#35 years of death metal

[rika-mmendmethings]

Against Blood & Water l Sylus

Chapter 2

CH 1 l CH 3

Summary: Seventeen years ago, your life had taken a turn for the worse when your newborn twins were separated from you by a cruel twist of fate. The same fate had led you to the N109 Zone, to your children who were all grown up now. Reconciliation with your boys would've been slightly easier had they somehow not acquired a father figure over the years who wasn't letting them go anytime soon.

Warning(s): Subject to change as we progress further into the story. For this chapter: mentions of blood and drugs, self-suturing, minor character deaths, stalking, some comfort in this one.

Word count: 1.8k

Playlist coming soon.

Notes: New chapter every Thursday! This story is for the Sylus girlies' who consider Luke and Kieran their babies. A little information on the timeline: in this story, the reader is 35 with Luke and Kieran being 17. Sylus never felt like 28 to me so he's a hot ass 39 year old man (bear with me). The timeline is a bit confusing I know but soon it'd be cleared too. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask me and I'd try my best to give you a proper answer without revealing too much. Let me know if you wish to be added in the tag list for this series. ♥

Tag list: @babyx91 @pillarofsnow @beyond-the-stars-fairy @yuki-sama6 @sylviewrites @idiashusband @sadmonke @monophobix @lunarvolley @stxrrielle @fries11 @gremlinartstudio @lillycore @novthirty @animegamerfox @cathedralofaudra @nm4565natty @69-gojos-wife-69 @eolivy @namjoons-toenails @silverianni @nezuswritingdesk @beaconsxd @justpassingdontworry @ruyaya

The warehouse loomed like a tomb swallowed by the night, its skeletal frame etched against the bruised sky, whispering secrets of violence and forgotten deals. Flickering neon lights spilled weak, jaundiced glows onto the cracked concrete floor, casting long, distorted shadows that danced like specters of the past. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, oil, and the faint, acrid bite of burned rubber. 

You ran for your life through the chaos like a monkey with its tail on fire. Bad idea. Your mind had screamed at you an hour ago as you snuck into the warehouse to investigate further the drug traces that led to it. But you rarely listened to your brain, and that habit had brought you to this exact moment — hidden behind a few metal racks, your hand gripping your gun beneath the armor of your tailored black blazer.

You’d made the rookie mistake of visiting the warehouse without double-checking if it was truly empty. Some men from the drug-dealing gang were dozing off on makeshift beds after consuming too much liquor. Being light on your feet, you’d made sure not to make any noise just in case, and you were almost done collecting evidence when things went south. You’d pulled out your Polaroid camera for instant pictures of the drug packets, but after a few mechanical shutter sounds, you heard other noises in the background.

You ducked behind metal containers, your heart halting when you peeked and saw burly men searching around. Thus began your little cat-and-mouse game.

Back in the present moment, you analyzed the situation after calming yourself down. Four men on the ground floor of the warehouse, rifles in hand, with you on the first floor. You had a gun, of course — you weren’t that stupid — but taking all of them down would be a hassle, especially with a limited number of bullets. Soon enough, they’d come up to search.

You quickly formed a plan: distract them by aiming at your far left, behind the metal containers, then jump off the first floor and hurry out through the small cavity in the wall you’d come in from. You smacked your forehead with your hand when your mind began to play the Subway Surfers theme song as if it were the musical backdrop of a film starring you.

You were all set to put your plan into motion when you heard their raised voices. But their angry spouts weren’t directed at you — they were directed at someone else who had entered the warehouse. A complete silence fell over the space, and as you strained your hearing, you could make out a new, huskier voice.

Soon after, loud, painful screams echoed before abruptly stopping. You heard footsteps retreating, presumably out of the warehouse.

You blinked once, processing the turn of events. The men who were targeting you were probably lying dead on the ground floor right now — victims of another man who wanted them dead. Strange. You thought, glancing at the Polaroid camera hanging around your neck. At least the evidence was safe, and you were alive. You’d think about who your guardian angel was later. For now, you need to head back to your temporary apartment in the slightly safer regions of the N109 Zone.

You rolled back your tensed shoulders and moved out of your hiding spot, making your way downstairs via a mostly hidden and rusty staircase. Your gun was still tightly clutched in your right hand, just in case. You were about to weasel out of the wall cavity when two pairs of footsteps had you freezing.

You immediately whipped around, aiming your gun at the origin of the sound, and shot without thinking twice.

The tall person you’d shot groaned, knees buckling as he fell to the ground. Beside him, another man in the same uniform, groaning just a second later, clutched his arm before also crumbling to the ground. You gasped, realizing they hadn’t even been on your trail — they were walking over to the dead, burly men.

You felt bad, okay? You knew anything could happen if you moved closer to the unknown individuals, but you didn’t wish to leave them in that condition — especially since they hadn’t even targeted you. They were probably henchmen of your supposed guardian angel if their matching black costumes and crow-themed masks — with horns and beaks concealing their faces — meant anything.

After an internal battle between your logic and your conscience, you finally decided to approach them. You were still on guard but had put your gun away in its holster under your blazer. You nudged the men, but they didn’t even budge, so you assumed they’d passed out from the pain. You pondered why the second man had passed out if he hadn’t even been anywhere near the bullet.

Rushing to your motorcycle, you grabbed your medical kit and hurried back to them.

Luckily, the bullet hadn’t entered anyone’s body — it had only grazed the first man’s arm. It left an angry, gaping gash, though, which was currently bleeding. You rolled his sleeve up to his shoulder and began stitching it. You needed to get this done before they woke and swore mortal enmity against you. You tried to hurry, not really wanting to know if the stitches were messy, but some unknown feeling had you slowing down and being a lot more gentle than you could possibly afford right now.

After some time, you were done tending to the first man’s wounds and had even checked the second man for any injuries for inexplicable reasons. You quickly stood up, double-checking if you had everything you owned on you before rushing out of the warehouse to where your bike was hidden. You put your belongings in the saddlebag before zipping it shut. As you were about to grab your helmet, a small tap on your shoulder caused you to freeze mid-air.

You glanced at the two sets of shadows stretching on the ground just behind yours. It seemed you’d wasted too much time, and now you were about to be barbecued by the probably angry young henchmen. With no backup plan in mind, you turned around with your hands raised in surrender and eyes clenched shut.

“Thanks, missus.”

You’d expected a gun’s muzzle to your head or a hand around your neck, strangling you. And out of all the other wild things you’d expected, thanks was the last of them. You thought you were dreaming until another calm voice brought you back.

“You shot us unknowingly out of human instinct. But you still tended to us, so we decided to drop by and let you know we appreciated that.”

You were hyperventilating, you were sure of it. Until the first man spoke with a lilt:

“Your aim is super cool, though, missus. We were actually awake but wanted to see who had shot us, so we played dead, and it worked.”

You slowly lowered your hands as you heard them burst into hearty laughter. You opened your eyes, rigid as you took sight of their faces beneath the masks. The injured one wiped the sweat off his forehead with a napkin, and the other rubbed his chin — all the while laughing.

It wasn’t their near-identical faces that threw you off — no — it was the color of their eyes. Their irises were the same hues as yours: electric grey, intense as storm-churned clouds.

A gripping realization churned your heart as you silently noted the inky, curly locks — like those of the father of your late twins — and the resemblance to you in their facial features and height. Your lips wobbled, and the smarter side of you willed you not to jump to conclusions. But how could you ignore the unfamiliar warmth and contentment in your chest as you watched them laugh and interact?

Still, the lawyer in you knew better than to claim anything without evidence backing it up, so you remained quiet. They looked quite young, probably in their late teens, and that assumption caused your mind to race.

You pulled yourself together as both of them started speaking simultaneously:

“Anyways—”

The twins narrowed their eyes at each other, and you suppressed a smile.

The uninjured one continued, “We have to deal with the dead scums inside and be back before dusk, so sayonara, missus.”

Both of them saluted you as if you were some sort of general before turning on their heels.

Before they were out of earshot, you called out, “Wait.”

The twins turned around, looking at you quizzically. You shuffled on your feet, asking reluctantly, “What are your names?”

The twins nodded. The injured one pointed at himself and introduced, “The one who you shot is me. I’m Luke, the elder twin,” he pointed to his brother and trailed on, “And this is Kierran, the younger twin. Now, we really ought to dash before boss-man has us in a tight spot. Bye, missus.”

The twins waved you goodbye in sync before hurrying back into the warehouse.

You felt as if lightning had struck you. All doubts, all what-ifs — cleared. You’d crocheted a pair of blankets when you’d found out you were having twin boys seventeen years ago. Your mother had suggested adding the names you’d chosen for them on it too, aside from the cartoons.

Luke and Kierran.

You’d smiled in pure bliss that day as you told your father the names you’d chosen for your kids from the crocheted blankets. A smile of the same kind, albeit even happier, now bloomed on your face as you realized that fate had found a way to reunite you with your children once again.

And you weren’t letting them out of your sight ever again. 

A joyful smile curled across your face as you slipped into the dim confines of the apartment — your so-called temporary hideout. The door clicked shut behind you with finality.

You dropped onto the couch, sinking into the worn-out plush. Their faces played over in your mind, every gesture, every word. You were already thinking of the next move, the next encounter. You’d make it happen. You always did.

But then… a pause.

Your brow furrowed, the grin faltering just slightly as a thought cut through the haze like a blade.

“They mentioned some boss-man…” you muttered, voice low, nearly lost to the silence. Your gaze flicked to the window, unfocused. “Who exactly are my children working for?”

The room gave no answer.

But if you'd been paying closer attention — if you'd listened to the silence — you might have caught the almost imperceptible flutter of feathers, or the faintest click of talons on steel. A pair of glowing, crimson eyes blinked once from the darkness, then vanished. The answer to your question, however, did not linger.

The spy departed, slicing through the night sky until it reached the edge of a sprawling mansion. It landed softly on the calloused fingers of the very man you were trying to uncover. The bird gave a mechanical caw as a red hologram burst into life, casting a ghostly light across the man’s face.

There you were, speaking, pacing, questioning. Vulnerable. Unaware.

“Interesting,” the man said, voice like fine velvet. His eyes burned with something unreadable — part curiosity, part calculation.

He leaned forward, watching the screen closely.

“Very… interesting.”

Check out my other works if you liked this ♥

[jaderabbitt]

Marching Forward / A New Kind of Love (I)

warning!! slight thunderbolts* spoilers under the cut! this chapter is mostly just the gala + flashbacks, so nothing that people haven't already been writing for pre-release of the movie.

pairing: Bucky x ex-girlfriend/ex-widow!Reader tags: pre-established break-up, flashbacks, idiots still in love, idiots still in lust, angst, hurt+comfort, canon-level comedy, curvy!reader*, grownasswoman!reader, slightly bratty but funny reader

*I specifically wrote reader as having curves/meat on her bones because she's supposed to be around 30-35 by thunderbolts*. MILF era reader but subtract the child is upon us. I also generally head canon that Bucky would prefer a curvier woman bc she's soft and can take more iykwim warnings: suggestive content, dirty talking, mentions of death, mentions of hopelessness, slightly toxic relationship (will get fixed later also reader is kinda the toxic one), mentions of domestic abuse*, self-deprecation, reader is explicitly a woman, slight physical descriptors for reader but nothing drastic like hair skin or eyes, playing fast and loose with timelines

*reader was trained by the Winter Soldier in the Red Room, like in the comics. obv, he has laid hands on her bc he had to. reader also comments in a flashback that she expects Bucky to get mad and hit her, but he would never post!WS.

summary: after being separated for three years, you and Bucky finally see each other once more. lots of things have changed - but, have you?

word count: around 2.2k

note: see end of fic for footnotes!

It was a wonder that they let six-year-olds as small as Yelena play a sport.  Most likely, it had something to do with the fact that you lived in a small town in Ohio—there probably weren't many six-year-olds around to sign up. The soccer team was interspersed with girls her age and a year above.

You and Natasha sat next to Melina on the field’s bleachers, watching Alexei coach what had to be the worst children’s soccer team in existence. There were a couple girls who just plain looked confused, as if they didn’t know how to play soccer—despite this being the team’s fourth game.

The sun beat down onto the field, making you squint and hold a hand over your eyes to see past the reflections off metal bleachers. You watched as your youngest sister crouched to catch the ball with her comically large goalie gloves on, ending up missing the ball by the tips of her fingers. The parents on the other team cheered and clapped, while Alexei had to try and damage control the disappointed parents and young kids on your side of the field.

You and Natasha fooled around, cracking jokes about the girl who had a mishap on the field last game. Melina had pinched your arm in condemnation when she overheard you two snickering about it.

It was days like these that you’d end up missing the most. You had many pains in your life, ones that you’d remember during witching hours of restless nights.

You could still feel Dreykov’s nasty hands gripping you to separate you from your sisters. 

You could still remember how it felt to snap a neck for the first time.

You could still remember the betrayal you felt when Natasha defected, and left you and Yelena behind.

You could still remember the salted taste of your tears as you stood at her grave.

But the one that hurt most of all?

You could still remember the glisten of Bucky’s grey-blue eyes when you glanced back at him that last night in your shared apartment. He made no move to stop you from leaving, and there was a finality to that.

He had given up. On you, and on your relationship together. 

—————————

“If you do not succeed, then you have no purpose. The Red Room does not keep things without purpose.” ¹

Madame B’s voice rang through your mind like a scourge—an affliction, threaded deep through the hollows of your soul.

Purpose.

A simple word, but one which haunted your waking moments.

What purpose did you have in this life? An assassin, reared from birth, was all you’d ever be.

You had been given a short taste of what it would’ve been like, had you been birthed by a womb which cared. One where your purpose was to be a loving daughter and sister, who could do whatever she wanted with her life. Maybe, one day, you would’ve even been a wife.

Maybe, just maybe–

Your sister would still be alive. And, maybe, you wouldn’t have this cavernous, yearning hole within your being, swallowing everything you are. 

“And where does that leave me, James?” You had finally broken. Your voice raised, a finger pointed accusingly at his chest. “I’m not like you. I’m not like Natasha was. I can’t pretend to be anything other than a killer wearing a hero’s face.” ²

You immediately regretted your choice in words when Bucky’s face fell. There was no anger, no frustration. 

It was nauseating. You wanted him to yell back at you, to get furious. Hit you, even. 

Instead, he looked at you as if you had just shattered his fragile heart– broken it into tiny shards that pierced from within his chest cavity.

“Is that how you see me?” 

You escaped your subconscious in the backseat of a car service, digging your nails into the meat of your exposed thigh and leaving white scratch marks behind, soon to be raised welts. The dress you wore had a slit, cut high enough to show skin when you walked, but low enough to not be considered indecent. Your garter held an inconspicuous dagger on the inside of your thigh; you weren’t going to be caught without any sort of weapon, but even you weren’t bold enough to attempt bringing a firearm within reach of several government officials. The brush of the blade’s handle against the skin of the opposite thigh when you walked brought a consistent comfort, a subtle reminder it was there.

A figure, curved and matured with age, filled out the dress’ silhouette like a second skin. The ripples of fabric followed your body’s command as a stilettoed foot hit the pavement of the sidewalk. Adjusting the void of black wrapped around your skin and gripping your clutch tightly to your side, you let out an exhale that you didn’t realize you were holding. The car that had dropped you off had pulled away the minute you shut the door, and the nearest subway entrance was at least a ten block walk that you weren’t going to attempt in four inch pumps.

Alas, all arrows pointed to you being unable to escape what was sure to be an exhausting night.

