#Also this was done months ago hi drifter

[jessenitrogen]

GET IT GET IT DONE

[solarpunkani]

Sonic the Hedgehog and Solarpunk Ideals

Alright, it's June 23rd which means not only is it Solarpunk Aesthetic Week, but it's also Sonic the Hedgehog's 32nd birthday. Let's all say Happy Birthday Sonic the Hedgehog.

Overall, that means it's time for me to do something I usually don't do on this blog--talk about Sonic the Hedgehog, one of my favorite series of all times. Specifically, how I feel it embodies Solarpunk at least a little bit. Hopefully you'll see where I'm coming from by the end of this.

Real quick though, special shout out to @modern-solarpunk for being my beta reader 100/10 owe you my life.

Alright let’s make one thing clear. I’m a Sonic nerd. I’ve been a Sonic nerd since at least the 5th grade. Sonic the hedgehog is one of My Things. IDK if I’d call it a hyperfixation, but it’s definitely one of My Things, and it’s been one of My Things longer than gardening or even Solarpunking and all the other stuff y’all know me for has been. I am about to talk y’alls ears off. Buckle up.

With that in mind, I’m not going to pretend that the Sonic franchise is a perfect franchise made by perfect people working under a perfect corporation. Even ignoring the timeline disasters, retconning, and rushed projects (*cough cough Sonic 06 and Sonic Boom cough cough*), Sonic the Hedgehog is made by a corporation in a capitalistic world who has done some… iffy things in the past, present, and likely the future. We are, here, today, strictly talking about two things--the creation of Sonic and the creation of Dr. Eggman. There will be a super special third topic I bring up later, but that's gonna be its own post. I’ll bring up a handful of things from the shows, comics, movies, etc. If I finish writing and editing and posting this whole lengthy diatribe and someone ignores this paragraph and brings up some inane unrelated shit that the Big Corporation Guys did That One Time Months/Years Ago I might snap. Yes, corporations are bad. Yes, I like Sonic. Let’s establish that.

Ok let’s actually get started.

Sonic the Hedgehog the Dude, Tiny Rebellions, and Freedom

Alright, so Sonic the Hedgehog is a series of games, movies, comic books, TV shows--it's a whole thing, it's an entire franchise. The basics of what you need to know here is that a little 3’3” superpowered anthropomorphic blue hedgehog dude and his array of equally-animalian and equally-colorful friends are ruining the robotics-based evil world takeover plans of a 6’1” egg-shaped human dude on the regular. Occasionally, there are other villains, and other storylines, and sometimes the motivations change, but that sentence boils down the Sonic the Hedgehog storyline to its base essentials. 

The Sonic franchise was dreamed up in 1990 when SEGA needed a new mascot to compete with Nintendo’s iconic Mario. Personality-wise, he’s said to have been inspired by “a modern sensibility of wanting to get things done right away, righting wrongs as they presented themselves instead of letting them linger.” As we currently know him, with Sonic “What you see is what you get--just a guy who loves adventure.” He’s a free-spirited drifter who goes with the flow, valuing freedom above all else and wanting nothing more than to live by his own rules and whims rather than bowing to the expectations of others. He loves interacting with the many cultures on his planet (which we mostly see in Sonic Unleashed, but still), trying local dishes with friends frequently. Overall, Sonic is driven by a strong sense of justice and fairness, fighting for the ideal of freedom rather than the name of the law--and he always fights for the underdog. He likes to handle things on his own, but he isn’t above looking to his friends for help when needed--and acknowledges their role in his life and achievements regularly (if he can be a bit smug at times). He appreciates scenic views and nature, with a special fondness for places filled with plants--we see him do this lots in the series--and he hates when people destroy it for their own gain. He doesn’t hate cities, though, and finds they have their own beauty.

So what’s Solarpunk about this? In my eyes, a good bit. If you don’t know what Solarpunk is, it’s described on Wikipedia as ‘a literary and artistic movement that envisions and works towards actualizing a sustainable future interconnected with nature and community.” Aesthetically, I like to describe it as a mix between sci-fi and cottagecore, with a particular leaning towards some steampunk and some cyberpunk elements, but in a brighter, cleaner, more hopeful way. It's important to note, however, that Solarpunk is also a practical and political action mindset--as much as Solarpunks dream of a hopeful future and work to visualize it, we also work to learn the concepts and take the actions needed to make it a reality. I’m not going to sit here and pretend that Sonic is super politically revolutionary, I’m here to talk about how Sonic fits into the aesthetics of Solarpunk.

As such, lets get into the point--I feel like Sonic is pretty Solarpunk, personality-wise. He just fits a lot of the core tenants--wants to right wrongs ASAP, whether they’re his wrongs or wrongs of the past. He values freedom, traveling, and beautiful natural places--a big chunk of Solarpunk is learning to appreciate and protect the natural species around you, and plenty of people have dreamed up nomadic Solarpunk societies. Even Sonic living by his own rules instead of bowing to expectations fits in Solarpunk--A Solarpunk Manifesto states that “the ‘punk’ in Solarpunk is about rebellion, counterculture… and enthusiasm. it is about going in a different direction than the mainstream…” People in the Solarpunk movement care deeply about freedom, justice, fairness, and fixing the broken systems we deal with today--and often start the legwork by forming or taking part in community-based movements and initiatives. We lean onto those around us for strength and courage, to work as a group to think of solutions to problems, whether that be something small like trading DIY patch instructions to bigger things like planning and creating community gardens to even sharing news about unionizing and more. There’s acts a Solarpunk can do alone--like guerrilla gardening, or moss graffiti, or drawing and writing concepts of a brighter future--but we all know we’re at our strongest when we’re not just one, but many. 

But one of my biggest arguments to Sonic being Solarpunk actually centers around his nemesis--Doctor Eggman.

Doctor Eggman as the Antithesis of Solarpunk

After all, it’s pretty hard to talk about how a hero of a series is Solarpunk without discussing the people and forces he fights against, and most of the time that’s Doctor Ivo Robotnik--better known to most as Dr. Eggman. He was developed more or less directly alongside Sonic the hedgehog, and as such the notes about his creation not only influence his character, but the character and vibe of most of the franchise so far. So who is Doctor Eggman?

