilbert74]

The Importance of Legal Guidance in Forming an LLC in Texas

Launching a business in Texas involves numerous legal decisions that can have long-term implications. One of the most critical steps for any entrepreneur is deciding how to structure their business. Limited Liability Companies (LLCs) are a popular choice due to their flexibility and protective features. However, navigating the legal landscape of forming an LLC can be complex without the right legal expertise. This article explores why it’s essential to hire texas llc formation attorney services when establishing a company and the unique value offered by specialized legal support in forming Series LLCs in Texas.

UNDERSTANDING THE COMPLEXITIES OF TEXAS LLC FORMATION

Starting a new business brings both excitement and responsibility. Entrepreneurs often choose LLCs to benefit from liability protection, simplified tax processes, and operational flexibility. However, setting up an LLC in Texas requires compliance with various state-specific regulations, filings with the Texas Secretary of State, and the drafting of well-structured operating agreements. To avoid costly mistakes, it is essential to hire texas llc formation attorney professionals who are familiar with the intricacies of Texas law. Their knowledge ensures every aspect of the business formation is compliant and tailored to suit the business’s long-term goals.

WHEN PROFESSIONAL GUIDANCE MAKES A DIFFERENCE

Forming an LLC involves more than just submitting forms; it includes selecting a business name that adheres to state rules, determining the management structure, and creating documentation that clearly outlines roles, responsibilities, and procedures. Choosing to hire texas llc formation attorney support can reduce risks, offer clarity, and protect personal and business assets from legal entanglements. A professional attorney not only assists with setup but also anticipates potential issues that could arise in the future, giving entrepreneurs peace of mind as they focus on growth and innovation.

WHAT MAKES SERIES LLCS A STRATEGIC CHOICE

A Series LLC is a specialized form of an LLC that allows for the creation of multiple “series” under one umbrella organization, each with its own assets and liabilities. This structure is particularly appealing to real estate investors, franchise operators, or entrepreneurs managing several ventures. Working with a nathaniel gilbert series llc formation attorney is especially critical when choosing this model. These attorneys understand the unique filing procedures, management requirements, and legal distinctions between each series, which can be intricate and differ from traditional LLCs.

TAILORED LEGAL SOLUTIONS FOR MULTI-BUSINESS STRUCTURES

For business owners considering multiple income streams or asset portfolios, a Series LLC can provide a level of organizational clarity and legal separation that traditional structures do not. However, the benefits of this structure are only fully realized when every component is correctly established and maintained. This is why consultation with a nathaniel gilbert series llc formation attorney is invaluable. Such legal experts not only help set up each individual series correctly but also provide continuing legal advice to ensure compliance and adaptability as business needs evolve over time.

WHY CHOOSE A SPECIALIZED ATTORNEY FOR SERIES LLC FORMATION

Choosing a general attorney for business formation might suffice for a single LLC, but forming a Series LLC involves specific knowledge and legal strategy. A nathaniel gilbert series llc formation attorney offers deep insights into how Texas law applies to the formation, taxation, and operation of Series LLCs. Their guidance helps prevent common pitfalls, ensures legal safeguards are in place for each series, and allows business owners to benefit from operational flexibility without sacrificing legal protection. This level of specialization ensures long-term business sustainability.

CONCLUSION: BUILDING A LEGALLY SOUND FOUNDATION FOR BUSINESS GROWTH

Every business starts with a vision, but turning that vision into a legally compliant and structurally sound company requires the right legal partner. Whether choosing a traditional LLC or a more complex Series LLC, legal expertise ensures that the structure chosen aligns with business objectives and legal requirements. For those looking to build a lasting enterprise in Texas, the choice to hire texas llc formation attorney services or consult a nathaniel gilbert series llc formation attorney can be the difference between success and legal complications. For more details and expert guidance, visit  and consult the Law Offices of Nathaniel Gilbert PLLC for trusted legal services tailored to entrepreneurial needs.

[bourlonlawfirm]

Why You Need a Real Estate Attorney in Corpus Christi

Real estate transactions can be some of the largest and most complex financial decisions a person makes. Whether you're purchasing your first home, managing a commercial lease, or facing a property dispute, having a qualified real estate attorney by your side can make all the difference. At Bourlon Law Firm, we provide experienced legal guidance to help you navigate real estate matters with confidence and protection.

Understanding Real Estate Law in Texas

Texas real estate law covers a wide range of legal concerns—from title issues and property boundaries to lease disputes and zoning regulations. While many people rely solely on real estate agents during property transactions, it’s important to recognize that agents cannot provide legal advice or represent your best interests when legal issues arise.

A real estate attorney ensures that every aspect of your transaction complies with state and local laws. We interpret complex contract terms, identify potential legal risks, and help you avoid disputes that can delay or derail your property goals.

When You Should Hire a Real Estate Attorney

There are several scenarios where hiring a real estate attorney is highly recommended or even necessary:

Buying or selling property: An attorney can review and draft contracts, explain contingencies, and ensure title is transferred correctly.

Landlord-tenant issues: From lease drafting to eviction proceedings, legal guidance can help you manage risk and remain in compliance with Texas rental laws.

Real estate disputes: Boundary conflicts, easement disagreements, and breach of contract claims can lead to costly litigation without early legal intervention.

Title and deed issues: We assist in resolving title defects, liens, or unclear ownership histories that can impact a sale or refinancing.

Commercial transactions: Commercial real estate deals often involve more complex legal language, financing structures, and zoning regulations that require a deeper legal review.

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At Bourlon Law Firm, we serve individuals, families, landlords, tenants, investors, and businesses throughout Corpus Christi. We bring a thorough understanding of Texas property law to every client interaction and tailor our services to meet the unique needs of your transaction or dispute.

Here’s what sets us apart:

Personalized Service: You won’t get a cookie-cutter solution. We evaluate your case carefully and offer customized legal advice.

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Real estate is a major investment, and one mistake in a contract or misunderstanding of your legal rights can have serious consequences. When you work with Bourlon Law Firm, you gain a legal advocate who is committed to protecting your interests. We work diligently to help you avoid hidden risks, resolve disputes efficiently, and move forward with peace of mind.

Schedule a Consultation Today

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[bimpro123]

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