The black-tie event had since been underway by the time you arrived. Though, you figured that may work better in your favor; not many people would be looking for a late entry to the party. Your stilettos clicked against polished marble, eyes scanning the room with a practiced gaze. Your glasses were set low on the curve of your nose, letting the false lashes you wore flutter against skin uninterrupted. The makeup you had applied suddenly felt heavy on your pores as you spotted the reason for your attendance.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine–what a mouthful–stood at the opposite balcony, seeming to be having a heated discussion with her assistant. Over what? That wasn’t your business. Your business with the Contessa began whenever she opened her mouth to give you your assignment, and ended whenever you completed the contract. You refused to associate with the avaricious woman more than was necessary. 

And, so, you began to work your way over.

You barely made it halfway before an arm had shot out and pulled you into a side hall. Either your reflexes have dulled in your time away from the field, or the arm that gripped yours was inhumanly fast. You were hoping it was the latter–you aren’t sure you could translate your skills to other fields if you were losing your touch.

You struggled against the arm around your waist, which only furthered the strength of the grip. Your backside collided with the soft, lean muscle of a man’s front. You were truthfully attempting not to make a scene–there were a very many violent options that you had been trained in to break a hold like this, but you had been trying not to bring attention to yourself.

“Again,” you panted out, your ribcage surely bruised from being thrown around with ease likened to a child throwing a toy. The man in front of you didn’t care, however. Neither would an opponent in the real world. So, you once again assumed your position. The mechanical whirr of his silver arm echoed within the walls of the old Belarusian training room as he readied his stance.

You darted towards him, using your smaller stature to your advantage–he may have more advanced reflexes than a normal human, but his bulky mass and metal arm weighed him down. He had anticipated you to jump him head on again, so you knew you had to find a way to break his focus. As he reached out to grab you with his metal hand, you slid in between his spread legs. His arm instinctively went to grip your waist behind him once he felt your arms on his shoulders, so you used that to boost your momentum and twist your body up and around to his front. Your thighs closed around his head and squeezed, blocking his sight and hearing. As you brought an elbow up to slam down on his–quite frankly–hard head, you felt his hands reach up and grasp the curves of your backside. The boldness of the touch had shocked your system frozen. ³

A grunt left his lips, muffled by your crotch, and that was the only warning you received before the tingle of your spine communicated that gravity was approaching, and fast. You could only gasp for air as your back hit the training mat, stealing what breath you still had away.

The impact had loosened the vice grip of your thighs, but the Soldier’s body stayed in what you could only describe as a compromising position. His gaze locked onto yours, lips parted and breathing hot puffs of air into your intimate area, knees buckled underneath him, and palms still flat against your bottom. The black of his pupils nearly engulfed the blue of his irises–he looked ready to devour you.

“Hey, hey!,” a low rasp grumbled in your ear, the sound of your name breaking you out of your stupor, “It’s me!”

You almost fought his grip even harder, now knowing who it was that held you. “Bucky, what the fuck!” You hissed, his grip finally loosening enough for you to break out and spin around to face your unwanted captor. His arms raised and his shoulders hunched in, he tried to make himself look smaller–or innocent, rather–in a placating manner.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “force of habit.”

You couldn’t help but sigh, using the hand not clenched around your clutch to rub at your temple; you knew you would have to have this moment eventually tonight, you just hadn’t thought it would happen immediately.

“You look…good,” were the words that came out of his mouth. He winced immediately after, as if kicking himself for saying it.

One brow quirked up, you couldn’t help the quip from leaving your mouth.

“You look…older. Is that grey I see in your beard?” You pretended to squint and pushed your glasses up your nose, as if you were trying to get a closer look. ⁴

He let out a huff–the closest you’d get to a laugh–and the side of his lips curled up a bit. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re not put on ice for years at a time.”

His brow furrowed suddenly, pointing at the glasses on your face. “What’s with the…?”

You let out a chuckle at that, the back and forth between you feeling natural. Like old times.

“Creature comfort,” you shrugged. ⁵

Your eyes roved up and down Bucky’s body, inspecting the changes. The way he clearly had been less rigorous with strength training, but his body clung to muscle mass naturally. “It’s a good look on you. I’d say you age like fine wine, but considering you’re probably older than most aged wines being sold currently, I think I might insult some vineyards.”

Bucky’s eyebrow raised at that, a smug smirk slowly lifting on his lips–

“That right?”

You could’ve sworn your heart skipped a beat as he leaned in closer, the notes of bergamot and cedar in his cologne suddenly becoming clear to your olfactory senses. You tried swallowing down the nerves growing in your throat, his eyes glancing down to the motion before slowly inspecting down your full figure and back up.

“You have no idea just how much you’re testing my restraint right now,” he murmured lowly, eyes hooded over as he looked down at you as if you were his prey for the night. Despite the added four inches from your stilettos, the bastard super soldier still towered over you.

“Bucky, I–”

“Ah, ah. You’re gonna turn that ass around, go do what you came here to do, and when you’re done, you’re gonna come back to my apartment with me and we’re gonna have a little chat.”

The commanding tone of his voice left no room for argument, but you found yourself testifying anyway.

“James, it’s been almost three years–”

You found yourself being manhandled, again, by your ex-boyfriend. He spun you around so that your back pressed against his chest again, his vibranium hand groping the swell of your ass. You had to bite down on your lower lip to prevent an embarrassing moan from escaping, watching people mingle around the hall without a notice or care in the world of what was happening just across the hall from them.

“And whose fault is that, hm?” He growled into your ear, “I haven’t seen my girl in three years. Not one call, text, or even a fucking email.”

“I’m not your girl anymore, remember?” You hissed out, rolling your eyes, despite knowing he couldn’t see it. “I haven’t been your girl since you let me walk out that door.”

“I didn’t let you do anything. You’re a grown fuckin’ woman and I respected your decision. If I were in the business of letting you do things, you’d be bent over that railing right now.”

“And become a scandalized Congressman? Is that truly worth it?”

“If it meant that I’d finally get a message through that thick fuckin’ skull of yours, then yes. I assassinated a U.S. President and still got voted in. A sex scandal could hardly scrape the bottom of the shit I’ve done.” ⁶

“Oh, please. You could’ve assassinated Hitler himself and there would still be a population of the American people who would try to get on your ass for having premarital sex.”

“Interesting foreplay this has been, I must admit–but you’re avoiding consequence by talking around the point.”

Well, shit. You were kinda hoping he hadn’t noticed.

¹ This is a line from “Sucker Punch” ! Dr. Gorsky fits the Red Room characterization so well imo.

² This was internal monologue from Bucky in Winter Soldier: Devil’s Reign. 

³ This is my poor attempt at describing the move Black Widow does on Bucky after he gets activated by Zemo in CA:CW. I always thought it’d be fun to make it more heated, seeing as how intimate of a position it looks without the context of a fight.

⁴ In my headcanon (bc truthfully I don’t know if they’ve ever confirmed this?), Bucky’s body ages with Sebastian Stan’s. So he’d be physically around his early 40s by the time Thunderbolts* happens. He’d be physically in his late 20s in Winter Soldier flashbacks, mid 30s in FATWS ones.

⁵ Can be implied that Reader doesn’t actually need glasses; this is relevant for later. If you do need glasses, this will also still work; it would just imply that Bucky was used to seeing her with contacts in. Could also just be read as a “Clark Kent Effect” where people don’t recognize a spy with glasses lmaoo.

⁶ I love Bucky “I Assassinated JFK And Got Away With It” Barnes.

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it @bookies16 @brianna-merlim @staley83 @oceanticspace @insaneintheemembranev2 @dummylovewp @xmiaacxio @meyukoo @grilka @itsgivingdepression @timebomb1101 @inejghafasdagger @koshkahhh

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Gif from @daryl-dixon-daydreams

TW: walkers (zombies), Aiden is an arse, blood, medical treatment, angst, injuries, blood loss, blood transfusion, angry Daryl, protective Daryl, scared Daryl, death of character (side character)

Part 34

Dead Weight - Part 35

The morning light filters through the kitchen windows as you nurse your second cup of coffee, still trying to wake up fully. Glen slides into the chair across from you with his own mug and that familiar easy grin that's been a constant comfort since the prison days.

"So," he says, stirring sugar into his coffee, "I've got a supply run today. You interested?"

You raise an eyebrow. "What kind of run?"

"Nothing too exciting. Warehouse about twenty miles out. Deanna thinks there might be useful stuff—tools, maybe some medical supplies." He takes a sip and gives you that look.

"Come on, I miss my apocalypse buddy. It's been all domestic bliss and baby duty for you lately."

You can't help but smile at that. Glen's been your closest friend since the early days, the one person who could always make you laugh even when everything was falling apart.

"Who else is going?"

"Tara, Eugene..." He pauses, and you catch something in his expression. "Aiden and Nicholas."

Your smile fades slightly. Aiden—Deanna's son who'd spent half of the welcome party hitting on you and the other half making snide comments about Daryl being someone you "settled" for. The memory still makes your skin crawl.

"Glen—"

"I know, I know. But look, I could use someone I trust out there. These Alexandria guys, they think they know everything, but they don't know what it's really like. I need someone who's got my back."

You consider it for a moment. Daryl's out on a recruiting run with Aaron, won't be back until evening. Carol's busy with her own projects, and honestly, Glen's right—you do miss feeling useful in a way that doesn't involve domestic tasks.

"Alright," you say finally. "But if Aiden gets on my nerves, I'm kicking him in the shins."

Glen grins. "Deal."

The warehouse is bigger than you expected, a sprawling industrial building with high ceilings and rows of metal shelving. Your group spreads out systematically—you and Glen working together like you used to back at the prison, checking corners and watching each other's backs while Tara and Eugene focus on gathering supplies.

Aiden and Nicholas, meanwhile, are being less then helpful.

"You're being too careful," Aiden calls out as you and Glen methodically clear another aisle. "We've been doing this for years. We know what we're doing."

"Careful keeps people alive," Glen responds evenly, but you can hear the edge in his voice.

"Does it? Because from what I hear, your group lost that prison while being 'careful.'"

Your jaw clenches, but before you can respond, Glen's hand touches your arm—a gentle warning. Don't take the bait.

"So tell me, Princess," Aiden calls out with a smirk your sure you're going to learn to hate, "how's life treating you and Alexandria's finest redneck?"

You freeze mid-reach for a box of bandages, your jaw clenching. "Fuck off"

"Oh come on, its cute really—trying to do the whole Belle and the Beast thing, right?" He laughs at his own joke while Nicholas snickers behind him. "Though I still don't see what you see in that guy."

Glen's voice cuts through before you can respond. "Aiden, maybe focus on the job?"

"Come on, Princess you'd appreciate the finer things and your Redneck isn't gonna show you them." Aiden winks at you.

"His name is Daryl," you say quietly, your hands shaking slightly as you pack medical supplies. "And he's still worth ten of you."

"Ooh, defensive. I like that fire. Though I bet behind closed doors, you're not so—"

"Finish that sentence and I'll punch you in the tit," you snap, standing up to face him.

Aiden holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Easy there, Princess. Just making conversation."

Your just about to flip him off when you hear it—a low, familiar moan that makes your blood run cold.

Then another.

And another.

"Guys," Tara's voice cuts through the warehouse, tight with fear. "We've got company."

You straighten up to see walkers stumbling through what must be a breach in the wall somewhere—more than you've seen in one place since before the prison fell.

Way more than your group can handle in close quarters.

"Move!" Glen shouts. "Everyone to the exit!"

But Aiden and Nicholas are panicking, their earlier bravado evaporating as they realize how badly they've miscalculated. In their rush to prove themselves, they'd gotten separated from the group, and now they're trapped behind a wall of reaching, snapping dead.

"Aiden!" you shout, seeing him stumble and go down hard. Despite everything, despite his crude comments and arrogance, you not just going to watch while someone dies.

Glen's already moving, machete in hand, cutting through the walkers trying to reach Aiden. You follow, your own knife—slicing through rotting flesh as you fight to create a path.

You reach for Aiden as Glen keeps the walkers back. Your fingers brush his for just a moment before more walkers surge forward, separating you.

"We can't—there's too many!" Glen shouts, grabbing your arm. "We have to go!"

Aiden's screams echo through the warehouse as the walkers overwhelm him, and you turn away, sick to your stomach. Glen pulls you toward the exit, but it's blocked by debris.

You both look back at what's left of Aiden, and you see the moment he realizes there's nothing more they could have done. "This way!"

You skid as you round the corner barreling out into the entranceway together looking for any kind of exit.

"The revolving door!" Nicholas points to the glass-paneled entrance. "That's our only way out!"

"Tara! Eugene!" Glenn shouts into his radio. "Get the van started! We're coming out hot!"

"Copy that!" Tara's voice crackles back. "We'll meet you at the loading dock!"

You reach the revolving door hacking through walkers, as you stumble into the semibalance of safety. Through the glass panels, you can see more shuffling dead stumbling and smacking into the doors.

Nicholas is hyperventilating opposite you, his eyes wild with panic.

"We're gonna die. We're all gonna die."

"Nicholas, breathe," you try to calm him, but he's shaking uncontrollably.

Glen speaks quickly into his radio. "Tara, Eugene—take the service exit by the loading dock. Get the van ready. We'll meet you there."

"What? Glen, no—whats going on!" Tara's voice crackles with static.

"There's no time! The service exit is clear—you can make it. We'll find another way out."

"Glen—"

"Go! Now!"

The radio goes quiet. Now it's just you, Glen, and Nicholas trapped with a revolving door full of walkers pressing against the other side.

Nicholas snaps. With a strangled cry, he shoves forward, trying to push through the revolving door from his side, he succeeds but the sudden movement jams the mechanism, trapping you and Glen in one compartment while walkers press against the glass from the other side.

You can see the cracks starting to spider web across the glass panels under the pressure of so many bodies.

"Glen, it's going to break!"

"I know, I know—" He's working frantically, trying to find a way to break the glass in front of him in a controlled manner.

"When I say run, you run, okay?"

You nod, focusing on Glen, on moving forward.

The sound of breaking glass is like a gunshot in the enclosed space.

Immediately, rotting hands reach through the opening, grasping blindly. One of them—a walker that must have been a woman once—catches your hair in its death grip and yanks hard.

Pain explodes across your scalp as you're jerked backward, your neck jerking at an angle that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

The walker's fingers are tangled deep in your hair, its broken nails caught in the strands, it tries to pull you closer to its snapping teeth.

"Shit!" you scream, grabbing at the walker's wrist with both hands, trying to pry its fingers loose. But its grip is like iron, tightened by rigor mortis and the single-minded hunger driving it.

Glen spins around, his knife already in his hand. "Hold still!"

But you can't hold still—the walker is pulling you steadily toward the jagged opening in the glass, and you can see others pressing forward, drawn by your struggles.

Your scalp burns as more hair tears free, and you feel something warm trickling down the back of your neck.

"I can't—it won't let go!" Your voice breaks as you fight against the relentless pull.

Glen grabs the walker's arm, driving his knife deep into its skull. The body goes limp immediately, but its fingers are still locked around your your hair.

You both physically pry the fingers loose while you try not to sob from the pain, finally freeing you but leaving a chunk of your hair still clutched in the dead woman's hand.

"Go, go, go!" Glen shouts, pushing you toward the broken glass panel.

You stumble forward, off-balance and disoriented, your scalp throbbing. Blood from the torn skin runs down your neck, and as you push through the broken panel, your foot catches on a jagged edge. You fall hard, landing flat on your front.

It takes you a second to realize what's happened. The knife—the one Daryl had found for you years ago with the delicate vines and wildflowers etched into the handle—is buried hilt-deep just below your ribs, white blinding pain shots through you, the impact had driven the knife through your jacket and shirt into the soft flesh beneath.

"Thats not good," you mumble, staring down at the handle protruding from your side. "Oh Fuck, Fuckkk—"

"Don't look," Glen's voice is tight with panic as he drops beside you.