Doctor Eggman is often described as the World’s Vilest Person--he’s evil, mean, cruel-spirited, and a self-proclaimed genius scientist who only really thinks about what he wants and what he needs to do to get it--getting pleasure in crushing anything that gets in his way. His main goal is to establish his Eggman Empire across the entire planet and build his own version of a utopia, Eggmanland--usually taking the form of a polluted, smog-filled city or a robotic theme park. His plans have varied from excavating natural spaces and turning woodland creatures into robotic slaves (Sonic 1, 2, 3), using doomsday devices to threaten nations and blow up the moon (Sonic Adventure 2), tie down planets for his own purposes (Sonic CD, Sonic Colors), or even using cosmic forces beyond his comprehension to flood metropolises or literally rip the planet apart (Sonic Adventure, Sonic Unleashed). In the comics and some shows, he even takes it a step further--a common theme with him is Roboticization, wherein people are forcibly turned from organic beings into robot slaves. Sometimes its a machine fulfilling this sometimes-irreversible process (Archie Comics, Sonic the Hedgehog Cartoon, Sonic Underground), while other times its an all-consuming virus that grows out of his control and turns almost the entire planet into raving robotic zombies (IDW Sonic Comics issues #12-29). He’s fueled by delusions of grandeur, believing that all of the world’s problems would be solved if he specifically were in charge of everyone all the time and had things his way, and makes robotic inventions and weapons to obtain power. He’s overflowing with self-confidence and pride, highlighting his ‘scientific genius’ whenever he can. He’ll leave temporary allies to rot if it gives him a chance to take all the credit and power for  himself, he looks down on everyone else and sees them as insignificant, only interested in what benefits him. Fairness and community? With Doctor Eggman? Forget it, he’ll steal candy from a baby and then turn it into a robot if given the chance. And even with robotic helpers he makes himself, he quickly gets sick of them--Eggman doesn’t do friends. 

I’d compare him to Elon Musk, but at least Dr. Eggman is actually a genius.

A Solarpunk Manifesto was published in 2019, describing Solarpunk as “A movement in speculative fiction, art, fashion, and activism that seeks to answer and embody the question ‘what does a sustainable civilization look like, and how can we get there?’”. Eggmanland is not how we get there--Doctor Eggman is an embodiment of everything the Solarpunk ideology stands against, and not entirely by accident. Here’s a quote from Yuji Naka, one of the creators of Sonic the Hedgehog.

“Robotnik was created to be the opposite of Sonic, and to be the bad guy. At that time, there was opposition between "developers" and "environmentalists", and Robotnik was created to represent machinery and development.”

He represents it pretty well--his common motifs are imperialism and pollution, and his version of a utopia is often reminiscent of pre-EPA photos of US cities. Sometimes its done to a cartoonish level--but the point still stands. Whenever we catch glimpses of Eggman’s ‘Home Bases,’ whether its Scrap Brain Zone in Sonic 1, Chemical Plant in Sonic 2, Metallic Madness in Sonic CD, or elsewhere, we’re always seeing tons of mechanization, smog, pollution, and death robots.

Solarpunks aren’t opposed to technology--not in the slightest. But I feel its safe to say that any Solarpunk would be opposed to the over-industrialized, hyper-mechanized, pollution-riddled empire hellscape that Eggman would call heaven. (And you know damn well he'd be all over those Boston Dynamic robot dogs if he were real). To me, Eggman represents the grim-dark futures that apocalyptic stories tell us we’re barreling towards--the darker, less sunny side of the already dystopian cyberpunk genre. Solarpunk is the sun that burns away at smoggy futures, the light that reveals what we can have instead, the ideas that lead to actions to secure it. Its hope in a bottle--hope that we can enjoy and add to, a dream that we can help make into a reality. The ideals are chock full of resisting the real-life Eggmans who want to send humanity into a nose-dive of mechanization and energy-burning self-destruction for the sake of short-lived profits and smug ego-trips. 

Is Sonic a strictly Solarpunk series? I wouldn’t necessarily say so. But I think if the themes and terms had existed in 1990, it certainly would have been cited as a bit of an inspiration. Whether the Solarpunk community would have been chill with a corporation citing the term as inspiration is a whole other deal.

Stay tuned for this posts' sequel, where I talk about how I feel my favorite game in the series--Sonic Colors--is Solarpunk.

[skradooshhh]

DRAFT 2

In the frozen expanse by the Arctic Ocean's edge, a secret town lay hidden from the world, where young Caleb, a 13-year-old dreamer, stood as our protagonist. This remote outpost thrived with American government workers, where they toiled in utmost secrecy, forging a bionuclear weapon's destiny. It was a place of frigid isolation, populated by just 39 souls, and Caleb's family had arrived but five months ago, seeking refuge from the unforgiving cold.

The unforgiving winter was tamed by the watchful eyes of the military, who dictated every aspect of their lives. They dared not wander off without permission, and for a 13-year-old like Caleb, the options for friends were scarce. His only solace came in the form of Abel, whose father also toiled within the secretive research facility. But the winds of change blew fiercely in this desolate place, for Abel's family was preparing to depart as his father's job had been automated.

Caleb and Abel, though an unlikely duo, shared a friendship forged in the crucible of their secluded lives. Abel's youthful spirit reveled in archery and dart gun escapades, aiming at birds and squirrels with gusto. Yet, Caleb's heart swayed towards the peaceful harmony of the flora and fauna that thrived despite the harsh environment. His most cherished possession was a soft toy hare, a symbol of his deep connection to the wildlife.

As the day of departure drew near, Abel excitedly shared his dreams of hunting hares for food, mirroring the military personnel's skills. Caleb clutched his soft toy hare, torn between his loyalty to Abel and his love for the gentle creatures of the Arctic.

Add a paragraph that establishes the space and gives a clear idea of what the facility is like

Then write a small para about the job these people we doing there and the impact of it on the world and why it needed to be done in such secrecy.

Also add a paragraph that helps understand how good and wholesome the bond between caleb and Abel was.

The night before the Tasfaye family's departure, the town came alive with laughter and stories, a farewell feast for the departing friends. They celebrated the bonds they'd formed, their shared memories, and the laughter that had echoed through the cold nights.

But the dawn brought reality, and the Tasfaye family was packed and ready to leave. Caleb and Abel stood together, their eyes reflecting the weight of their impending separation. As they embraced for the last time, tears welled up in Caleb's eyes, the realization of his best friend's departure weighing heavily on his young heart. Abel's father tried to console him, weaving dreams of the mainland, filled with fancy foods and tantalizing teriyaki, yet nothing could fill the void left by his dearest friend.

With the Tasfaye family's departure, Caleb was left with the memories of their shared adventures, their whispered secrets, and the unique bond they had formed. In this remote, frozen outpost, life would go on, but the thrill of their friendship

After bidding a teary goodbye to Abel, caleb is heartbroken although he knew this day would come he couldn't really prepare for it.

Caleb goes back home holding his fathers finger looking down on the white snow and spots a snowy hare that reminds him of the soft toy he had with him he leaves his fathers finger and runs to the house to grab the bunny and give it to Abel.

He thinks if he can run fast enough he'll be able to catch up with the tasfaye family. But they have been gone a while now in their snow drifter vehicle

The military commanders are with them

Caleb searchs for the bunny finds it in his bedside and quickly sneaks out from the back window as his father comes rushing to the door of his room searching frantically for him. Caleb is gone.

Caleb then hops down on the ground and realises that Abel might be long gone and in order to get the bunny to him he has to do a brave act of sneaking out of the facility.