"Don't look, just—Tara, Eugene! We need to get her to the van now!"

Your vision starts to swim as they lift you, the knife still embedded in your side because Glen's smart enough to know that pulling it out would make things so much worse.

The pain is overwhelming, radiating out from the wound in waves that make you want to vomit.

"Stay with me," Glen keeps saying as they carry you across the parking lot to where Eugene is waiting with the van, engine running. "Stay with me, okay? I'm right here."

"Daryl's gonna kill him" Tara whisper yells at Glen as Nicholas climbs into the passenger seat.

The van. You remember being lifted into it, remember the way your blood looks too bright against the gray interior. Glen climbs in beside you, immediately pressing a bundle of cloth—someone's shirt—against the wound around the knife.

"S'not that bad?" you manage to slur, trying to reassue Glen.

"Yea, you're gonna be fine," he says, but his voice shakes and you can see the fear in his eyes. "We're heading home right now. Just... just stay awake, okay? Keep talking to me."

But staying awake is getting harder.

Every bump in the road sends fresh agony through your side, and you can feel warmth spreading across your shirt, soaking into the fabric of the van's floor.

There's so much blood—more than there should be.

You drift in and out, catching fragments—Glenn's voice on the radio calling ahead to Alexandria, Eugene crying in the front seat as he drives, Tara's worried face appearing over Glen's shoulder. The weight the knife is still there, and every breath makes it shift slightly, sending new waves of pain through your body.

"Glen," you whisper during one of your lucid moments, your voice barely audible over the van's engine.

"Yeah? I'm here."

"Don't let Daryl see... don't let him blame himself."

"Shut up, your gonna be fine." Glen says fiercely, but you can hear him crying now. "You hear me? You're gonna be fine."

The metallic smell of blood is overwhelming in the enclosed space. Glen keeps pressing against the wound, and you can feel yourself getting weaker with each passing mile.

"Almost there," Eugene calls from the front seat. "I can see the gates!"

But your vision is going dark around the edges, and suddenly you can't feel Glen's hands anymore, can't hear his voice over the roaring in your ears.

The last thing you see before everything goes black is Alexandria's walls rising up ahead of you, and you wonder if Daryl is back yet, if he'll be there when you—

The darkness takes you just as the van screeches to a halt inside the gates.

Everything feels distant and muffled, like you're underwater, but the pain in your side is sharp and immediate, anchoring you to consciousness just long enough to register that you're being carried.

"Get her on the table," the doctor's voice cuts through the chaos, his blonde head moving past the edge of your vision. "What happened?"

"Warehouse run went bad," Glen pants, still holding pressure around the knife. "She fell on this—haven't pulled it out."

"Good. Don't." The doctor's hands are already moving, checking your pulse, your breathing. "How long ago?"

"Fourty minutes, maybe more. She's been in and out."

The recruitment run with Aaron had gone better than expected. Two new people who seemed like they could actually contribute, not just another mouth to feed.

Daryl's feeling something close to optimistic as they approach Alexandria's gates—a rare emotion for him, but one that's been creeping in more often lately.

Since you. Since the attic room. Since the possibility of something that looks like a future.

"Good work today," Aaron says as they walk up to the gate. "You were right about those tracks leading to their camp. I never would have found them without—"

"Daryl!"

Carl's voice cuts through the late afternoon air, high and panicked in a way that makes every instinct in Daryl's body go on high alert.

The kid is running toward them, one hand on his sheriff's hat to keep it from flying off, his face flushed and tear-streaked.

"Carl?" Daryl's already moving, his crossbow slipping from his shoulder as he runs to meet the boy. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Carl pants, grabbing Daryl. "She went on a run, with Glen, it... the run went bad. Glen brought her back and she's... there's so much blood, Daryl. She's hurt real bad."

The world tilts. For a moment, Daryl can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but stare at Carl's terrified face.

Then something primal kicks in—the same instinct that kept him alive in those woods as a kid, that got him through every beating his father ever gave him.

He doesn't remember running to the house. Doesn't remember pushing past people in the street or ignoring Aaron's calls behind him. All he knows is that suddenly he's standing in the doorway of the infirmary, and you're on that table with your knife—that knife—sticking out of your side, and there's so much blood that his vision actually grays out for a second.

You try to focus on the voices around you, but they keep fading in and out like a radio with bad reception.

Eugene's voice cuts through the fog, rapid and panicked.

"The statistical probability of survival with a penetrating abdominal wound of this nature is approximately sevebty-three percent, though that drops significantly with blood loss exceeding twenty percent of total volume, which based on the visible hemorrhaging and her current presentation suggests we may be approaching that threshold—"

"Eugene," Tara's voice is sharp. "Shut up. You're not helping."

"I'm simply providing relevant data—"

"You're freaking everyone out!"

Through your hazy vision, you can see Nicholas in the corner, his face pale and drawn. He's talking to someone—Rick maybe?—his voice defensive tuant and whiny.

"It wasn't my fault, okay? The door was stuck, and there were walkers everywhere. I was trying to get us all out safely. She just... she tripped. I couldn't have known—"

The sound that comes from the doorway is more growl than voice, and even in your deteriorating state, you recognize it. Daryl.

"The hell did you just say?"

Your vision swims as you try to turn your head toward his voice. He's standing in the doorway, crossbow gone, like he ran straight here from wherever he'd been. His face is a mask of barely controlled rage, blue eyes locked on Nicholas with deadly focus.

"Daryl don't—" Glen starts, but Daryl's already moving.

The sound of fist meeting flesh is sickeningly loud in the small room. Nicholas goes down hard, and Daryl's on him before he can recover, one hand fisted in his shirt, the other drawn back for another punch.

"You son of a bitch!" Daryl snarls. "She's dyin' 'cause of you!"

"Daryl, stop!" Glen lunges forward, grabbing Daryl's arm. "This isn't helping her!"

It takes both Glenn and Rick to pull Daryl off Nicholas, who's now sporting a rapidly swelling eye and a bloody nose. Daryl's breathing hard, his whole body vibrating with rage and something that looks terrifyingly close to panic.

"Get him the hell away from me 'fore I finish what I started."

Rick nods grimly, hauling Nicholas to his feet and steering him toward the door. "Come on. Let's go."

"If I see you 'fore she recovers, I will beat your ass into the ground," Daryl says, his voice low and dangerous, as he stares the younger man down.

"She's lost too much blood," the doctor announces, his voice clinical but strained. "I need to get this knife out and repair the damage, but she's going to need a transfusion."

"Use mine," Daryl says immediately, already rolling up his sleeve. "Whatever she needs."

Pete looks up from where he's preparing his instruments. "I'll need to test compatibility first—"

"Don't need to test nothin'. Mine goes with everyone."

"How do you know that?"

Daryl's jaw works for a moment, like he's chewing on something bitter. "Merle used to make me sell it when we was kids."

The casual way he says it—like it's just another fact about his childhood—makes everyone pause.

The doctor stares at him for a moment, then nods.

"Alright. Glen, help me get him set up. We need to work fast."

Daryl doesn't even flinch—he's had worse, much worse—but his eyes never leave your face as his blood flows through the clear tubing toward you.

"Sit still, baby brother, and don't you dare cry," Merle had said, pocketing the cash while Daryl tried not to pass out on the cracked vinyl chair. Back then it was just another task he did because his big brother told him too.

Now it's about something infinitely more important.

You want to reach for Daryl, but your arm feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. Instead, you manage to whisper his name, so quietly you're not sure anyone hears it.

But Daryl does. He's beside you in an instant, his rough hand finding yours, careful of the IV line being threaded into your arm.

"'M'here," he says, his voice softer than you've ever heard it. "Ain't goin' nowhere."

"Daryl...I'm ok" you breathe, squeezing his fingers as hard as you can manage, which isn't much.

"This is going to hurt. I need to remove the knife and repair the damage." The doctor states to the room more then to either of you.

You nod weakly, your eyes never leaving Daryl's face. He looks terrified—an expression you've never seen on him before, not even during the worst moments at the prison or in the wilderness.

Your vision is fuzzy, thoughts moving like molasses, but you can see him sitting beside your bed with his sleeve rolled up and that stubborn set to his jaw.

"Daryl?" you mumble, your tongue thick and clumsy.

"Why... why are you..." You try to gesture at the tubing but your arm barely moves. "You need that. You need your blood."

The panic is muffled, but the worry is still there, foggy but persistent. "Don't give me... you need it more."

Glen's voice comes from somewhere to your left, gentle and reassuring. "Hey, it's okay. Daryl's okay. He's just sharing, that's all. You lost some blood and needed extra."

Daryl's free hand finds yours, his thumb stroking across your knuckles. "Got plenty to spare," he says quietly, his voice softer than usual. "Ain't gonna hurt me none helpin' ya out."

"Wait," you whisper, even as the world starts to spin again. "Is the knife ok ? I need it to be ok. You... found it for me." You smile weakly at him.

His face crumples for just a moment before he gets it under control. "Don't you worry 'bout that. Gonna get you a new one. Better one."

"No," you manage, your voice getting fainter. "Like this one."

The last thing you see before the anesthesia pulls you under is Daryl's hand tightening around yours, his other hand stroking your hair back from your forehead with infinite gentleness.

"Gonna be right here when you wake up," he promises, his voice rough with emotion. "Right here."

And as the darkness takes you, you believe him.

Daryl doesn't move except to occasionally reach out and touch your face with his free hand—brushing away strands of hair, running his thumb along your cheekbone, checking that your skin still feels warm.

"That's enough," the doctor says finally, moving to disconnect the transfusion line from Daryl's arm. "You've given her plenty. Any more and you'll be the one needing medical attention."

Daryl tries to pull away from Pete's hands. "She might need—"

"She needs you conscious and healthy," the doctor replies firmly, pressing gauze to the needle site. "This is enough blood. Trust me."

The moment the IV is out, Daryl's back to hovering over you, his fingers finding yours again. He watches the steady rise and fall of your chest like it's the only thing keeping him sane.

"Daryl," Glenn says quietly from behind him. "You should let him work. Maybe get some air, get cleaned up—"

"Ain't leavin'." Daryl's voice is flat, final. He doesn't even turn around.

"Man, you've been sitting there for hours. Just step outside for five minutes—"

"Said I ain't leavin'."

Glenn exchanges a look with Tara, Glen knows that tone. It's the same voice Daryl used when he refused to stop looking for Sophia. Immovable.

It takes Carol and Rick together to finally get through to him.

Carol's hand on his shoulder, Rick's quiet but authoritative voice explaining that he needs to eat something, needs to let the doctor perform the surgery properly.

"She's not going anywhere," Carol says gently. "And neither are you. But you can't help her if you collapse."

Daryl's jaw works silently for a long moment before he finally nods. But even as he reluctantly stands, his eyes never leave your face, and his voice echoes in the small room.

"Be right back. You ain't allowed ta leave."

[seilnakyle]

do you have any dickbabs reading recommendations (especially if they're babs focused)? I read batgirl year one and some nightwing too, but I would love to delve deeper into their relationship

thank you sm in advance 🙏

They just don’t do slow burn in comics like Dickbabs anymore ♥️

If you’re coming right off batgirl year one (masterpiece. Redefined my life. Forever altered my brain) I definitely recommend you read Nightwing Year one as well, (starts at issue #101 of Nightwing (1996)

In this list I have included everything I can, but If I missed anything significant please feel free to let me know!

Pre-Crisis:

Detective Comics (1937): #359

The Batman Family (1975): #1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 20

POST CRISIS:

Robin Year One (2000): #4

Batgirl Year One (2003)

Nightwing Year One - Nightwing (1996): #101-106

Nightwing (1995): #2

Nightwing (1996): #0.5, 7, 14, 16-18, 19, 20, 24, 25, 37, 38-87, 88, 89, 100, 104, 109, 117, 153 (this isn’t EVERY issue Babs is in but all the important ones)

Batman Chronicles (1996): #9

Some of the best and most beautiful dickbabs moments come from birds of prey, and they give a great look into Babs’ side of things too! I recommend reading Bop and Nightwing alongside each other (If you can!) And I alos recommend you read some Batman arcs like Cataclysm, No Man’s Land and Bruce Wayne, Murderer? They show Dick and Babs working together and with the batfam. Fun Fact and slight spoiler for the ending of No Man’s Land, The ending scene where Dick and Helena randomly kiss was supposed to be between Dick and Babs, but someone messed up, and Rucka kinda just thought Dick was a horndog so no one fixed it 💔 there is still some good Dickbabs moments within that arc tho

Birds Of Prey (1999): #8, 19, 20, 23-61, 71, 76, 86

Robin (1993): #71

Gotham Knights: #17, 18, 26, 30, 32, 34, 35, 36, 42, 43

Harley Quinn (2000): #10-12

DC One Million (1998): #1 , 3

DC Universe Holiday Bash (1997): #2

Batman: Black Mirror (they aren’t together in this but it’s still important reading for their relationship imo and a fascinating/thrilling Dick!bats story with lots of Oracle besides)

Nightwing Annual 2 (for the conclusion of the proposal from Nightwing #117)

Li’l Gotham (2013): #1, 7, 10, 17

Convergence Nightwing/Oracle #1-2 (for the wedding. This is how pre-boot ended as far as I’m concerned)

New 52 Reboot:

Nightwing (2011): #4, Annual 1

Batgirl (2011): #3, 18, 21, 30, Annual 3, 45

Grayson (2014): #2, #12

REBIRTH:

Nightwing (2016) #1, 2, 3, 15, 44, 45, 46, 47, Annual 1

Batgirl (2016): #7, 10, 14, 15, 16, 17, 25

Dark Nights: Death Metal - the Last Stories of the DC Universe: #1

Batman (2016): #55

Batgirl (2016): #43, 50

Nightwing (2016): #50, 72, 73, 74, 75, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 100, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123 (ongoing)

Batman (2016): #100, 104, 118, 126, 127, 128, 137, 141, 145, 146, 148, 149,

Batgirls (2021): #7, 8, 10, 12

The Flash (2016): #787

Future State: Nightwing (2021): #1, 2

Future State: The Next Batman (2021): #4

Superman: Son of Kal-El (2021): #13

Saved by the Belle Reve (2022): #1

Tales of the Titans (2023): #1

Titans: Beast World (2023): #2, 3, 4, 6

Titans (2023): #6, 7

Batman / Santa Clause: Silent Knight (2023): #1-4

How to lose a Guy Gardener in 10 days (2024): #1

Super-Pets Special: Bitedentity Crisis (2024): #1

ELSEWORLDS / BLACK LABEL

Thrillkiller (1997): #1-3

Young Justice (2011): #22, 23, 25

Earth 2: World’s End (2014): #1, 3, 4, 6, 9, 10

Earth 2 (2012): #29

Batman: White Knight (2017): #1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

Batman: White Knight: Batman Day (2018): #1

Batman: Curse of the White Knight (2019): #4

Batman: Beyond The White Knight (2022): #1, 4, 6, 7, 8

The Batman & Scooby-Doo Mysteries (2021): #4

Dc vs. Vampires (2021): #1, #2, #3, 4, 8, 12

Batman: The Long Halloween - The Last Halloween (2024): #1

Batman: Dark Age (2024): #4, 5, 6

The Boy Wonder (2024): #1

[kuroshitsuji-wiki]

Cloudia Phantomhive's birthday (April 5)

The manga's most mysterious backside + side profile...

Cloudia Phantomhive was involved with a man named Cedric K. Ros- and had two children with him, Vincent and Francis. Though she is the grandmother of Vincent's and Francis' children, Ciel (at least) says that he does not know anything about her, apart from their relation.