Caleb searches for a place to sneak out the top of the barbed net is electrocuted and it's too high for a 13 yr old to climb by his lonesome.

Caleb then runs to the edge of the facility ( his house is already at the edge or at the corner of the facility)

Caleb spots potentially the same bunny there digging into the snow, caleb just stands there looking at it digging by the netting and eventually the sees the bunny sneak past the hole the barbed wire is been cut at the bottom making an easy way through but the hole is a little smalles for someone as small as caleb to sneak into he still takes the risk with a determined face and tries to make his way through the wiring throwing his bunny in the opposite side, he goes in leg first then the body caleb seems stuck after he drags his body past the waist he tries digging up more snow but there's a concrete floor below, caleb in pure desperation hold the net on both sides and tries to push himself through after a lot of trying he finally starts passing through but one of the sharp torn netting cuts him on the forehead nearly missing his eyes. Even in such a scenario bleeding caleb makes a run to see abel he has heard from his father about there being a port nearby which is essentially a glacier right below the Gerald mountain Caleb heads there while dropping blood on his trail.

Caleb makes a run through the thick snow....

[thefirstknife]

As someone who's been talking about Drifter being bi/pan for years, I feel obligated to add all the Drifter lore here because it's fascinating and really funny to boot. It's all listed in this link which is to my post from a year ago (and like 5 months before Bungie made the wallpapers), but here it is again.

Drifter obviously likes women because he had an obvious crush on Orin, as well as tried flirting with Efrideet, and very clearly likes Eris. So that's a done deal.

But he has so many instances of also flirting with men. Love this one where he never specifies gender:

And you know me. I like to keep some folk close—real close. I feel somebody's hand on my throat, I figure they're about to kill me or kiss me.

Personally, I like to keep my options open.

This one is truly something else (I'll keep my HC that this is about Shin):

"Had a face like the end-times and eyes like manna in the desert. One look at him, and I knew I wasn't gonna be saved." —The Drifter

Then his flirting with Zavala?? From Arrivals:

Drifter: Got a visitor...again. Hey, Cue Ball, got some time to kill? Zavala: I was passing by. Drifter: Not checking in on anyone? Zavala: No. Drifter: Someone special? Zavala: Send me your report. Today.

And then in Witch Queen Collector's Edition:

Hey Ikora,

Did you sign off on this? Zavala ordered a search of my ship to get samples of my plants? "There are known similarities between your vessel's infestation and the growths aboard the derelict Glykon Volatus." Tell the big guy that if he wants to get at my garden, he'd better start pounding some Primevals.

Transmat firing,

D

This innuendo is like... I am genuinely surprised that this got past the ratings, if I'm being honest with you. LMAO.

And it's already been mentioned in the tags, but for full explanation, yes, Drifter has very obviously been hooking up with Rahool for access to the Cryptarchy archives. Like, it's straight up in the text. In Ada's lore book when she's requesting access to the archives, Rahool refuses to which Ada tells him that obviously letting people access the archives isn't a problem because he's letting Drifter do so:

Ada scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, I've seen that Drifter perusing this data on a weekly basis for his own amusement."

"That's not— there's no way—" Rahool stammered and blushed. "I assure you, no such breach has occurred."

Stammering and blushing? That's insane. Like, if you saw this in a fanfic, you'd know immediately what it means. Ada has seen Rahool sneaking around and visiting Drifter (she's literally next door to them). Also fits with his obvious thing for Awoken (Orin, Zavala, Rahool).

Since then, there's also been lore of Rahool filing complaints against Drifter in which he refers to him as "Mr. D" (I'm in tears) and this honestly feels like Rahool is mad he got caught by Ada so he's trying to save face, rather than anything else.

But yeah, these little details have been all over the place ever since Drifter was introduced. I didn't even think it was a question whether he's bi/pan and pretty much used these lore tidbits to "claim" him for years. Seeing it confirmed with the flag was really nice, but ultimately not surprising. I'm glad they're being consistent!

Also super glad they're being consistent with Ana. The girlfriend mentioned last season is Camrin Dumuzi, who Ana has been with for years. They're also technically the first LGBT+ kiss, but since it happened in a comic, it doesn't have the same weight as Saint and Osiris. Still:

They're adorable. This also happened when they weren't allowed to put these things into the game, despite wanting to. Who knows if we may have gotten stuff like this in the game sooner if not for the execs blocking it.

Also, they've been so consistent with Ana that's we're told she also had a girlfriend in the Golden Age.

She throws her arms around you, and you taste the sodium laurate in her shampoo and the long-chain fatty acids in the rosehip oil that lingers from her girlfriend's kiss, and it is all so good.

This woman's lesbianism transcends death.

Destiny, despite all it’s drawbacks, had the funniest rep drops in that wallpaper post. This bug alien space terrorist is a lesbian, this time paradox cyborg is gay, Elric of Melnibone girl version is bisexual, unmatched.

To their credit: Saint-14 and Eramis being gay and Mara being bi are things that are very openly established (largely in optional off-screen unlockable stories, or web serials, which I have Some Feelings about, but they've gotten a liiiittle better about making these things more front-facing). Ana had a little bit of dialogue about her girlfriend last season, apparently!

Drifter Pansexual Moment, as far as I know, literally started and ended with that pride month wallpaper of him holding his gay little cocktail. I think it's the funniest thing in the world.

[littleferal]

hi! okay i have so many authors to talk about, and i’m sorry this is so long but i just had to include all of my favourites from this year because it’s been tough and idk what i would have done without them so here it goes!

@letterfromvienna

i discovered her blog a few months ago maybe and i cannot recommend every single piece of her writing enough. however i must specifically mention her ‘cover me’ series and her mand’alor din au. both of these din characterisations are absolutely amazing and just spot on. i’ll never shut up about how much i love her din. i honestly wish i could read her masterlist for the first time again because wow.

@tuskens-mando

i just love eri’s blog so much. it’s an amazing place with a collection wonderful thoughts from both her and her followers and it’s like the best thing ever. it’s such a safe place to talk about your favourite p characters. i’ve honestly gotten so many new headcanons from her blog and i cannot thank her enough for every single post she’s made this year (even if a few did fry my brain lol).

@mourningbirds1

i honestly love every single piece of writing on her blog. i specially have to recommend ‘one three four’. i’ve lost count of how many times i’ve read this to be honest. it’s such a comfort fic for me and i just love how she explores a softer side to javi and how you can tell just how much he really adores the reader. the same goes to ‘a walk in the woods’. i’ve also read this many many times and, again, it’s so soft but also so hot - what more could you ask for?

@softpedropascal

i binged her masterlist earlier on in the year and she fulfils all my frankie needs. with her extensive frankie masterlist, there’s really just something for everyone and it’s another one of those blogs that really just brings me comfort and gets me through those hard days!

@keldabe-kriff

their ‘not my stars’ series has honestly been one of my favourite fics i’ve read all year. i just love how she explores din’s character and shows such a soft side to him. every chapter is just so soft and brings me such comfort. i just love how din always wants to do the right thing in this series. and don’t even get me started on his relationship with the reader’s cat. it’s honestly one of the best things ever. i really cannot wait to see the reader and din’s relationship grow even more.

@mindidjarin

last but definitely not least. this is my absolute bestest friend and she recently just started writing this year. i’m so so proud of her and every piece she posts just never ceases to amaze me. she is another author that gets the characterisation of both din and joel so spot on, just exploring the softness of both of them in such an amazing way. i’m totally biased here because i love mindi so much, but i would definitely recommend her fics ‘morning coffee’ and ‘try something new’. you can thank me later! ;)

——

to all of you: thank you so much for the effort that you put into your fics and for sharing them with us- we all appreciate you so so much. you definitely made our year so much better and made those harder days a little easier <3

hey sweet, thank you for sending in this lovely group of messages 💖

shout out to @letterfromvienna for the Cover Me series (Din Djarin x f!reader)

You’re a drifter from the Outer Rim, accustomed to skipping from planet to planet as you please. ‘Home’ never meant anything to you; you promised yourself you’d never get tied to anyone or anything. Then you cross paths with the Mandalorian in the most unexpected of ways, and neither of you will ever be the same.

AND Mand’alor Din au (King!Din & riduur!reader) found on this masterlist

love to @tuskens-mando for all her spot on headcanons

big love for @mourningbirds1 for One Three Four (Javier Peña x f!reader)

You ask Javier to show you how he masturbates.

AND A Walk In The Woods (Javier Peña x f!reader)

You are walking in the woods when you see a handsome man chopping down a tree.

a shout to go check out everything @softpedropascal writes here

@keldabe-kriff and her Not My Stars series (Din Djarin x f!reader)

An armored stranger shows up at your employer's company picnic, seeming a little lost and out of place. One act of kindness and a chance meeting later, he utters a phrase that upends your world:

"These stars are not my stars."

In what you hope is not the biggest mistake of your life, you offer him a place to stay.

and finally another shout to @mindidjarin for Morning Coffee (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Joel likes the taste of coffee. But he also likes the taste of you.

AND Try Something New (Din Djarin x f!reader)

Din’s first time going down on you. He’s surprisingly good at it.

send some love to your favourite fic writers for new year ✨

(edit: apologies i realised tags in asks werent pinging people so redid this one ^^')

[thefirstknife]

@ceo-of-sloppy-men Reblogging an 8 months year old post where a notorious harasser and asshole of the Destiny community is "calling me out for being toxic" without actually having anything to accuse me of is :/ . I'm replying to it because I got a notif when you reblogged since I'm the OP of that post (clearing that up to not get accused of stalking your blog or something).

I debunked spartanlocke's shitty claims in this post. Curious about how you got to this post, but not surprised you're reblogging something from 8 months ago that's riddled with lies and inaccuracies (given that you've started this drama by lying and refusing to simply take the L and the advice that my friend gave you in a fully transparent approach from his blog). Most of the receipts for Jem are in that post, but there's more and so many people can verify them. Most recently extremely egregious crap she has done is making a police brutality joke and posting it in the main tag. :/

In regards to your explanatory post, it could've been so good if not for the following:

I am very curious to find out whose job is to protect minors in online spaces from predators if not the job of the adults using that space. Protecting minors is literally a job for adults. You're saying that you don't want predators on your blog and that's great. The problem is that language like the above is telling them that your blog is a safe space for them. When you say "minors will look at it anyway and minors are interested in and know what sex is anyway" you're literally signalling to MAPs and predators that their behaviour is okay. And if any minor is following you, you're telling the minor that being predated on is okay. Even if you say "MAPs DNI." Standing by that we shouldn't "tiptoe around certain topics" and that "we can't stop minors from clicking anyway" is giving predators an excuse. I don't know how else to explain this to you.

It takes more than slapping a "DNI" on your blog to make sure gross people won't interact with you. It's an extremely harmful way of thinking, both for you and your followers, especially given that you've said you're under 21 which means you're still very young. Minors do all sorts of stupid shit and it's on adults to teach them how to do better and to protect them from adults that want to harm them. This is a genuine piece of advice from the bottom of my heart and from experience. This line of thinking can be and is exploited by gross people.

I've also seen your additional post since I got a notification for your reblog about deciding to use the nsfw tag from now on. Yes, I am happy and I am glad that you chose to do so. The "nsft" (not safe for tumblr) tag is not blocked on any devices, and I've also been told that "nsfw" tag is not blocked anymore either. I'd use "nsft" just to be safe from potential shadow-blocking, but I think "nsfw" is fine as well. It's up to you.

Not sure what that bit about "fake activism" was about given that you've reblogged a post from my friend with my addition about racist terms for Drifter. Which means that you're aware of how fandoms can be bigoted and bad. This isn't any different.

As far as I'm concerned, the drama is over. I believe you when you say you don't support this. I urge people to also believe you, though I can't demand that people change their minds about being uncomfortable. I don't care if you think I'm a bad annoying person, but I do genuinely care about making sure gross people don't think it's safe on your blog, for your safety. A "DNI" is not going to stop them. I 100% urge all of my followers and you and all of your followers to be careful online. Maybe it sounds like I'm an annoying parent, but gross people are extremely good at weaseling their way into spaces with most vulnerable people.

[ignisnocturnalia]

I think I've figured out how I want to write these (Exposition/mini story, when relationship is established HCs actually start) based on a previous statement I made, also ANOTHER REQUEST! All headcanons are placed at the back of the story part. Let's get this ball rolling!

Crow x Reader

"Now, if he ever flies too far from the nest?" Spider leans forward, "Boom." Your stomach made a flip at the kingpin's explanation, and you've never been more uncomfortable to have your Ghost out in the open. Some part of your mind is saying 'Who cares? That's the man that killed Cayde', but another half is saying 'He has no idea. It isn't fair to judge him for something he can't remember'.

That meeting had happened an hour ago and you couldn't get his dumb gray face out of your head. He looked so.. sad. Regardless, having a Ghost rigged with explosives did not sit right with you at all. Spider wanted you to help him with his Wrathborn problem? Sure, alright. When all of this was over, you knew exactly what you wanted your payment to be.

One large change about the new light that you've found impossible to ignore is diminutive he is. His commentary after successful hunts and small chats after a lure upgrade is administered are curt. Even more surprising is his willingness to present mercy to the corrupted Fallen. He is nothing like Uldren.

Acknowledging this division between his past and present self is when you start to realize that you like working with him. A lot. Probably more than just work, but will you admit it? No. Besides, you tell yourself, he really doesn't look like he's searching for a relationship while figuring himself out.