Thus, he is stumped when he discovers that no other than Undertaker, old family friend (?) and deserted wayward Grim Reaper, seems to have known her - and that he even kept a mourning locket in her remembrance on his chain which he calls his "treasure."

Out of all seven lockets on Undertaker's mourning chain, Cloudia's is the most prominently featured, having been fully shown for the first time all the way in the Circus Arc (Chapter 35/Episode 46) - in 2009!

Cloudia's first depiction (see above) was in Chapter 15 in the Indian Butler Arc, released in 2007!

Further, in the manga and the anime, it seems that the revealed hallmarks (verification marks for noble metals; follow link for a more detailed explanation on the wiki!), belong to another locket, Alex B.'s.

A piece of concept art from Book of Circus Official Record shows the hallmarks next to Cloudia's locket, however. (Possibly by mistake.)

Since Cloudia's first sighting, many years have passed, and all we were given since then was the revelation that she had blue hair, another backside picture, her birth-and-death dates (April 5, 1830 to July 13, 1866), and even more questions.

Her mysterious prominence in Kuroshitsuji since the manga's early days as well as the fact that Mr. K stated that Undertaker's current - and future - actions constitute the "main axis" in the manga's Phantomhive family saga means that Cloudia's story will certainly be told one day. The question, of course, is when and, as always,...

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

BABES IM ON THE FLOOR 😭 I watched this Price Voice Lines Video and my god 🫠 His voice is so deep im litrally insane. Could you maybe do something with his lines around the 13:35 mark, where he’s being a self-sacrificing jerk? 🤭 Maybe the Reader is with him on a mission or something and like their both super protective and trying to save eachother or something ❤️

All, Most, Some, None

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS:  Snow melts in the heat of blood.

WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, major character death(s), some fluff in the beginning, protective!Price, pre-relationship pining, obliviousness, blood, bullet wounds, hurt/no comfort, etc. no happy ending

A/N: You know I have to finish out my requests with just pure heartbreak.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You look out over the dark landscape and take down a breath as the atmosphere of the camp behind you murmurs like a warm drink. Night had fallen swiftly two hours beforehand when you’d first volunteered to take watch, your smile bright and eyes eager. Snow was just beginning to slide down from the gray sky, thick clouds hanging like a navy cloth—splotch marks of yellowish stars a far-off glimmer of infinity. 

When the footsteps echo out, coming to your position, you already know the weight and pace of who it belongs to; can trace the way his feet will conform to the dirt and the crunch of white powder. A grin flickers your lips easily but you don’t bother looking over your shoulder. 

John huffs as he takes his place beside you on the lookout, crossing his arms over his chest. In the corner of your eye you spy on his loose yet measured face, that authoritative edge that seeps into his skin at times. 

For a long moment, the two of you look out over the earth, studying the dips and drags of the Northwest Territories of Canada in early winter. While cold, the jackets the both of you wear take the chill off well enough. Along the body of your MK14 EBR, your fingers rest casually—no need to be tensed and ready. Your sharp eyes hadn’t spotted anything for eons. 

“Sitrep, then, Sol?” You hum under your breath as John looks over at you with a raised brow.

“Rabbits and Caribou, Sir.” Your voice goes teasing, “I think we’re boxed in from all sides—I suggest immediate evac.”

A low chuckle and a firm shake of a beanied head, a puff of condensation as the darkness seeps over all to be seen. John glances at you with a smirk.

“Unfortunate, seeing as we just got here.” You smile and laugh deep in your throat. It was at moments like this that you thanked whatever deity was out there that Captain Price had seen your potential all those years ago. 

He’d handpicked you when you were nothing but a Private—brought you up with knowledge and stern, yet gruffly companionate, assistance all the way to Lieutenant. You don’t know the exact moment when you started to get flustered around him. 

Your chest is tight right now, fingers that were once cold going clammy as you twitch them. Inside your chest, your heart pounds blood into the thin drums of your ears like boot-thumps. Clearing your throat, you shift your feet and push out, “Did Laswell get in touch?”

“Ah,” John shakes his head, taking a breath as he says, “Negative. We’re on our own for this.” He turns his head fully to you and for a moment you’re enraptured by the shine in the depths of his blue irises. Teasing, “Think you can handle it, then?”

You turn away quickly, face burning. 

“Doubt me?” Matching his jab you smile widely. John chuckles and jerks his shoulders, grunting as his chin tilts. 

“Never.” Hiding the violent burn of your cheeks, you look at the landscape quickly, nails tapping the metal of your gun. 

“Sol?” John speaks after a moment of tight silence. You blink over with an interested look, cocking your head. The Captain had shifted to fully face you, and one of his hands itches at the side of his finely-trimmed beard. Fast eyes glance over your form like a studious teacher—your lungs still inside of your ribs. John mutters, “Stick near me tomorrow, yeah? Want you on my six.” 

Touched, your brows still furrow with confusion. 

“Don’t…you need me to lead Unit Two?” John’s already shaking his head, gritting his teeth. It’s like something’s bothering him. 

Feet taking you forward, you grab onto his bicep and stare into his tense face with slight concern. “John?” You ask, lids narrowing. 

The man stills at the sensation of your touch, even separated by the layers of his gear and jacket. Eyes slip to yours and lightly soften, the edges easing in their relentless wrinkle of dark thoughts. Like the star that your codename emulated, you seemed to be a ray of illumination for the Captain, and John’s nose twitched before his eyes quickly looked away from your open face. 

It wasn’t right to think the way he did about you. 

“Just have a feeling, Love,” he shakes his head slightly, clearing his throat. Your hand drops from him and he stops himself from snatching it back. 

You smile at him, huffing a laugh. 

“Well, who else’ll be able to take my place, then, seeing as you’re so eager to have me by you?” Gazing behind you into the small camp, John grunts, keeping his eyes on you. A small smirk slips over his lips and pulls his beard back.

“Daniels has got it…copy?” Your throat hums in consideration before you nod in a firm flinch of your head. 

“...Alright.”

“Good.” The Brit shifts his feet and the snow squeals. Snowflakes collect on the top of your head, sitting atop your scalp like tiny insects as the swell of your mouth goes back in a grin. John blinks at you, and before he knows it, he’s extending his hand up to his beanie with little thought beyond how lovely you look like this. 

He plops the fabric down on your head and you snap a hand up to press into it in shock. The man’s large frame slinks back as he takes his leave with you looking back at him; his feet make tracks, leading away to mirror the ones that came before. 

“Don’t get a cold, eh? I’ll expect you to be back in your tent within the hour, Lieutenant.” Face burning, you can’t answer. 

Blue eyes peek over a wide shoulder. Something sparks in those met gazes, a pinprick of wonder and deep affection. Perhaps it was even love.

The snow falls faster, and as John disappears into the darkness the chill of the open ridge suddenly seems less violent than your pulse as it thumps to the humming of the earth. Hiding a giddy smile, you look back out and rub at your neck; hat upon your head perfectly ingrained with a scent of charcoal and pine. 

—

“Leave me! I won’t make it!” The words made your stomach drop through your intestines. Shouted over the open line John’s voice barks the order like a knife with break-neck efficiency. No hesitation. 

It had all gone to shit in a matter of hours. The sun was just on the horizon, spreading its hands of dawn over the camp that was awash with blood and bodies. Enemy soldiers, the ones that your squad was tasked with taking out within the next day, had killed the next sentry on duty after you and stormed your position. 

To think you were minutes away from being that very sentry was mind-numbing. But now the real problem was the state of the camp. 

John had been hit through the right thigh.

Taking cover behind a large pine tree, you dart out at every other interval to fire rounds into anything that dashes like a wild animal into the open. Most of the squad was dead—the rest scattered in the sparse cover that was offered or in the process of dying. Snow melted in the heat of crimson fluid.

Spying the downed figure of your Captain, you growl and sprint out before you can talk yourself out of it, taking the recoil of your MK14 EBR into your shoulder and teeth gritted. John writhes on the ground, trying to maintain control over the remaining forces as his leg is limp and useless. He growls out in pain as his head hits the ground behind him. 

“Fuck!” He shouts. You feel a bullet whizz past your head as you skid down to your knees beside him. 

“Sol!” He glares at you as you survey the damage quickly, ducking when the metal projectiles get gradually closer and closer. There’s shouting in the far treeline; death cries. “What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!”

“You’re stupid if you think I’m about to do that to you!” You yell, jerking your gun up to release three bullets into someone who had burst out with a raised assault rifle. Pain flares in your left bicep, but you barely notice it beyond a strained, instinctual, whimper. “I’m getting you out of here.” 

Panic had gone as deep as your DNA, seeing the large pool of blood around John, his venom-laced words that stem from agony.

“Leave! Fucking hell, Lieutenant, that’s an order!” 

“John,” you shout, “shut the fuck up!” The man’s eyes go wide with shock. It wasn’t often that you swore at him. 

Making your hands dive under your Captain, you loop your hands behind his shoulders and latch at his armpits. With all of your might, you shift and begin dragging him backward into the trees; gritting your teeth at his pained yell and the bare of his own pearly whites.

Moving like this was stupid, you wouldn’t be able to take out your gun without dropping John—and you certainly weren’t going to do that. Not on your life.

“Christ,” the Brit groans, and you frantically watch the blood trail he leaves behind along the ground. Like a rabbit who’d gotten his leg bit off by a wolf but was still trying to run.

There was too much blood.

Agony explodes in your side, but you keep dragging backward with a new hitch in your lungs; eyes awash with tears before the air leaves you with a ragged and violent gasp. The sounds you hear from all around are horrible—the screams and the popping of rapid-fire shots. Sucking down oxygen with a vile cough, you get John behind a cropping of rocks and have to settle him down as you hack into one of your arms; chest shuddering.  

There is a pressure inside of you that digs into your flesh, but the adrenaline floods your brain over the alarm bells, drowning them.

You pull back your arm to see blood. But it doesn’t matter—not now. Not with John like this.

Looking down, you stare into his eyes while you get to your knees by his side. His gaze is wide and stuck at your abdomen with panic, where you already know the damage a bullet can do. 

“Love…” he begins, but his fingers curl into fists of pain instead. John breathes heavily, and when you look down to his thigh you find far more than one bullet. 

There were three, all spaced out in an arch. One at his thigh, one up on his pelvis, and the other directly in his stomach. Your eyes widen with mute horror, mouth stuttering as your throat closes. 

“Yeah,” blood bubbles from John’s mouth as he chuckles in quick gasps. “No good, eh?”

Tears build in great waves, but you force out, “No,” growling, you feel your own blood stain your gear and clothes. No exit wounds for either of you, you can already tell. “No, John—not like this.”

“Sweetheart,” he tries, but you grip the beanie on your head and shove it into his stomach, pressing on the wound there as he wheezes and you sob. 

“No, John!” A large hand finds the back of your hair, and you shake your head wildly. 

Blue eyes stare with regret and torment before darting back down to your wound. You can feel it—you already know; knew the moment the stray bullet hit you. 

The both of you…

“I’m sorry,” he says, quietly so that you have to strain to hear it above the noise. “I’m sorry, Love.” With a shiver of intense throbbing, the strain growing, you dart forward with waning strength and place your lips to his. 

Bloody hands grip his cheeks, slipping over his beard in fruitless desperation. Blood coats your mouths, but the moment of pure love and tenderness takes over. For a minute you can both forget the chill of metal and the blood pooling to the ground. The shaking in your muscles.

You can forget that the both of you are dying.

John keeps the back of your head to him as strength begins to slip. When you pull away with quivering limbs, his thumb weakly brushes your undereye to dispel the bitter tears. He hums with wet eyes. 

“I never got to take you out, did I?” You slip down beside him, shivering and losing heat not only because of the snow. Limbs grow heavy and in the back of your mind, you know you should be afraid—terrified. Maybe you were.

The comment makes you want to scream and rage and wail. 

“No,” you instead say, laughing through a sob at the cruelty of it all as you latch onto him. “No, you didn't, John. But I’m here now. I’m right here.”

Eyes slide over your face as you stay near him; waiting. A tiny smile as his bloody fingers brush your cheek. 

“When we get back I’ll show you ‘round Hertfordshire,” you both know that will never happen. His forehead knocks against yours. “You’ll love it, Sweetheart. Know you will.” 

“I will,” you promise, knowing you can’t. The world besides both of your eyes swirls. “Anywhere with you, John, is worth going.”

It’s obvious what you mean.

John presses his lips back to yours with one last whispered breath of his vow. “I’ve loved you since I first saw that beauty of a smile.” 

The two of you whisper promises and secrets as the gunfire dies down, lips making up for all of the times you should have kissed before and now don’t have the time to. Eyes don’t leave each other as the blood keeps flowing into two large pools of crimson sin. You’re drowned in it—flooded in it. 

You should have told him sooner.

“I’ll find you,” you whisper, eyes fluttering. But the body is long cold. 

You let your muscles loosen as the last of the fight leaves. Content, even in this, but for the simple fact that John’s arms are around you forever in this moment of endless infinity. The sky rolls back, and your last view is of him.

—

In the snow, preserved by the elements even weeks later, they would find your bodies, curled amongst themselves as if to protect one another. They would say that it had been because you were cold, freezing, and bleeding out from your wounds that you’d huddled for comfort. But that wasn’t the truth. 

The two of you had never been warmer than when you were with the other. 

What they couldn’t account for were the twin smiles on frosty lips.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Traitors & Lovers (Hero & Villain) Masterlist

Warnings: severe torture, repeated burning with hot metal, knife whump, bleeding out, left for dead, dragged by a car, rough recovery, near-death + actual death, lots of blood and emotional whump

Summary: Villain and Hero were dating, until Villain found out her lover was using their relationship to get information and take down her criminal allies. Villain disappeared and left him behind, hurt and betrayed and broken-hearted. She survived for three years on her own... before a former ally named Supervillain captured her, pissed that Villain told Hero how to find him when they were still dating, and he decides to leave her broken, mangled body for Hero to find to send a clear message: that he was going to kill Hero next.

Part 1 - Sad Memories

Part 2 - How the Mighty Fall

Part 3 - Old Enemy

Part 4 - Left for Dead in the Middle of the Road

Part 5 - Please Don't Die!

Part 6 - Supervillain's Initials

Part 7 - I'm Sorry

Part 8 - I loved you... and then I died for you

Part 9 - Hero's pov

Part 10 - Rough Wake Up

Part 11 - Conflict Between Ex-Lovers

Part 12 - Stitches

Part 13 - Not Sharing

Part 14 - Cornered Villain

Part 15 - Ask Nicely

Part 16 - Fine Wine

Part 17 - The Smallest Favor

Part 18 - Lavender Scent

Part 19 - Help & Hurt

Part 20 - I Can't Trust You

Part 21 - A Simple Kindness

Part 22 - Who's at the Door??

Part 23 - Caught Mid-Escape

Part 24 - Control

Part 25 - Shattered Trust

Part 26 - I Still Love You

Part 27 - Not Ready to Forgive

Part 28 - A Threat Made by Supervillain

Part 29 - Words Left Unspoken

Part 30 - Bravery & Bullet Wounds

Part 31 - Crippled by Pain

Part 32 - Villain's Sacrifice

Part 33 - Please... Save Her

Part 34 - Not Gonna Make It

Part 35 - Comatose

Part 36 - The Healer

Part 37 - Miracles

Part 38 - Please Wake Up

Part 39 - Forgiven

Part 40 - Happily Ever After

Alternate ending where Villain DOES die, and Hero grieves her

Fanart of Villain & Hero by 🎀 anon

Funny meme specifically relating to part 32

Main Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson @whatwhump

@writing-with-olive

[wishing-on-a-staranise]

Wasting Time.