Petra often asks why you've taken to visiting the Tangled Shore so frequently now, and everytime you scramble to spit out an answer, something stupid like "Spider has a good deal running right now". In some part, it's true, since when you're not hunting Wrathborn you're showing Crow how to do Guardian stuff and explaining Last City life to him. His calm and curious demeanor is extremely cute, and the velvet sound of his voice does not help.

When Spider has both of you run point on a mission you always look to the rafters of the building to try and see him or listen for his steps. He's annoyingly good at stealth. The only time you ever had to be stealthy was in the Gorgon's lair and the Pleasure Gardens. You wish you could speak to him unfiltered; if Spider ever discovered your crush he wouldn't let you hear or see the end of it.

As the months dragged on and you came closer to catching the High Celebrant, you caught yourself anxiously wondering what lie at the end of it all. What if Spider didn't let you take him? And if he did, would Crow stay with you or do his own thing? Greedy little thoughts ran through your head as you thought of all the times you shared together, both of you visibly happy in your eyes.

As much as you'd like to live a runaway life with him and hope he felt the same, you knew it was wrong. He'd get restless, and you'd start fighting. Whatever he chose to do, is what you would let him do. Osiris has taken notice of your feelings, and the knowing glances he gives when no one else is looking sets your face on fire, acting like he doesn't have a thing for Saint always writing those letters when he's on death's doorstep; dramatic is what you say.

Soon enough, all of your close friends can tell you like someone, but they simply can't figure out who. Ironically, the day you work up enough courage to ask him to be your partner is the same day he pins the location of the High Celebrant. The morning is tense, and just getting ready for the big fight is sending energy through your body. Crow, on the other hand, seems much more grim. It makes sense, really; you're the one who's been slaying gods over the years.

You're guard is quickly brought up when Spider summons you for a talk in the main room. You listen to his next words with a fierce intensity.

"Do not let him so close, or spoil him with pretty dreams. Kill the High Celebrant. Break Xivu Arath's hold over my Shore, and you can claim any prise in my lair as your reward. You'll have earned it."

Hiding a smile, you nod and make your way to disembark on your mission; looks like you won't have to ask.

The Dreaming City was as mystical as ever, and you vaguely wondered if Petra had seen you come in. Making quick work of the scarce Hive, you found yourself in Harbinger's Seclude. The massive Cryptolith was impossible to miss, and a full body shiver racked you as you approached it. This was it.

Stabbing the lure into the roots, Crow's voice filled your comm channel.

"Ha! Tagged it! It's bleeding energy and on its way back to you." Your heart jumped at his excited tone. Nobody had any business being that cute. The trademark screech of a Hive portal drowned out all noise, and your next big fight ensued.

The next period of time was spent chasing the Celebrant through realms, until, that is, it sealed the last portal. Osiris had given weak condolences, but you weren't going to give up on Crow. Not today! The blight high above you twinkled teasingly as frustrated tears swam over your eyes as you attempted scrambling up the large Awoken statue, just barely missing the hand and falling back to the ground uselessly.

The silence was becoming overwhelming, deafening, even. Osiris continued to tell you to return to fight another day, but he was too important for you to just leave behind.

"Maybe there's enough Hive magic left in the lure to find another way through!" For once, your Ghost didn't parrot the obvious; you almost wanted to kiss him. Turning around with a new fire, you thrusted your lure into the crystalline floor over the last trace of the High Celebrant's blood. Sure enough, platforms much like those of the Dreadnaught revealed themselves over the edge of the bridge.

You wasted no time, racing over every gap and closing in on the blight. Palpitations overtook your heart when Crow's voice returned to the feed, spewing some kind of death message. Death wouldn't take him. Especially not if you had anything to say about it.

Jumping through the portal, you recognize the bitter feelings of anguish. This is exactly how you felt when Sundance's light washed over the Prison of Elders. Not again.

By the time you see the High Celebrant, all you're seeing is red. Faintly, you remember how Drifter said the Hive in the system were scared of you; good. They should be.

Bullets fly and the ether sings with each corrupted Fallen whose head flies by your gun. If you weren't so pressed for time, you would've strangled the Wizard that had your sought after stolen Light. Standing in the pool of green magic, you turn a furious glare on to the Celebrant and unload your heavy straight into its bony head. Something inside of you lurched in desperation to finish the kill when it summons a portal, trying to make for a retreat and trapping you at the center of the room.

"Crow! The portal!"

"I see it! Now finish it!" Just as he says those words, the trap falls and the portal across the room implodes, sending the High Celebrant to its knees. Your body erupts with power as you descend upon the Hive that killed Sagira and nearly killed Crow, sending it off with your super into the abyss.

Heaving a sigh, your brain finally has a chance to clear with no more present danger. In fact, your chest swells with affection as your Ghost confidently speaks of his trust in Crow followed by his reply.

"It's been an honor, Guardian."

Finally leaving the location, Celebrant head included, you decide to sleep on your short trip back. Your Ghost wakes you up before you land, and when you transmat your eyes immediately fall on Crow, who is safe and sound. Behind your helmet, you smile wearily at the former prince.

The moment you step into the Spider's lair, the air is thick with tension. You can tell the kingpin is pleased to have the Shore cleansed of Hive corruption, but also upset that he has to give up one of his prizes.

"It's done." You say firmly.

"So it is... so it is," he leans forward in his seat with a leer, "All right, Guardian. As promised, you can have a prized bauble from my lair as compensation for your... heroics." The last word rolls off his tongue with a quiet distaste, and you have no problem returning the feeling.

"I want... him." Jerking your head in Crow's direction, you can feel the energy crack through the room.

"Cute. Real funny." Your brows crease in impatience at his dismissive snicker.

"You said anything in the room." You do your best to keep your eyes off of Crow; a distraction now could be bad news. Spider lets out a terrible laugh as his guards step forward, readying their spears.

"Oh... You really want my little bird," he puts an uncomfortable amount of importance on the words "really want", "Fine. You can have him." The large Fallen turns his gaze to Crow, mockingly waving his arm upward.

"Fly away," he looks back down at you, "and get the hell out of my lair."

No further instruction is needed as you and Crow make your leave. As you exit the safehouse, both Glint and your Ghost come out.

"Now what?" Glint looks to Crow for an answer. The reality of the event settles on the Awoken, and he looks at you in a way he hasn't before.

"Why would you do this for us?"

As a formality, you've never taken off your helmet around Crow. He'd never seen, or even had an idea about your face, until... now. The tear streaks from the mission are still on your face, slightly visible in the dim light. Walking over to him, you slowly bring your eyes up to his. He doesn't move away, but you do notice with a flash of hope that a blush is starting to grace his cheeks at your proximity. Clenching your eyes shut, you close the gap between you two and press a kiss to his lips.

He freezes for a moment before placing his hands on your shoulders, and you pull back afraid that you've just made the wrong move.