(s.h. x gn!reader)

summary: given everything happening in Hawkins, Steve ends up pushing you away too far.

word count: 6k+

warnings/tags: no pronouns used (gender neutral reader); no y/n used; sad; i dont plan on writing a part two to this; s4 stuff; insecure reader; death; loss; injuries; mention of steve's parents; ollie is the real mvp in this tbh; unresolved? yay;

a/n: based off of Lizzy McAlpine’s song, “..what are we?” This was meant to be below 2k. I fought it to keep it below 2k. I lost, immensely and pathetically so. but that's okay.

as for my other stuff, I truly don't know when I'll post it. I've got pretty important things I have going on in life and i really need to do well in a life altering test next year so everything else is on the back burner rn. sorry to those who are really looking forward the next parts but don't u worry I will post them ;)

my masterlist

You shouldn't be at the store alone. 

Considering the recent murders in Hawkins. You really, truly shouldn't be alone. 

It isn't like you wanted to be. But the owner of the store you worked at did not necessarily give two shits about you. Refusing to pay you if you didn't show up for a few days. So, it isn't like you had much of a choice.

You sat on the rickety old swivel chair, that your asshole boss wouldn't change. The news was playing non-stop in the background– never in your entire life have you had the news channel on for so long.

The new chief of police was being interviewed by the reporters, telling the viewers to stay calm and assuring that they had it all under control. It didn't help to ease your mind. 

You were not calm. Not one bit.

With each movement you made, the rusty metal of the chair groaned underneath you. 

You were thinking of calling him again.

You rotated a little. The chair screeched again. 

Why hadn't he even bothered to call you back yet?

Your leg bounced. The metal creaked.

Frustrated, you abandon the stupid chair with a pathetic scoff. Opting to just sit on the counter, facing away from the door. You gripped the edge of the surface, teeth gnawing at your lips as you looked at his jacket draped atop the chair you were occupying just seconds ago. His jacket.

What if he didn't want you to call him? Your grip tightened. 

You haven't heard from your boyfriend since thursday. 

You both had planned to go out on friday— the boy hadn't exactly told you where he had planned for you two to go. He had instead told you to, “Wear something cute like you always do. Bring Ollie with you if y’wanna and I'll pick you up from yours at 5?”

You had bought a new outfit, a couple weeks prior. you had put all your last month's salary into it. Your favourite colour.

You did your hair, a little bit of your face as well. Looking in the mirror, you had looked….. nice.

Something about that realisation had conjured up a lump in your throat. It was rare that you considered yourself good looking. Which is probably why you barely ever dressed up. But at that moment, as you looked in the mirror, a smile grew on your face, one that couldn't be contained. 

You couldn't wait for Steve to see you. 

You were ready before the clock even hit 4:35.

You waited. No sign of him. 

When the clock hit 5:15, you went out onto your driveway, your dog, Ollie following behind you. You waited, pacing the concrete.

6:05, you were sitting on the stairs infront of the door, your dog's head on your lap. You waited.

6:45, your shoulders were slumped, your own head rested on your knees. Ollie napping beside you. You waited.

7:27, it was dark, Ollie whined to go back in. your eyes stung a little. But you scratched him behind his ears and decided to wait out just a little more. 

When the clock hit 8:00, you finally got up, dusting the dirt and dust off your brand new clothes. Blinking back the salty tears, you quietly went back to your room after giving your dog his food and water. You changed into your ugly PJs, not bothering with anything else, as you buried yourself in your blankets. 

Soon, you heard scratching on your bedroom door, your dog waiting to be let in. 

You smiled with a sniffle, letting him jump onto the mattress with you despite your mom’s strict rule to not let the dog onto beds, sofas or carpets. the dog whined a little before laying next to you. 

Ollie loved Steve. They had not exactly started on the right foot when Ollie almost bit the boy when you had tried sneaking him in one night. But after some time, they both warmed up to each other– to the point where it became common for Ollie to tag along with you and Steve on dates. 

“I'm sorry bud”, you stroked the fur on his head, "i know how much you like hanging out with him." He whined again, warm tongue licking your fingers. 

You knew he didn't really understand, a dog couldn't understand insecurities and the utter disdain of being stood up by someone you loved. Yet here he was, sharing your sorrows and wordlessly warming up your blues. Not there because he empathised with you or pitied you but there because he loved you.

The next morning when you woke up, you went immediately to your bathroom, to try and clean the mess that you hadn't the previous night. 

Your eyes were red and puffy. You did look like someone who cried themself to sleep. You tried to scrub it all off, not even bothering with being gentle with your poor skin.

You didn't feel pretty when you looked in the mirror now. You felt pathetic. 

“Honey!” your mom shouted from the kitchen, downstairs.

“Yeah, coming”, you shouted back as loudly as you could– which wasn't very loud at all.

As you climbed down, you were met with Ollie, tail wagging, nails clicking against the floor. 

“Would just not take the breakfast from me”, your brother commented, handing you the dog bowl that was filled with Ollie’s food, “What a dramatic son of a bitch.... literally”

The dramatic son of a bitch in question, looked up at the two of you with big round eyes, tongue out, drool spilling out on the floor. You held up a finger, the dog immediately sat down– wagging tail sweeping the floor behind him. You finally put the bowl down and told the dog to dig in.

“Did you make him sleep in the bed again?” your mother spoke from behind her magazine.

“Why would I do that?” you lied as you refilled his water bowl.

“Because when I came to call you for dinner last night, he was sleeping on your bed, with you.”

“Oh”, a sheepish expression over your face, “I'll clean the bedsheets, okay?” 

“and why did you skip dinner–”

Your mother thankfully got interrupted by the loud sound of the front door opening, followed by quick footsteps. “Did you check the news?”, your dad panted, he moved towards the tv in the living room, not bothering to take off his running shoes. 

“No, dad. It's only you who is boring enough to watch the news”, your brother’s joke landed flat.

“What happened?”, your mother asked, brows furrowed. 

“A Hawkins student was found dead.”

The bell above the door rang, you turned to look at the customer and you felt as if your heart had hit a rib.

There was Steve Harrington, bursting in through the doors, wearing clothes you'd never seen him in before.

He wasn't alone. The boy was accompanied by Dustin Henderson, Max Mayfield, Lucas and Erica Sinclair, Robin Buckley, and Nancy Wheeler. Most of them looked to be covered in dust, grime and worse.

They, without looking in your direction, broke into groups of two, one led by the older girls and the other by Steve, moving frantically through the aisles to get what they needed. It must have been an emergency. Considering all the recent happenings, it might be. 

After a few minutes, the group led by Nancy and Robin stood infront of the counter and you started billing everything. A couple minutes later, the group led by Steve joined them as well. It is when they are pouring the stuff onto the counter when Steve finally notices that it's you. 

His movements stuttered a little as if he'd just remembered that you worked here and he opened his mouth to say something but closed it before anything could come out.

The silence was awkward and deafening– the others definitely noticed. The only sound that came was the beeps of the scanner. You wondered if Steve had told them about the both of you. 

When you moved to put everything in a bag, Steve stepped a little closer to help with putting all the stuff into the grocery bags, it is then that you noticed the boy's skin.

The skin which you knew to be soft to the touch was covered in dirt. Slashes and cuts wound around his neck, a piece of dirty cloth peeking from under the hem of his camo shirt. Blood. 

You didn't realise you were frozen stuck until you heard him clearing his throat. 

You realised that that the boy had already paid the total, the crumbled up cash placed on the counter. The rustling of the grocery bags alerted you that were moving to leave.

“S– Steve?” your voice came out an unsure whisper.

They all stopped. He looked over his shoulder, then back to his friends, “You guys go on”, he said to them, handing the two bags he was holding to Lucas and Dustin, “ I'll be out in a minute” They silently nodded before leaving to get into a van.

You spoke up when the bell above the door rang on the door closing, “Wh– what is happening?” 

He stood across from you, on the other side of the counter, not making any efforts to come closer as he normally would– maybe hoping that you wouldn't see the wounds that you had already seen. “Nothing”, he cleared his hoarse throat,  “I'm– I'm sorry for friday–”

Sorry? Is that all you get?

“You're covered in blood and dirt”, you pointed out.

“Trust me it just looks worse than it actually is”, he let out a dry chuckle.

“Whose van is that?” your vision flickered to the winnebago parked infront of the store.

“A friend’s.”

“Which one?”

“Munson.”

“Munson? Like Eddie munson? Have you heard the news?--”

“Yeah I have”, his words came out quick, “and it isn't him.”

“How are you so sure?” your eyebrows drew together.

“I just.. “, he paused, “I just am.”

“And how did you get those? '', you said, nodding to his wounded neck. You wanted to touch him, to hold him, but there was still a counter between the two of you, and closing that distance felt.. wrong like you weren't supposed to do it.

“I got in a fight.”

“With what, a barbed wire?” it came out snappier than you had intended. You really tried to not hold his face in your palm.

“No”, his tone grew more frustrated with every question you asked.

“Then who?”

“No, why do you–”

“Cuz I'm– I'm worried about you Steve.” you interrupted to continue your rambling, “You could get like– tetanus or shit–”

“Hey, hey”, for a second you thought he was going to hold your face like you wanted to do to him, instead he placed his palm on your shoulder, “I’m fine, okay? I don't want you to be worried about me.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” you whispered. “I just want you to tell me what's happening.” his hands fell back to his sides. “Just let me in”

“Nothings–”

“No! Something is happening”, you interjected, angry, worried, “Okay? I know. I know you don't always tell me everything. And that's fine, y'know– I thought you’d tell me when you felt like telling me but don't–” you take a quick breath, slowing down your quick words,  “Don't– do you not trust me enough to tell me?”

“I do. But there isn't anything to tell you”, he tried his best to shrug while trying not to pull on the scabbing of his bloody torso– he held back a wince, “Nothings happening.”

There’s a beat.

You can tell he’s lying.

“Why didn't you show up on friday then?” you barely give him a couple seconds to answer before continuing, “God, when I heard someone had died that night, I– “ you stopped before he could hear the quiver of your voice, you gulped. “I called you fifteen times”

“I was at work”

“I went there the next morning to check– it was only Keith there. Told me you'd left already." He opened his mouth before closing it up again.

“Why are you lying to me?”

“And what is Nancy doing with you–” you hated that you were jealous, you never wanted to be that person. Hell, you and Nancy were almost friends in high school. But you couldn't lie and say that it didn't hurt to see them together right after he had bailed on you.

“Well if you noticed, it isn't just me and her, y’know. No need to be jealous–”

“Yeah, I will be jealous, okay? I will be jealous if you start hanging out with your ex and start ditching our dates–”

“I didn't ditch you–”

“I waited for three hours steve. You didn't even call me after or give me heads up. And you already know about everything that's happening in town, so I'm sorry I was worried shitless and you didn't even pick up my calls. And now you're with all these people– which is fine– they’re your friends but your ex is a part of these people. And you're bleeding and definitely wounded, and you won't tell me anything.”

“I will tell you okay, I just–”

“So, not now?”

“I'm running a little late–”

“To what?”

“I'll tell you later okay?”

“When?”

“Just later! Okay? I need to go and you're wasting my–”he stopped himself, seemingly having dug himself a hole. He quickly tried to correct himself, “I need to–”

Your heart had surely stopped, “What did you just say? I'm wasting your time?” tears pricked your eyes, “Is that what this is? A waste of time? Is that what the last eight months have been for you?”

“You know I didn't mean it like that”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I didn't– I ….”, he trailed off. The horn beeped and you heard a muffled shout for Steve's name in Dustin's voice.

You sniffled, “are you gonna get those taken care of at the hospital?” you referred to his wounds, your voice was suddenly so much quieter. 

“....yeah”, he said after a moment– lying.

You nodded. “You still need to clean it up and”, you picked up rubbing alcohol, a painkiller bottle from the shelf behind you and some bandages, “bandage it.. ‘til you go to the hospital.” you tossed them over to him. 

The horn of the winnebago blared. Steve looked back at the door, he reached for his wallet but you stopped him, “you don't need to. It's fine.” Steve heard you sniffle again. 

“Baby–”

“For the record… it wasn't a waste of time for me", your voice cracked, “But I'm really sorry if I wasted your time.”

He stepped closer, shaking his head a little but you weren't looking up, eyes trained on the grain of the wooden counter, trying your darndest to not let the tears fall.

“You should go now.”

“honey–” the horn blared.

“Just go, Steve.”

You only dared to look up when you heard the bell above the door ring. Your vision was blurry as you watched the vehicle drive away. 

Honestly, you get it. you understand. 

You understand if the guy you loved wasn't willing to let you in. And despite how much it hurt, you couldn't keep him to yourself. You weren''t sure what this entire thing meant. Did you just indirectly say that it was over? Did you want it to be over? Were you willing to let it be over? To let him go? 

“C’mon”, he stood at your door with expectant eyes. 

You scoffed before looking back at the clock— your parents werent coming home until another half an hour, “alright fine”, you gave in.

After you put your shoes on, you reached for the door handle to shut the door behind you but there was Ollie standing right on the threshold, tail wagging. The dog gave a soft ruff, looking up at you with expectant eyes. 

“Please don't bring him along too.”

You smirked, “Ollie you wanna come for a walk?”, the boy beside you groaned playfully.

The dog barked happily before spinning around in circles. His nails clicked against the floor as he sprinted to where his leash and jacket were kept. “Alright, bud”, you moved to put Ollie's jacket on him and hooked the leash onto his collar.

The dog walked infront of the two of you. The sun had set and the three of you were walking under the warm yellow pavement lit up by the streetlights. Ollie would stop every now and then to sniff at a bush, tree trunk or lamp post. 

“When will he stop third wheeling us?” Steve finally spoke up beside you.

“Never.”

“This was supposed to be a romantic walk in the snow and now he’s pooping and pissing all over the winter wonderland– wont be a white christmas anymore”

“Oh, shut up. You love him, I know it”

“Yeah, whatever”, he shook his head with a smile.

“By the way, to what do I owe the pleasure of a romantic walk?”

“Wha– ? babe, You say as if I'm not romantic”

“No, you are. But I thought you were going to that christmas party with your parents.”

“Yeah that was until my dad started being an asshole after too much egg nog. So, I booked it”, he shrugged nonchalantly.

“Oh, I’m sorry Steve”

“Eh, it's okay– Jesus Christ, Ollie, how much territory are you gonna mark, boy?’

“Steve..”, your fingers reached for his palm. You both stopped, he looked down at where your hands were intertwined before giving it a squeeze.

“I'm okay. Okay?”

You look at him for a bit. Despite wanting to, you dont push further. You squeezed his hand back, “okay.” his shoulders relaxed. 

You started walking again, pulling yourself further into the boy's side, resting your cheek on his shoulder. It dawned on you then that you had forgotten to wear any jacket or sweater and now you were freezing.

“I’m cold”, you whined through your smushed cheek, the boy chuckled.

“Of course you are. You don't wear one, but make sure the dog’s wearing a jacket– great priorities babe”

“Well, I have you, don't I?” you said, giving him your biggest puppy eyes and the most over-exaggerated frown.

“Yeah, “ he sighs, handing you the leash he was holding, “you do.” He took off his jacket he was wearing over his his fuzzy sweater and helped you put it on. “Better?” he gestured towards the leash to take it back.

You returned it and nodded with a proud grin, “you've fallen under my trap”

“Yeah? what trap?” he muses while smoothing down the crinkles in his thick sweater.

“This…..”, you smirked, “is mine now”, you declared, pulling the material tighter around you. 

“Oh, no! The jacket stealing trap! What will I ever do?” he brought his to both his cheeks, shaking his head in pretence worry. You laughed.

“Y’know…”, he started– the corners of his mouth curling up, “I would give you all my jackets if you…… Kiss me?”

“Oh, yeah? That depends…”, you crossed your arms,  “How many jackets do you have?”