"I... uh." His eyes dart here and there before settling back on yours. His face straightens out, and then he hesitantly leans forward into your range again. This time, he's the one kissing you.

Both of you leave the Tangled Shore together.

Relationship HCs

He never fails to pick you up during your special brand of greeting, which is running straight at him and jumping into his arms. You even do the little spin around like those movie couples

He's okay with subtle PDA like handholding, but nothing too extreme such as kissing in front of others; he prefers to keep more intimate moments between you and him

Surprisingly eager for cuddles with you at the end of the day

He will let you indulge yourself by doing stupid things every once in a while, like seeing how much whipped cream you can put in his mouth before he can't take anymore

There are times when you just talk about random stuff because he knows you like the sound of his voice

He usually has to calm you down whenever another Guardian stares too long. You see it as a threat, and you're ready to defend your glowing boyfriend with your life

When you're not busy with Vanguard tasks, you're bringing him to the planets that weren't swallowed by the Darkness and showing him the layout, along with whatever endemic life is present

He becomes enamored with Earth's crows, which you had expected

Whenever he has visions of his past, he'll tell you and you do your best to fill in with rudimentary details such as location or time; you hope he never remembers the moment when you had to kill him

You especially love playing with his hair, it's nearly softer than silk and you are intrigued by the white streaks at the front of his cut

Both of you will decide to sit down every once in a while and just touch each other's face; you prefer running your hands along his jawline and cheekbones while he'll brush just under your eyes and along your temples

Dates can range from a quiet, romantic dinner to hunting down large and difficult quarry

Whenever you find a Golden Age waltz piece, you bring it to him and give it a listen; these sessions always end with you two dancing and swaying with each other

Truly, a couple of many talents

NSFW 👁👄👁

The first time you get anywhere close to the act he's so unsure of himself you both stop and instead explore each other at the surface level

No matter how many times he sees you nude his face is a blushing mess everytime

The first few times you take the lead, but once you both get over the fact that you've exchanged pleasantries he's the one who figures out he likes to be dominant in bed

He's vocal to an extent, mostly heavy breathing/moaning and grunts to let you know exactly how good you feel

He's super into bondage (who would've known?) whenever you're the one tying him up

He always prefers the ability to see your face, and whether it's because he can see your face contort in pleasure or because he can lock with you in a heated kiss, you can't tell

His sides are usually ticklish, but they act more like erogenous zones when both of you are deep into it

He starts out rough since he isn't used to this kind of activity at all, but over time he finds a balance between being gentle and absolutely blowing your back out

He's likely to caress your arms and waist the whole time to add another sensitive layer to your already overstimulated body

He also likes draping his body over yours, and with how hot his chest is and the press of his lower body? You're not arguing

Once you finish, he either goes straight to sleep while huddling against you or you convince him to get up so you can shower together

I have 2 asks for Drifter HCs, but I'm implementing a personal/request system so I can keep my monsterfucker train going. The next HCs I'm releasing are for Nokris, then I'll do Drifter HCs, and for now my last personal writing will be for Ghaul

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 2/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

Mulder blinks in surprise at the widow’s sudden dismissal.  He’s overwhelmingly concerned for the welfare of this woman he’s just met and he has no idea what to do about it, but he does know he can’t just leave her here.  

Moments ago he was looking around this house, thinking that it might just crumble around them where they stood.  The place looks to be already abandoned, far worse than when Old Man Goodwin was living here, and he wasn’t much of a housekeeper.  There are no furnishings.  No dishware or pots and pans that he can see.  No lamps.  Not a knick knack or vase of flowers.  She has nothing.  Less than nothing, really, and he finds that to be unbearable.

The only thing Mulder knows about the widow, Katherine, is that she’s well-spoken and has been educated.  Somewhere along the way there has to have been a fall from grace.  Life has handed her a raw deal, that much he can gather, but there’s a spark of determination in her to keep her head above it all.  She’s utterly captivated him and he’ll be damned if he’s going to let anything happen to her.

A wild idea pops into his head and he’s never been one to pass on a whim, wild or not.  His gut tells him what he’s thinking might be crazy, but he’s followed his gut on crazier notions before and he’s learned to trust his instincts.

“Marry me,” he says.

“I’m...sorry?” Katherine asks.  Her right eyebrow lifts into a perfectly peaked arch and he’s never found anything so endearing in his life.

“Hear me out before you object.”

“I’m listening.”

“Do you have a copy of the lease your husband signed?”

“I do.”

“May I see it?”

She hesitates for a moment, but then turns and moves to the back of the room.  She reaches under the bedstead and returns with a tattered bible which she thumbs through and takes out a folded scrap of paper.  He takes it from her, unfolds it, and then reads it.

“This is good,” he says.  “Exactly as I’d hoped.  Your husband signed a five-year lease with an option to purchase at the end of the term.  Do you know if he has a will?”

“None I’m aware of.”

“And there are no children?”

Her lips part on a breath and then she closes them again and swallows before answering.  “I am unable to have children.”

“I see.”  He folds the lease agreement back along the original creases and hands it back to her.  She slips it into the pages of the bible again.  “Well, in the absence of any will, you would be the sole beneficiary.  If we were to marry, I would assume your assets as well as your debts.  I can pay what’s owed and if Mr. Skinner will allow it, make good on the option early.  And you do know that it would also mean that what I own becomes yours as well.”

“I am quite certain you could own this land without marrying me.”

“That’s true I probably could.  But, then where would that leave you?”

“I haven’t quite solved that particular problem yet, but you certainly don’t need to concern yourself with it.”

“Oh, but I do.  Now that I know you, I can’t leave you here.  You’ll be removed from the property soon enough and with no people to come for you or to return to...well, I couldn’t stand by and see that happen.  My conscience would not allow it.”

“I could find work.”

“Out here?  The only spot in town that would hire you is a house of ill-repute.  Unless you plan to walk to Fort Worth, and even then there aren’t a lot of...look, I bet you know how to mend things?  Cook some?  Clean?”

“Of course.”

“I would offer you a job in that respect, but towns are small and people talk.  If I take you on as a single woman to a ranch with six men about, people may think something improper was going on and that would affect business.”

“I’m not your responsibility, Mr. Mulder.”

“All my friends just call me Mulder.  You might not be my responsibility, but I happen to like you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re smart and you’re kind and I enjoy speaking with you.  And I know you don’t deserve to be put out on the street with nowhere to go and no people to turn to.”

She looks down and away from him and he moves his hand out to lift her chin, but thinks better of it and doesn’t touch her.  He knows horses a lot better than he knows people, and hardly knows a thing about women, but she reminds him of a spooked colt and he doesn’t want to overwhelm her and cause her to retreat.  Horses will hurt themselves out of fear, and she just might do the same.

“Think of it as a business arrangement,” he says.  “You will be in charge of the household duties, and if you ever decide you’d like to leave, I will be sure you’ll go with the value of this land in your pocket.”

“Cooking, cleaning, mending,” she mumbles.  “What else might you be expecting?”

“I’m not looking for sport, if that’s what you’re thinking.  I told you, there’s a house in town and If it was sport I was after, there are certainly far cheaper alternatives.  Excuse me for being blunt.”

“No, I appreciate your honesty.”

“You can trust me.”

“I’d like to believe that.”  With her head still lowered, she reaches up and brushes the side of her hand across her eye.  “What if one day you find a woman you actually wish to marry?  Start a family.  What would happen then?”

“You don’t have to worry about that.  I have a singular focus and nothing else matters to me.  But, if you should wish to marry, one day-”

“I won’t,” she says quickly, and firmly, shaking her head down at the floor.  “I do not wish to marry again.  I mean...aside from what you’re proposing.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You would really do all of this for a bit of land?”

“It’s good land.”  He pauses and twists his lips for a moment or two.  “But, as I’ve told you, it’s not just for the land.”

She finally glances up at him, but then quickly looks away again.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asks.

“I believe God has a plan for everyone.”  Her brows furrow.  “But, fate?  Logically, I would have to say no.”

“One of my horses threw a shoe today.  I wasn’t supposed to go into town this morning, and yet I did.  If Faithful Jenny hadn’t thrown that shoe, I wouldn’t have been in town and I wouldn’t have found out about your husband.  If I hadn’t found out about your husband, I wouldn’t have ridden out here.  If I wouldn’t have ridden out here, I wouldn’t have met you.”

“But, if you weren’t away on business, you could have had this land six months ago, as you said.”

“Exactly my point.  If I had purchased this plot six months ago, you never would’ve shown up here.  I think this is meant to be.  I think this is fate.”  

“I don’t know about that, but...may I have a day to think this over?”

“Of course you may.  And please, let me take you away from here.  There are coyotes and bears that are apt to prowl around at night and this door doesn’t look very stable.  Not to mention the drifters that pass through and the Indians that roam about, though they won’t usually do you any harm unless provoked.  Still, I’d feel better if you’d come with me now.”

“Wouldn’t that look improper?” she asks, and her brow quirks again, only this time it feels a little more playful.  

“Yes, Ma’am, it would, if I were to bring you home.  I was planning on setting you up in town.”

“Surely not to the house of ill-repute?”

He smiles, glad that she’s in good enough humor to engage in a bit of banter.  “John Byers and his wife Susannah operate the mercantile in town.  They also have extra room since their boy, Franklin, has gone off to school.  When I tell you that Susannah would be delighted for a lady friend, it might be an understatement.”

“If I leave with you, what if Mr. Skinner shows up?”

“I’ll handle Skinner.”

↭

Leaving with this stranger will not be the most rash thing she’s ever done, but it will be high on the list amongst the impetuous things she has done in her life.  There’s something about him though that calms her insecurities and makes her feel like she can trust him.  Besides, there really doesn’t seem to be any other option except to sit and wait to be evicted.

“Bring with you whatever you might need for a short time,” he tells her.  “We can come back with a cart for anything else.”

But, there is nothing to come back for once she packs her nightgown, her bible, a tin cup, a broken hair comb, and a deerskin blanket into a burlap sack she’s been toting for the last few years.  He looks at the sack and then at her and around the small sod house as if he’s waiting for more possessions to magically present themselves.

“This is everything I have,” she tells him.  

“Alright then.”  He nods and puts his hat back on.

His horse is very fine looking.  Yellow, with a white mane.  It whinnies when it sees him and he scratches it under the chin and rubs its nose.  For a moment, it almost looks as though they’re holding a private conversation, with the horse nodding and whinnying and Mulder whispering softly to it.  The horse scrapes a front hoof into the dirt and Mulder pats it gently on the shoulder.

“This is Blondie,” he says, smiling as he turns to her.  “I was letting her know to be on her best behavior while you’re on her back.  Do you ride?”

“I’ve ridden some when I was younger.  I can walk, though.”

“We have to cross a creek up a bit and you’ll be safer and drier up here.  Don’t worry, she’s nice and gentle.  I’ll lead her.  All you have to worry about is sitting straight and not falling off.”

“And getting up.”  She eyes the stirrups on the saddle and estimates they’re at least as high as her shoulders.

Mulder chuckles and takes the sack from her.  She notes the consideration he takes in placing it down on a patch of grass a few feet away and doesn’t drop it in the dirt.  He comes back very close to the horse’s side and lunges forward a bit and slaps his knee.

“Go on and grab the saddle horn with your left hand and step on up with your left foot.  You may have to lift your skirts a bit to throw your leg on over.”

It takes her three starts to gain the momentum to hoist herself up.  She does what he tells her to though and gathers her skirts up.  She knows she should be embarrassed by the holes in her shoes and that she has no stockings, but she lost the ability to care about such things a long time ago.

“Well done,” he says, and then passes the sack up to her.  “I’m going to adjust these stirrups to fit and we’ll be on our way.”

He works the buckles and straps swiftly and expertly and apologizes for touching her ankle when her foot momentarily gets in the way.  After he’s done, he brings the reins down over the horse’s head and turns it away from the house.  Katherine realizes, once they’re some ways away, that she never even had the thought of turning back for a last look.

He tells her about the potential he sees in the land as they walk.  He tells her about the corral he’d like to put up and how he would like to expand his business of training horses.

“You’re not from here,” she says at one point when he’s lost in his rambling.

“No, I grew up back east.  Massachusetts.”

“How did you come to be so interested in horses?”

“Hand down that sack and hold on tight here, we’ll be crossing the creek and the horse could slip.”

She gives him her burlap bag and holds firm to the horn of the saddle.  He throws the sack over one shoulder and guides the horse towards a small embankment and then tests the footing before they cross.  She’s barely jostled by it.  He stomps his boots once they’re back on dry land and hands the sack back up to her.

“That’s my girl,” he says, patting the horse lightly on the neck.  The horse snorts and its ears twitch.  “That creek was the dividing line of our properties.”

“Perhaps not for long.”

“Hopefully.”

The faint aroma of fire is in the air and she can see a thin curl of grey smoke in the distance.  She sees Mr. Mulder breathe deep and then smile broadly.

“Looks like Melvin has noon dinner on the stove,” he says.  “We’ll eat before we head into town.”

She doesn’t tell him, but she hasn’t eaten for almost three days.  The pump behind the house gave plenty of water, but their food stock was depleted even before her late husband left last Saturday.  She was able to boil some dandelions for a couple of days, but quickly ran out of matchsticks.  Her stomach clenches and her mouth waters at the thought of food.

“So, you want to know how I came by the horse business,” he says.

“Mmhm,” she murmurs.

“When I was five years of age, there was a cholera outbreak in Boston.  My parents, in their wisdom, felt that the city was unsafe for their children and they sent us away to live with my father’s dowager aunt at her country estate.”