“Oh, so many– like a million” he shrugged. Both your steps slowed down to a halt. “Billions….. gazillions”

“Wow, babe, that's a lot of kisses”, you moved in a little closer to him.

The leash in Steve's hand tugs accompanied by Ollie whining, the dog came closer to the two of you who were leaning into each other. The dog started pulling on Steve's jeans.

“Hey! Dickhead, I'm having a moment here”

“Hey! don't call him a dickhead”, you admonished.

“Well, he’s acting like a dickhead.”

You glared at him. 

“What? We were about to have a lovely romantic kiss before he so gracefully interrupted”

“Why do you have a rivalry with my dog?”

“He’s my arch nemesis”, he said with narrowed eyes directed towards the puppy.

You playfully rolled your eyes before taking the leash from Steve's hand and walking ahead. You laughed as you said, “Oh, please, you're just jealous because I love him more”

“I’m not jeal– what did you just say?”

“Wh– what?” you stopped in your track before turning around, brows furrowed.

“Oh, you just said something”

“What did I–”

“You said you love him more than you love me. That implies you love me.” he explained, walking closer to you. “You said you love me”, he stated with a shy smile as he stood directly infront of you.

“.. did I?” heat crept up your cheeks.

“Yeap, it was loud and clear. Even Ollie heard it. Right bud?” the dog barked in response as if actually had a clue of what was going on in the conversation.

“Oh, so now youre both working together? You know what? yeah, well, so what? I said it. I love you. You got a problem with that?”

“No… I'm pretty okay with it actually”

“Just okay?”

“More than okay. Perfect. Infact, I love you too.”

A shy smile grew on your features, same on his. The two of you leaned in but stopped mid-way when Ollie ruffed. You groaned, pulling away before saying with a stern voice, “Ollie, sit.”

“Little shit, only listens to you”, the boy infront of you mutters as the dog settled down and sat down. You glared at Steve. “Sorry”, he apologized, his head hanging low.

“Now, where were we?” you pull him in by grabbing a fistful of his fuzzy sweater, your lips slotting against one another. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other helped tilt your head. You too held his face back, the other hand snaking down to his waist where the fingers hooked through the belt loops.

You pulled away when his movements started to become a little faster and his hand started moving lower, “Okay, okay. I…  its getting late– my parents are gonna be here soon”, you heaved.

“We were only getting to the good part”  he whined through laboured breaths.

“Kissing me wasnt the good part?”

His eyes widened, “I– I mean”, he scoffed when he noticed the sly smirk on your face, “Stop messing with me.”

You tugged lightly on the leash to get Ollies attention who had started to dig a hole in the snow, “c'mon Ollie.”  the dog’s tail wagged before he shook the snow off of him. The dog took the lead as the two of you ambled behind him.

Most of the walk back was holding hands silently, looking around at the christmas lights everyone in the neighbourhood had put up. When you were almost two houses away from yours, you spoke up, “you know. You could… stay the night?”

Steve looked at the pavement as the two of you walked, you looked at him with expectant eyes. He sighed before finally answering,“You know what? Sure.”

“But you would have to sneak out through the window later”

“Window? With these joints? I'm old.” he frowned.

“Oh, my poor, poor twenty year old boy”, you frowned back with a mock pitying look as you unlocked the main door and removed Ollie’s leash and jacket. 

You and Steve wasted no time after that, running up the stairs to your room. As soon as the door was closed behind you, Steve was on you, plump and slightly cold lips moving fast against yours. 

“Well, you're eager aren't you?”

“What? No…” he smiled against your skin, a giggle erupted from your throat as the sensation tickled you.

You were about to go back to attaching your lips to his when you heard a woof followed by the wood of the door scratching. The both of you sighed, foreheads touching.

“That little shit”, Steve huffed, “what an attention whore.”

You laughed through uneven breathing before moving off the door and then letting the dog in.

You heard the door downstairs opening and closing followed by your mother’s voice telling you she was home. You quickly went downstairs telling Steve and Ollie to stay quiet.

The boy took a seat at the edge of the mattress, the dog came to stand infront of him for a bit– tail wagging. The dog hopped on his back legs, front paws scratching at Steve's jeans. Steve reached down to scratch him behind the ears, “y’know Oliver. You're real cute and all. But you're one big cock block”

You really shouldn't have been alone. 

It all happened so fast. One moment you were wallowing in your own self pity, the next moment, the lights were flickering and soon the ground started rumbling beneath you. 

Now, as you were hiding underneath the counter of the store you worked at, the walls shook and ground rumbled. All you could think of was your family, dog and Steve Harrington. 

Of course, the world decides to end today of all days.

There was so much smoke. All you could see was black, maybe your eyes were closed, maybe there was a blackout. But something was on fire– there was so much smoke. Your eyes were watering and your throat burned, coughs uncontrollably tearing from your throat. You felt light headed, soot stuck to your sweaty skin. 

You really wanted to go home right about now.

Some rest sounded nice. Maybe some sleep.

You felt yourself succumbing to sleep, eyes drooping on their own accord. Breath slowing down. The corners of your vision went black.

It quieted down for a second. It wasn't too much for a second. 

Sleep sounded like the perfect thing. 

“Help!” a small terrified voice broke through the silence.

“Help!” it came again from somewhere outside the store. You somehow managed to will your muscles to move. You peeked from under the table and through your watery eyes you saw a boy who looked to be younger than you, flailing his arms in the air, limping. 

Your body worked on its own accord. Muscles and bones working on autopilot. You crawled from under the counter, grabbed your water bottle and Steve's jacket. Your movements were jerky as you spilled the water onto the fabric, wetting it before putting it over your nose and mouth– a makeshift mask. 

You ran. You left your safety bubble and ran. You ran despite the ash in your lungs, despite the shake of your fingers, lightheadedness, and the lactic acid settling in your tired muscles. In your disorientation and franticness, the stupid rusty chair hit your back, the heavy metal smacked hard against your skin but you still ran. You stumbled to open the door, shouted for him to run and pulled him in. You put your bootleg mask to the boy’s mouth.

The rumbling of the earth had quieted down a little; enough to allow you to help him walk over to the desk– your safe bubble. 

You were just about to reach it when another wave hit, the ground shook and both of you lost your footing. The boy huddled to you, you moved to cover him to the best of your ability. The aisle next to you groaned and when you managed to look, it was swaying. 

You tried to get away. 

“Move!” you shouted, your voice barely audible over the rumble. The boy shook under you. In a last ditch effort, you pushed him away. 

You tried to get away, trying to crawl away yourself, but the heavy metal shelves hit your spine. Your head smacked against the tiles. 

You heard shouting, you weren't sure if it was the boy or you. Your ears were ringing. your limbs felt like jelly buried under the rubble. And you really didn't feel like you could get up. You couldn't really see anymore, the darkness from the corner of your vision had finally spread.

It hurt. It hurt so much that you weren't sure where it hurt or if it was still hurting. You tasted metal, felt a trickle run down the nape of your neck. You felt a little cold. The boys voice came in and out, none of the words truly registering in your brain.

God, you really missed your bed. 

You missed ollie. You wished you could pet him again, give him his favourite treat, help him sneak into a bed again.

You missed your parents and your brother. What wouldn’t you do to have one more dinner together.

You missed steve. How you wished you could go back to that winter evening when you fell asleep in his warm arms. When you’d held his hand. You really wanted to hold his hand, hold him close, kiss him.

You felt fingers wrap around your wrist. “I'm gonna try to pull you out”, you barely heard the young boy say through a lumpy throat, you felt a tug on your arm. Pain shot through you. He pulled again, You didn't move. A scream of pain ripped from your chest.

“No!” you screamed, words coming out all slurred up. “No, stop! Just hide under the table and call the ambulance when it's over!” you still couldn't see.

“But–”

“It's okay! You’ll be okay, Ju-- just go!”

“I'm not– your– you're bleeding”, he gripped your shaking palm, “J– Just stay awake!”

“No, Go!” you tried your best to shout but it came out as only a whimper.

The warmth left your palm, you sighed in relief. You really didn't want a kid to see you dying. 

A few seconds later, you felt a pressure on the side of your head, a hit of a familiar scent hit you– Steve's cologne. Steve?

“Steve..?”

The box in your hand was as heavy as lead as the lady led you through the Hawkins high gym which had now been turned into a makeshift infirmary for the people who had been affected by the earthquake. 

You didn't remember much from the night of the earthquake, you remember falling and hitting your head, the pain and someone holding your hand. Your delirious brain in its haze had convinced you that it was Steve's warm hand. That he had come back and held you while the ground shook. The carbon monoxide poisoning had truly got to you.

Much to your delusional brain’s dismay, It was when you woke up a day later; your parents told you it had been infact a boy a few years younger than you. You later found out that the young boy– Andy, although overall fine, had broken his leg. He and his family packed everything up and moved out of town a week later.

Your muscles were still sore. The stitches and the bandaging over the big gash on your back was tight around your ribs. You had also acquired a wound on the side of your head and though you had bled, you were lucky enough to not bleed to your death or die of a haemorrhage. The paramedics had to shave off a part of the back of your hair to be able to apply the gauze properly. And you were a little embarrassed about it– you guessed you'd have to shave it all off now. You weren't sure how long you'd be willing to wear your brother old, musky baseball hat– you also weren't sure if it was a good idea to put that abomination anywhere near a wound.

"seems like you have clothes and blankets; that one", she pointed to a table with heaps of clothes piled on top of it. They looked to be freshly donated as they were in the middle of being neatly folded by--

"Steve, take these as well, will ya'?" the women beside you said.

He looked up, stilling for a second, “Hey.”

"oh, you seem to know each other. swell!" she clapped her palms before leaving the two of you alone.

“Hey… I uh– I came to donate these”, you put the cardboard box on the table infront of him, “Its uh– its mostly blankets”

“Oh, okay.”

“I– I have a couple more boxes in the car.”

“Okay.”

The walk to your car was a silent one, a little awkward. Surely, your last interaction playing in his head as well. As you weaved through the people, you noticed Dustin Henderson, limping as he gave water to some of the patients. And you had already noticed the scars on steves neck. You really wanted to ask what happened.

“Is everyone in your family okay?” he spoke up shyly, clearly trying to ease the tension even a bit.

“...yeah,”

My brother can't hear out of his left ear anymore.

“Yeah, everyone…”

My dog died. 

“Everyones fine.”

“Are you fine?”

You nodded quickly.

You really didn't want to tell him about the giant bruise spread across your back and torso. You didn't want to tell him about the gash on your back or the bandages hiding under your baseball cap. You certainly did not want to tell him about how you were stuck in that rubble for hours with a kid holding your hand, while you had thought that it had been him in your half-conscious state.

“What about you?” you echoed, “Your– your neck?”

“Yeah, yeah– uh.. I’ll be fine.”

Your chest tightened, you swallowed. How did small talk become so hard? 

The two of you approached your car, you popped open the trunk, and there were three more well-taped boxes waiting. 

You picked one up. “Here, let me–” he picked up the other two. Both of your tried your best not to wince at the strain. “Wow this is a lot”, a half-minded comment as he slammed the trunk.

“Yeah, um– I mean, these people need it more. Plus, it would just be easier to give it away, anyway since we--”, you cut yourself off, trying to pretend you hadn't said anything.

“What?”

You look away silently, blinking, “um– how are you holding up?”

“Yeah, you have already asked me– I'm– I'm sorry… are you– what do you—” he stopped. You looked anywhere but him. It clicked. 

“You…. you're… moving, aren't you?” he murmured slowly and as if saying it too loudly would make it real. You nodded. 

“Why?”

“Why? Steve– look around. Everyone is moving. People are dying left and right. People going missing, never being found again?And now what, Murders?! My parents are convinced that it is the end of the world.”

“But it isn't– It was just an earthquake”

“An earthquake does not give you wounds around your neck Steve. Ever since the Byers kid disappeared, my dad has been planning to move… and then that night I– I almost ....”, you trailed off, not wanting to tell him more especially after you had just lied to him that you were fine. “I barely made it.”

“What?”

You took a shaky breath in, Steve's chest tightened. “I should–”

“When are you leaving?”

“.. today. Right now. This was the last thing I had to do.”

After that he quietly walked the rest of the way, helping you put the boxes where they needed to be put. As he did it all, his eyebrows were pulled together, the crease between them deep-- what was he thinking? you wondered.

Once everything was done, he finally spoke up, “Can I walk you back? To your car? For one last time, please?” the desperation in his tone was so clear and it made you want to cry.

You opened the door, Steve's jacket draped over the passenger seat. The piece of clothing that probably saved you. The thick material had stopped you from bleeding to your demise. You really had to thoroughly wash it to get rid of the stain. But you couldn't justify throwing it away.

It no longer had the bloody stain, or the smell of smoke in it. However it also didn't smell like Steve anymore. 

“Here–”, you leaned into the car to pull it out, fighting back the tears and the waver in your voice,  “your jacket… don't worry I cleaned it up”, you held it up between the two of you.

Steve, pushed the material back in your direction, “Keep it. It's yours, remember? It's yours.”

"Considering everything….” you gulped, “I hope I'm not asking for too much", you took a deep breath before finally whispering, "can I hug you… please?"

It was a tight one. It was a desperate one. You hated that you smelled like antibacterial ointment and sweat. You buried your face deeper into his shirt– he smelled like medical gauze, and medicinal cream accompanied with a faint yet familiar scent of his hair products, his cologne and that distinct scent of Steve.

You pulled away, words sticky in your throat, “Take care. Don't die. I'm…..”, you swallowed, “I'm gonna miss you."

You didn't wait for a response, you quickly sat in your car and drove away, not even stealing a look from the rear-view mirror. You only let the tears fall when you had turned the corner to your home.

It isn't like you had a choice of whether or not you were staying. But You hate that he didn't stop you. You hate that he didn’t call your name, to see your face one last time. You hate you still had his jacket in your hands, you hate how tightly you were gripping it.. You hate that there were tears in your eyes. You hate that there was a sob in your ribs. You hate that you said that you were going to miss him. You hate you imagined a life with him, holding hands on romantic walks. 

You hate all that. But you don't hate him. God, it'd be so much easier if you hated him.

[beardedmrbean]

COLUMBIA, S.C. (AP) — When a South Carolina man who killed his ex-girlfriend’s parents with a baseball bat steps into the death row chamber Friday night, it won’t be lethal injection or electrocution that ends his life.

It will be three people holding rifles about 15 feet (4.6 meters) away who will complete his punishment in what will be the United States’ first firing squad execution in 15 years.

Some 46 prisoners have been executed by lethal injection and electrocution in South Carolina since 1985. Brad Sigmon’s execution will be the first by firing squad. Just three inmates — in Utah in 1977, 1996 and 2010 — have faced a firing squad in the U.S. since the death penalty was reinstated in 1976.

Reporters, family members of Sigmon's victims and his lawyer will view the execution inside the same building used for all executions over the past 35 years, although prison officials say the glass separating the witness room from the death chamber is now bulletproof. Sigmon can give a last statement if he wishes.

The crime

Sigmon, 67, is being executed for the 2001 baseball bat killings of his ex-girlfriend’s parents at their home in Greenville County. They were in separate rooms, and Sigmon went back and forth as he beat them to death, investigators said.

He then kidnapped his ex-girlfriend at gunpoint, but she escaped from his car. He shot at her as she ran but missed, according to prosecutors.

In a confession, Sigmon said, “I couldn’t have her. I wasn’t going to let anybody else have her.”

How Friday's execution will unfold

Death row inmates in South Carolina are housed in a building adjacent to the death chamber at the Broad River Correctional Institution in Columbia. Shortly before his execution, Sigmon will be moved to an individual cell closer to where his life will end.

Just before 6 p.m., the warden will ask Gov. Henry McMaster by phone if he is granting clemency and the Attorney General's Office if there any any legal blocks to the execution. If both answers are no, Sigmon will enter the death chamber and the witness room curtain will be opened.

Sigmon can give a last statement. Then he will be strapped to a metal chair that sits on top of a catch basin. The right side of Sigmon's face and body will be toward the witnesses. A hood will be placed on his head. A medical professional will briefly examine him to place a target over his heart, according to state protocols released in 2022.

Fifteen feet (4.6 meters) away will be three state Corrections Department volunteers with rifles. All three will have live ammunition. They will fire from an opening in a wall the witnesses can't see.

A doctor will come out, passing by the state's immobile electric chair, to confirm Sigmon is dead. The witnesses will leave after signing an official document that they witnessed the execution.

When lethal injections take place, a gurney is in the death chamber and behind it is a curtain that blocks the view of the electric chair and the firing squad chair.

The firing squad

Not much is known about the people who will fire the rifles. Prison officials said they have “completed all required training."

A shield law passed in 2023 in part to keep the name of any supplier of lethal injection drugs secret also keeps secret many other details about the firing squad, from what training it received to the names of anyone on the execution team.

A few details came out in court in 2022 during an unrelated trial that ultimately led the state Supreme Court to rule the firing squad, electric chair and lethal injection were all legal and didn't violate the U.S. Constitution's ban on cruel and unusual punishment.

The state will use .308-caliber Winchester 110-grain TAP Urban ammunition often found in police rifles, said Colie Rushton, the director of Security and Emergency Operations at the Corrections Department.

Why that bullet?

The round is designed to break apart as soon as it hits something firm, in this case the prisoner's rib cage. Fragments will spread out and the intent is to destroy as much of the heart as possible.

A medical expert for the state said at the 2022 trial that if the heart is heavily damaged an inmate would lose consciousness almost immediately and likely would not feel pain. The doctor said survivors of gunshots often report first feeling like they were punched and pain only following a few seconds later.

But a doctor testifying for inmates said it would likely take longer for an inmate to lose consciousness and that as anyone who has ever broken a rib knows, breathing becomes extremely painful once the bones in the chest are cracked.

If the aim of the executioners is not true, death could take even longer. Damaged hearts can continue to pump blood.

The information released by the state to the public gives no indication what might happen if an inmate survives the initial shots. At the 2022 trial, witnesses indicated the squad could fire again.

[nullarysources]

Evidence of surgical tumor removal in ancient Egyptian skull is 'milestone in the history of medicine'

Mindy Weisberger for CNN:

Cancer is often regarded as a disease of the modern age. However, medical texts from ancient Egypt indicate that healers of the time were aware of the condition. Now, new evidence from a skull more than 4,000 years old has revealed that ancient Egyptian physicians may have tried to treat certain cancers with surgery.

The skull belonged to a man who was about 30 to 35 years old when he died, and it resides in the Duckworth Laboratory collection at the University of Cambridge in the United Kingdom. Since the mid-19th century, scientists have studied the skull's scarred surface, including multiple lesions thought to represent bone damage from malignant tumors. Archaeologists regard the skull, labeled 236 in the collection, as one of the oldest examples of malignancy in the ancient world, dating back to between 2686 BC and 2345 BC.

But when researchers recently peered more closely at the tumor scars with a digital microscope and micro-computed tomography (CT) scans, they detected signs of cut marks around the tumors, suggesting that sharp metal instruments had been used to remove the growths. The scientists reported the findings Wednesday in the journal Frontiers in Medicine.

…

However, it's unknown whether the healers tried to remove the tumors while the patient was still alive, or if the tumors were removed after death, for analysis, Camarós told CNN.

Even ancient Egyptians agree: fuck a cancer

[mariacallous]

CUT DEEP into the innards of the southern front, Ukraine’s first underground hospital feels like something out of a James Bond movie. State-of-the-art gadgetry begins with admissions. Wounded soldiers arrive directly from the battlefield: in cars, ambulances, quad bikes, or whatever else can carry them. They are assessed and colour-coded into modules by urgency: “red zone” cases for immediate operations, “yellow zone” for other treatment. Alongside an operating theatre, enclosed in steel barrels several metres below ground level, is an intensive care unit. There is a ventilator, and even a laboratory for blood tests. The centre is set up for sophisticated operations: bone repair, soft tissue reconstruction, and even arterial bypass surgery.

In military jargon, this is a “role 2” facility, the second of four treatment tiers from frontline triage to tertiary hospital care. Doctors move people on if they can. Those stable enough are whisked off to “role 3” facilities, approximately 30km away. The rest are treated and stabilised here, a little over 10km from the contact line. The hospital’s immaculately joined wooden beams—chosen over concrete to soften shrapnel in the event of a Russian strike—project a deceptive warmth, like being in a Scandinavian sauna. The drones and glide-bombs that terrorise the skies outside make clear that this is not a place to relax. Ukraine’s medics are here, underground, not by choice. Like the soldiers they treat, they are among the hunted.

Evhen, the underground hospital’s chief medical officer, grunts at any suggestion that Russia might follow the Geneva conventions, which forbid targeting medical units. “They don’t even know what it means,” he says. To the Russian military, doctors are “force multipliers”—they patch up soldiers and send them back to fight, take a long time to train and are hard to replace. Ukraine now tells its medics to remove any markings that might set them apart. “If you put a red cross on a car, you’ll be fired on within 15 minutes.” The goal is still to get wounded soldiers from the frontline to a role 2 treatment unit within an hour, but drones drag out the process, often for hours. The delays often mean life or death; limb or no limb. Leave a tourniquet on for more than a few hours, and tissue damage is irreversible.

Ukraine believes survival on the battlefield is the key to regaining the edge in a war that has become largely attritional. The underground hospitals are a key part of the puzzle, says Roman Kuziv, the 35-year-old doctor who helped design them. A technocratic planner with experience of working as a surgeon in Europe, Dr Kuziv has quickly risen through the Ukrainian ranks: from local hospital chief to medical commander of the entire eastern and southern front. He lets data guide him to new standards and protocols. War pulses through the monitors in front of him. He claims the medical data give him “80% of the picture” about what is happening on the battlefront. Where units are well organised and where they are not. Where morale is good and where it is not. He makes a call to commanders whenever he spots a problem.

Swiping through images on his smartphone—a surreal blend of family photos and flesh wounds—Dr Kuziv reveals the brutal injuries and hard choices his teams face daily. He pulls up a photo of a man with a gaping hole in his upper body, alongside a kidney sliced in two, and a 30cm slab of missile metal that had been lodged deep in his midriff. “Did the man make it?” Remarkably, yes, he did. Another soldier, this time with a deep gash across his back, part of his spine missing, internal organs spilling out. That soldier survived initial surgery in the underground hospital, but died two days later. A third clip shows a soldier in his 30s, convulsing violently as he tries to drink a cup of water. What was up here? “Hydrophobia,” the commander says. “An extreme aversion to water.” In short, the soldier had rabies, caused by a single bite from a cat, and it was too late to save him. The army saw a handful of such cases before culling wild animals in the area.

Almost three years of war have brought Ukraine’s army doctors a mountain of unexpected challenges. Drones have largely rewritten the rulebook on battlefield wounds: the numbers are rocketing, and the attacks are more persistent, more targeted. The “golden hour”—NATO doctrine for evacuating a soldier to proper care within 60 minutes—has become something closer to fiction. Chemical weapons have returned to the field, too, with the re-appearance of agents like chloropicrin, a poison gas first seen in the trenches of the first world war. The gas, used to flush out Ukrainians from their trenches and foxholes, attacks the soft tissues of the respiratory system. At higher doses, it kills.

The demands have seen Ukrainian military medicine develop in quick time. Today’s setup is unrecognisable from seven years ago, when Dr Kuziv first began working with the army. The commander regularly tracks Russian social media to gauge how well he is doing. He’s usually happy with the comparison with Russian front-line medicine. “It’s the second world war over there.” But the demands and need to stay ahead are relentless. The ministry of defence has just approved another 20 of his “role 2” underground hospitals, which are being co-financed by an industrial sponsor. The commander is also working on an overhaul of “role 1” facilities, front-line triage units. According to his futuristic vision, these will be accessible underground by a system of mechanical elevators.

There have been mistakes, thousands who could have been saved. But Russia’s war without limits would test the resources of any military medical service, Dr Kuziv insists. “All-out war gives you one or two months to study and adapt.” NATO countries should be thinking about how they would cope, he says. “Honestly, they are not prepared. They wouldn’t know what’s hit them.”

[m0nsterjuice-art]

I’ve followed you for a long while and enjoy your art but honestly I’m not fully keen on what exactly is different between the original version of hare-brained and now? I only recall you saying directly that you were going to change Springtrap’s history from being mostly like the games to no longer being a child killer, plus some comments on the other twitter account that kind of just seemed more about relatively minute things about their dynamic which didn’t seem like they would change the narrative that much. I kind of feel confused by it honestly, bc even comparing the old posts to the newer ones I still don’t get what’s so different, idk if you’d be willing to clarify the specific differences in your plans and characterization of them before and now.

so a lot of the differences I genuinely just haven't shown yet, either because it's planned with Harebrained or just various comics or other ideas. One day I'll go through a summary of Harebrained's plot, since it'll take a long time to finish

the rewrite I've mentioned is largely regarding the plot of Harebrained being overhauled completely, but the characters have been altered a bit too, Alex got redesigned and they both were rewritten in comparison to their older personalities. Elements were always there, but I retooled them more or less. I'll try to summarize the best I can (Spoilers for Harebrained)

Spring has been written to be less aggressive and domineering. Spring is neurotic, nurturing, patient, and sheepish. He's kinda lame in an endearing way.

The first chapter of Harebrained, he is menacing and threatening, but this is a farce he is putting on for plot reasons and is almost immediately dropped once it's not needed anymore, in favor of his actual temperament. He's not a great and plotting villain, he was a heartbroken sad man who's wife divorced him for being bisexual/looking into the occult/ect, and then lost his child, the one thing left that he cared deeply for. So he took his grief out on parents he deemed 'undeserving', with his own mental gymnastics to justify it, since he needed sacrifices anyways. He's emotional and not as thorough as he was initially written to be. I want him to seem that way, in control of everything and plotting, but in reality he's an anxious wreck of a person who acted on impulse. He likes to bake pies and organize silverware at his core, Alex is more of a punk than he is.

How he functions also changed since, he's essentially a demonic possession now. He performed an arcane ritual to grant himself demonic power (cheating death, being reborn as.. a haunted fursuit), but now he's stuck dealing with the aftermath of it. That's the main thing that was rewritten, the "hows".

Alex's rewrite was much more drastic though imo. Alex is a 35 year old miserable alcoholic with no future, anger problems, and a misanthropic and pessimistic view of life/people. He started transitioning around 2000 and had a hard life, he's not as naive and innocent as he was initially written as. Alex is violent and temperamental, ignorant, emotionally honest/blunt, and a bit of a punk. He has no problem starting a fight and is reckless, brave to a fault. He still likes thrash metal and slasher films but he's written to be older and more world weary. He's no longer playful and innocent with his naivety, but underneath his rugged exterior he has a soft side that Spring brings out, he truly does care for him and will show patience for him if he's being neurotic about something.

He's a no bullshit yin to Spring's sensitive yang. He's red oni to springs blue oni.

Easiest way to describe his change though was how the 2nd chapter of Harebrained was initially written. Before, Alex meekly agreed to Spring's demands and naively follows through, ignorant to what he's actually doing and eventually Spring softens to him. Now, the second chapter is planned to have alex return with the intentions to kill or shut down Spring after what he did to him in the 1st chapter, knowing full well he might get himself killed. Alex would rather die fighting with his pride intact, than to take Spring's bullying/abuse.

I'm happy to clarify anything people are unsure about and I apologize about the various hiatus

[lovelyprincessn64]

Pokemon Day event

🎉 Hello Pokemon trainers new and old, it's that time of year just like every year in the month of the day that Pokemon was born every year trainers and fans celebrate to remember the nostalgic times of growing up with Pokemon however this year I got something special for trainer.

Welcome to the Pokemon request event in this event you can request any nostalgic things about Pokemon including crossovers overall I do hope you enjoy the nostalgic feeling. 🎉

Every generation has a new beginning

2. The ghost of maiden's peak

3. Legends of Arceus

4. Fakemon

5. Hunting shinies (Disclaimer please do not send certain shinies that are too difficult to color.)

6. It's been 3,000 years

7. Heart of Gold

8. Pikachu wedding

9. No you're not the one

10. Trainer OCS / Pokemon OCS

11. Sun and Moon

12. Black or white

13. Types of contests

14. My dream to become a Pokemon Master

15. Sylveon day

16. Choose your starter

17. Happy 10th birthday

18. Goodbye Ash Ketchum

19. Eternal happiness from Ho-oh

20. Blue as Sapphire

21. Soul of silver

22. Pikachu wedding

23. I'll be the best you will see

24. Lonely mimikyu

25. Cute Ash

26. Gamble at game corner

27. Got to catch them all

28. Summoning Lugia

29. Mewtwo Strikes Back

30. Happy birthday Mewtwo

31. Roads of victory

32. N's room

33. Red as Ruby

34. Mystery Dungeon

35. Crystal Onix

36. Pink Island

37. Bye-bye Butterfree!

38. Alola forms

39. Ultra beasts

40. Crystal Beauty

41. Any type of Pokemon prompt

42. Spin-offs

43. Pop stars

44. Possessed Dawn

45. Damn it Rotom

46. Shadow Lugia

47. Gardening with Gardevoir / trainer

48. Training to get stronger

49. Mythical / legendary Pokemon

50. Snapping pictures

51. Flavors of pokepuffs

52. Jelly filled Donuts my favorite

53. Ranger school

54. Don't talk to Hypno

55. Safari Zone

56. Traveling through regions

57. Golden Sudowoodo

58. Pearls with diamonds

59. Malasadas Mania

60. Work at Pokemon cafe

61. Nightmares of Darkrai

62. Old chateau

63. Sundae dress

64. Nurses of joy

65. Trials

66. Mallow's stew / or it could be something else of food of your choice

67. Mew cakes

68. Jirachi summons meteor shower

69. Pokéathlon

70. Waiting for Jirachi's return

71. Team rainbow rocket

72. Muddy Mudkip

73. Hall of Fame

74. Crossovers

75. Poketoons

76. Meet Red at Mount Silver

77. Daycare days

78. Better with Platinum

79. Drawing with Tracy

80. Never ending hunger

81. Berry Harvest

82. I'm so cold

83. Ninja Ethan

84. TMs sucks

85. Popplio Squad

86. Pokemon memes

87. Sword or Shield

88. Fallen Leaf

89. Melody from Meloetta

90. Erie Cemetery

91. Moo moo milk

92. Raticate's death

93. Cubone's sorrow

94. It wears the skull of its mother

95. Scarlet with some violet

96. AUs

97. Indigo disk

98. Detective Pikachu

99. Galar forms

100. Crown tundra

101. Isle of armor

102. We're blasting off again

103. Regigigas

104. Get out

105. Mega Evolutions

106. Lake of Rage

107. Destiny bonds

108. Snorlax in the way

109. McDonald's with Pokemon

110. Avoid black sand

111. Stairs that lead to Arceus

112. Metal hunger

113. Zombie Pokemon

114. Fan games

115. Jackass rivals

116. Two sides of Lillie

117. Narcissistic mother

118. Lava cookies

119. Diglett stampede

120. Darn that Meowth

121. Tea with Treecko

122. Z moves

123. Thinking of a nickname

124. Curse of the nine tails

125. How to cook Pokémon

126. Exploring the burnt Tower

127. Green as Emerald

130. In the flower fields Shaymin awaits

129. Examining fossils

130. Dreaming with Pokémon

131. Pokemon as humans

132. Raichu's pancake delivery service

133. Pikachus vs Teen skull dance competition

134. Destiny Deoxys

135. Virus Groudon

136. Kimono girls

137. Seasons of Deerling or Sawsbucks

138. Jewel of life

139. X & Y

140. Teenage Pokemon series

141. Too cute: Pokemon (Esquirebob)

142. Make a mon out of you

143. Movieunleashers

144. Dr Sylveon

145. Be aware of the side effects of rare candy

146. Out in the Reign

147. Ditto disaster

148. Wild Oranberries

149. Lavender Town

150. Concept Pokemon designs

151. Jigglypuff draws

152. Pokémon 2000 movie

153. Hypno's orphanage

154. Disguise as a Team Rocket grunt

155. Poke parodies

156. Knock offs

157. Pokemon smile

158. Mister donut pokemon

159. Collection of badges

160. Twilight wings

161. Scientifically accurate pokemon

162. Pikachu gets rabies

163. MAD rejected Pokemon / any MAD episodes that has Pokémon

164. Made of dead Pikachu

165. Robot Chicken Pokemon episodes

166. Pokemon fever

167. Dream world

168. Lavender Town

169. Mismagius Rayquaza

170. Pokemon Fusions

171. Addicted to trash

172. Secret base

173. Pokedolls

174. Gigantamax

175. Pika Chew

176. I have a Charizard bitch

177. Eevee evolutions

178. Zubatman

179. You don't have enough money to train me!

180. Rusty (he's from Dorkly fan made Pokemon series called Rusty red)

181. Peanut butter the god of Bidoof

182. Bidoof's Big Stand

183. Pokemon amie

184. Kraft mac and cheese Pokemon

185. Dreams of Cresselia

186. Pokemon products

187. Mochi mayhem

188. Baskin Robbins ice cream pokemon

189. Castelia cones

190. Hogging nuggets

191. Gardevoir goes to the convenience store

192. Elite Four

193. How to train your Dragonite

194. Fairy nightmare

195. Are you a boy or a girl?

196. Help I have turned into a Gengar

197. Curry cook off

198. The Great Pokescape

199. Resort house

200. Something about Pokemon

201. Gardenia and the Old Chateau

202. Corrupted Aquamarine

203. Purple poison

204. Pokemon Park

205. My Dear Friend Electrike

206. Battle Tower

207. Arceus Chronicles

208. Battle Frontier

209. Hex maniac

210. Strange House

211. Forget about the Lunar wing, Stay here with me…

212. Drowsy is a criminal

213. Monster Lusamine

214. Poke flute

215. Distortion world

216. Revisiting Pokémon

217. Build-A-Bear X Pokemon

218. Let's go Pikachu

219. Let's go Eevee

220. Trainer classes/ranks

221. Gimmighoul coins

222. Pikachu with balloons

223. Hotel themed Pokémon

224. Badges

225. Hungry Hungry Hippopotas or Hippowdons

226. Great Canyon

227. Ultra Necrozma

228. Beauty swimmers

229. S.S Anne

230. If May wore blue instead of red

231. Berry juice

232. Shiny leafs

233. Everything blue

234. I thought it was just a regular Apple!?

235. 3 of connoisseurs

236. Poke Cats / Dogs

237. Dragons hate fairies

238. Toughest Scottish girl

239. Poke mart

240. Loyal three

241. Pokemon Center

242. Hoping it hatched shiny

243. Baby Pokemon fight

244. Unlucky bug catcher

245. Creepy Giratina summon

246. Catching bug competition

247. Silver's change of heart

248. Lake Trio

249. Evolving into a beautiful Swanda

250. Musical theater

251. Slowpoke tails

252. Furfrou haircuts

253. Squirtle gang

254. Pokemon Redraws

255. Pokemon Sinners (it's Pokemon fan horror by made Mr. Prinz)

256. It's not always Pikachus and Butterflies

257. Don't Catch Em All

258. Unown

259. Van Gogh style Pokémon

260. Pikachu's surfing waves

261. Poke puff picnic

262. I Choose You

263. Pokemon sweets paradise

264. Don't trust litwick

265. Wally got lucky

266. Battle against Wally

267. Alkadabra Alkazam

268. Failed Mew clones

269. Holiday hijinx / specials

270. Ice cream man Giovanni

271. Bitchy Whitney

272. I choose you to die

273. Going through hoops

274. Can you go with the ferris wheel with me

275. When night falls the Clefairies come out to play

276. Celebi event

277. The Boy that hides behind a mask

278. Poisonous Rockstar

279. Sunken ship

280. Pokemon ships

281. Training session with Lieutenant surge

282. Delta episode

283. Poke blocks

284. Pikachu's Lament

285. Holiday themed Pokemon

286. Artist Smeargle

287. Tapus

288. I'll be worthy in your spotlight

289. The little Primaeina

290. Oceanic operetta

291. You're the worst father I ever had

292. Iris as champion

293. Color swap scenario

294. Loyal 3

295. Scariest monkey I've ever seen

296. Pink glitter vomit

297. Haunted Library

298. She sleeps in her room of Dreams

299. Garden shop

300. Gym leaders

301. Poffins of choice

302. Luxury in a luxury ball

303. What is wrong with you Guzma

304. Officer Jenny

305. Underwater diving

306. Iron Island

307. Forms of Castform

308. Karate ranks

309. Hoping to win a lottery

310. Trying to act tough

311. Pokey hoarder

312. Robot Pikachu

313. Playing at Diglett's cave

314. Torchic eats Fried Chicken

315. Emmet eating cup noodles while his big noodle wants a bite too

316. Electric Yellow

317. Champion Lance week

318. Dressed as their Pokemon

319. Tea party with shiny Geodude

320. Calm mind

321. Food based Pokemon

322. Spooky version of Pokemon

323. Trainers with nation flags

324. You received an egg

325. Oh the egg is hatching

326. Who is your rival?

327. Pokemon Clover Edition

328. Metal princess

329. All grown up Pokemon trainers

330. Fashion show

331. Sky battles

332. Pokemon with a gun / sniper rifle

333. Stupendous cake

334. Descendants of trainers

335. Nerdy Pikachu

336. Kanto side

337. Pokemon Journeys

338. Colonel Sanders plays Pokemon

339. Astronaut trainer of your choice

340. Farfetch knight

341. Burger King with Pokemon

342. Black dress Gardevoir

343. Duchess Pikachu

344. It looks sick

345. At the beach

346. Queen of combees

347. Sailor crew

348. Rockstar Pikachu

349. Some Pokemon just don't like baths

350. Crossovers options of your choice

351. Walking with Pokemon

352. If a flame of it's tail goes out it dies

353. Starter Squad

354. Gladion meets his father for the first time

355. Unfair Trade

356. The Unseen Side of Poké Rangers

357. Pop star Pikachu

358. Ball guy (it's a character that wears a Pokeball with a face acting like a mascot or something from Pokemon sword and shield)

359. The Eevee with many dreams

360. Shadow Pokèmon Redemption

361. Whispering Woods

362. Healer's touch

363. Trapped in a Pokemon body

364. The Silent Siren of the Sea

365. Pokemon University

366. Ghosts of Pokemon past

367. Dances with Whimsicott

368. Japanese city with Pokémon mew flying

369. Chansey's Lullaby

370. Thief in the Safari zone

371. Journey to Jigglypuff's Dreamland

372. Mythical Moon

373. Stolen starters

374. Coping with loss

375. Princess of crystal

376. Companion Forever

377. Heroic Hurdles

378. Elemental Traps

379. Magician's Pokemon

380. Uncharted Territory

381. Capture with care

382. Eternal Floette

383. Ash Greninja

384. Dark Ash

385. Lumiose city

386. Johto side

387. Galarian forms

388. Pokémon Legends Z-A

389. AZ Florges

390. Don't fall for Mindy's scam

391. Project voltage Pokemon x Hatsune Miku

392. Rival Showdown

393. Underwater Expedition

394. The thrill of victory

395. Pikachu's Party Planning

396. Saving the stray

397. Dystopian Pokemon

398. Butt face make farts aButtface McFartsalot

399. Fanarts of mashed pokemon

400. Is this the last Journey?

401. Birthday Zapdos

402. Banana chocolate Umbreon

Disclaimer: Unlike normal requests you can only request of the theme of the name along with the prompts however if it doesn't it just you there are other request events or just send a normal request.

Also feel free to make prompt suggestions to suggest for me to add even on upcoming ones or suggest ideas.

One last thing please read the rules before requesting.

Link to the rules:

[fetznerdeathrecords]

Grima - Nightside

Melodic Atmospheric Black Metal from Siberia

With 10 years of scene experience behind them, the rising stars of Siberian atmospheric black metal, GRIMA, released their sixth album, Nightside, on Napalm Records on February 28, 2025. After several shows across Europe (one of them with up-and-coming German death metal act Kanonenfieber), the band will honor the spirit of the Siberian forest, taiga, with their next chapter.

1. Intro (Cult) 02:00 2. Beyond the Dark Horizon 03:36 3. Flight of the Silver Storm 06:01 4. Skull Gatherers 05:38 5. Impending Death Premonition 06:25 6. The Nightside 07:29 7. Where We Are Lost 06:31 8. Curse of the Void 04:35 9. Mist and Fog 05:09 10. Outro (Memories of a Forgotten Home) 02:03

Release date: February 28th, 2025 via @napalmrecordsofficial

@grimablackmetal

[lecaudal]

My ideas for new waves of STH Lego sets that would focus on new characters

Sol Castle: A castle and tower build with fire elements (50 dollars)

Minifigures: Blaze the Cat, Silver the Hedgehog, Zavok the Yeti

Team Chaotix Battlepack: A jungle tree with a flat canopy (20 dollars)

Minifigures: Vector the Crocodile, Espio the Chameleon, Charmy the Bee, Crabmeat

Team Eggman Battlepack: A platform build with an arm to move Badniks around (20 dollars)

Minifigures: Metal Sonic, Caterkiller, Balkiry, Snail Blaster

Team Dark Battlepack: A bit of smashed road (20 dollars)

Minifigures: Shadow the Hedgehog, Rouge the Bat, 2x G.U.N. Agents

Echidna Temple: A simple temple build with a giant Perfect Chaos figure that the minifigure can sit inside (45 dollars)

Minifigures: Tikal the Echidna and Chaos

Tails' Performance: A stage build with a tower and stairs (30 dollars)

Minifigures: Tails in pink dress, Marine the Raccoon, Cream the Rabbit, Cheese the Chao

Big's Pond: A small pond build with a deck and a buoy (15 dollars)

Minifigures: Big the Cat, Froggy

E-123 Omega Polybag: A buildable Omega figure (5 dollars)

35 years of Sonic the Hedgehog (2026) Midi Scale Death Egg or ARK Colony: A small model of the Death Egg that has an alternate build as the ARK Colony (80 dollars)

Minifigures: Doctor Eggman and Doctor Gerald Robotnik

Exclusive Minifigure: Maria Robotnik

25th anniversary of Sonic Adventure 2 (2026) Finalhazard Showdown: A large model of the final battle scene in SA2 (60 dollars)

Minifigures: Super Sonic and Super Shadow

Exclusive Minifigure: Barry the Quokka

Minifigures Series: Tom Wachowski with Donut Box, Maddie Wachowski with Tails' Tech, Dr Robotnik (Jim Carrey version) with new mustache piece, Agent Stone with goat figure and coffee cup, Mighty the Armadillo, Ray the Flying Squirrel, Fang the Hunter, Merlina with cape and custom staff, Mephiles the Dark with power blasts, Sage the Al with "Let's Go Dad" folded shirt tile, Infinite the Jackal with Phantom Ruby, and Black Doom with alien

[kick-a-long]

My friend puts together end of the year album rankings. I asked him if I could share it here and it’s pretty awesome. Check it out.

Best Albums of 2024

1. MJ Lenderman - Manning Fireworks (A beach house up in Buffalo and a houseboat docked at the himbodome)

2. Rosali - Bite Down (Rosali and Jim Schroeder’s guitar explosions)

3. Waxahatchee - Tigers Blood (my spine’s a rotting 2x4)

4. Advance Base - Horrible Occurences (intruders and ghosts)

5. The Decemberists - As it Ever Was, So it Will Be Again (wait for the reapers to mow)

6. Geordie Greep - The New Sound (jazz rock for creeps)

7. Mount Eerie - Night Palace (winter on a vacation island)

8. Cindy Lee - Jubilee (geocities Twin Peaks)

9. Chelsea Wolf - She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out to She (goth metal trio hop)

10. Foxing - Foxing (Carson MTV, Bizkit NYE, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK)

11. Merce Lemon - Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild (seeds between all my teeth)

12. Jessica Pratt - Here in the Pitch (a decaying lost record)

13. Vampire Weekend - Only God Was Above Us (I Scream Piano)

14. Jack White - No Name (like a White Stripes)

15. The Smile - Wall of Eyes (like a Radiohead)

16. Blood Incantation - Absolute Elsewhere (Prog metal for waking)

17. Adrianne Lenker - Bright Future (sadness as a gift)

18. This is Lorelei - Box for Buddy, Box for Star (all fucked up)

19. Fontaines D.C - Romance (an inhaler for a panic attack)

20. The Lemon Twigs - A Dream Is All I Know (1 in 1000 beach boys imitations sound this good)

21. Glass Beach - Plastic Death (the soundtrack to Metropolis)

22. Beth Gibbons - Lives Outgrown (Portis-folk)

23. Los Campesinos! - All Hell (a psychic wound)

24. Katy Kirby - Blue Raspberry (cancer has entered the chat)

25. The Cure - Songs of a Lost World (a fragile thing)

26. Mannequin Pussy - I Got Heaven (loud bark, soft bite)

27. Hurray for the Riff Raft - The Past is Still Alive (two weeks just to catch the Buffalo)

28. Friko - Where We’ve Been, Where We Go From Here (Bright Eyes-core)

29. Being Dead - EELS (Godzilla Rises)

30. Magdalena Bay - Imaginal Disk (chill wave pop)

31. Father John Misty - Mahashmashana (an accidental dose with a drop of Imagine Dragons)

32. Arab Strap - I’m totally fine with it don’t give a fuck anymore (bliss?)

33. Cloud Nothings - Final Summer (reliable post-hardcore)

34. Cassandra Jenkins - My Light, My Destroyer (Sophisti-Kate Bush)

35. Tyler, the Creator - Chromakopia (intruder noid)

36. Tucker Zimmerman - Dance of Love (the idiot’s maze)

37. Christopher Owens - I Wanna Run Barefoot Through Your Hair (welcome back Chrissybaby)

38. Ben Seratan - Allora (screaming guitars)

39. Fred Thomas - Window in the Rhythm (a guitar left in the rain)

40. Jake Xerxes Fussell - When I’m Called (don’t place your affections on a green growing tree)

41. The Smile - Cutouts (like a Radiohead)

42. Young Jesus - The Fool (shit, I feel like a million bucks. I think I’ll take the bus down to New Orleans. Yeah I think I’ll buy some drugs)

43. Storefront Church - Ink & Oil (Scott Walker-core)

44. Parannoul - Sky Hundred (Korean shoegaze)

45. MGMT - Loss of Life (a bubblegum dog)

46. SUMAC - The Healer (Sludge Metal for sleep)

47. Julia Holter - Something in the Room She Moves (spinning these morning)

48. Haley Heyndrrickx - Seed of a Seed (a garden)

49. Sour Windows - Revival of a Friend (Midwest emo)

50. Dummy - Free Energy (Baggy Madchester)