“Was that difficult?  Being away from your parents?”

“Not at all, actually.  Auntie was a great lover of the outdoors and of children.  She cared for my sister and I like we were her own, spoiled us as though we were as well.  She gave me a little pony with a little cart for my birthday and that’s where it started, I suppose.”

“What happened when you went back to Boston?”

“Ah, well.  I didn’t.”

“You didn’t?”

“The cholera took my mother.  My father was not as equipped to care for children as Auntie was.  He allowed my aunt to adopt us and then he eventually remarried and I have a younger stepbrother named Jeffrey who I don’t know much about except that he’s probably of the age to start college soon enough.”

“And what about your sister?”

“Her name was Samantha.”

“Was?  Oh.  I’m sorry to have-”

“You do not have to apologize.”  He stops the horse and looks up at her.  “It was a long time ago.  She was eight when she passed on.  Smallpox.  She loved horses even more than I do.  Blondie was actually her horse.  Of course, she was a bitty little filly at the time, but Sam made me promise to take care of her, and I have.  She’s been with me nigh on thirteen years now.”

Katherine doesn’t know what to say to this.  The small smile Mulder gives her after he stroke’s the horse’s cheek is a sad one.  It’s a painful reminder of the grief she also carries that she’s never spoken so freely about.  She’s never spoken about it at all, in fact, and she can’t ever see a time when she will be able to.

The rest of the journey to the ranch is in silence.

[deepdisireslonging]

Chained to the Wall

The Reader and Elias are scheduled to sing together after winning the Intercontinental Title. One problem: Roman Reigns. When he threatens the Reader in more ways than one, she plans a way to retake control.

Pairing: Elias x Reader (Y/N) x Roman Reigns

Warnings/Promises: wrestling violence, SMUT, knife use (not fun), bondage, sub!Reader, dom!Elias, threesome (no M|M), oral (male receiving), implied further SMUT

Word Count: 2395

Note: Happy New Year! In true Lizzi fashion, this was supposed to post half an hour ago. @staff​ still hasn’t fixed that queing function. Anywho, here’s a fic I’ve been working on since 2019. Feedback is always appreciated. Enjoy!

You took a second to breathe. Never in a million years, except only in your wildest dreams, could you have foreseen the moment when you would be standing in the ring. Let alone with the love of your life about to sing in front of several thousand people plus more watching at home. Your next shuddered breath caught Elias’s attention. His brows furrowed with worry.

You smiled and covered your mic. “There’s a lot of people here.”

Elias mirrored your movement and covered his mic. “If you’re not ready…”

“No. I want to sing. I want to sing with you.”

He smiled at you and gave your hand a squeeze. The camera in front of you counted down the seconds until Elias, your partner and Intercontinental Champion, would begin his intro. He moved your hand to his shoulder, ready to play.

“Hello, I am Elias.” He couldn’t help but grin at the returned greeting. “Tonight, I have a very special vocalist joining me tonight. I’ve been trying to introduce their voice to you for months… she finally said yes.”

As the spotlight widened, the arena burst into a deafening cacophony. You beamed openly, knowing full well they would be booing you in a few seconds once the song started. It took more seconds than you were expecting, but you sang above them. Your voice was strong and you felt on top of the world.

Your mic, and Elias’s, and his guitar mic cut out. While you scrambled to check the receiver at your hip, Roman Reign’s music cut through the darkness. Elias kicked his stool out of the way and stood between you and the entrance ramp.

But Roman didn’t come that way.

You were tugged back, and a fist flew past your face to collide with Elias’s chin. When the lights came up, Elias was struggling to his feet and Roman Reigns was standing between you.

Faster than you could blink, Roman’s hand was around your throat. You squeaked in shock and Elias attempted to step forward.

“I wouldn’t if I was you.” Roman ignored the boos that filled the arena with a smile. Behind him, Jey Uso and Paul Heyman stepped into the ring to be further back-up. Not that he needed it. “I don’t have to snap her neck, but it wouldn’t take much to keep her from singing again. Just a slight,” he tightened his grip, “squeeze.” He watched amused as you tried to scratch at his hand. “Claws down, baby girl.” His eyes glinted dangerously at your second of hesitation. His fingers twitched. You dropped your hands down to your sides, holding them flat against your thighs to hide their shaking. Out of mic range, but loud enough so Elias could hear, Roman chuckled. “Always so responsive.” He ignored your glare.

“What do you want Reigns?” Elias was nearly flexed out of his shirt, muscles churning with ready energy.

“I want my title back.”

“That’s not going to happen, Roman.” Despite the momentary tightened grip on your throat, you wheezed out your statement. “And you know it.”

“Ooh. Using my first name. I must be in trouble.” He spun you around to hold your back against his chest. His swell of pride pushed into your shoulder blades at Elias’s thinly veiled rage. The threatening fingers against your skin kept your silent. “I will have my title back. And it’s coming back to me… tonight.” His rumbling chuckle sent a shiver down your spine. You gasped as his grip teasingly jostled you. “In the meantime, I think Y/N can hang out with me.”

“Like hell I will.” You twisted and pushed at his chest with more courage than you felt, not that it had much of an effect. Especially when his grip flashed to the hair on the back of your head, pulling you close.

“Fine.” He gave you a mocking nod. “I don’t think I have to say it, but just in case: do not interfere, Y/N. The consequences could be… showstopping to you or your accompaniment.” He released you.

You ran to stand between him and Elias. Roman chuckled. He gave you a nod, smirking and taking a step back. “I’ll see you both later tonight. My title will be on the line, and by the time the show ends, it’ll be mine again.”

Together, you stepped to lean against the back ropes, giving plenty of room for the Tribal Chief and his court to walk by. You never took your eyes off of Roman. Buzzing electricity pulled at the base of your skull. A plan began to form.

***

The sixty-plus minutes simultaneously dragged and flew by. There were too many things to do, and not enough time to ensure their completion. But each time you checked a clock or your phone, the minutes inched by, keeping you on the razor’s edge.

You brought it with you to the ring.

Roman had made his entrance. Patiently, he waited for Elias. When you showed up instead, wearing a thigh-length skirt and an icy glare, he frowned. You made it all the way into his space before he knew he was in danger. As the knife in your hand pressed against the underside of his jaw, he let out a surprised puff of air.

“You threatened my throat earlier. It’s only right that I return the favor.” Carefully peering around him, you added, “on that note, you also threatened my partner.” He surged forward, stopped only by the blade. “Stay,” you mouthed.

Roman closed his eyes with a growl as the ring bounced. He watched the Titantron on the stage. Elias quickly dispatched Jey and Heyman. They would not be a threat to the night’s title match. You lifted the knife off with a wink. They second you were out of the ring, you caught his eye again and bent the rubber blade in a mocking curve. Roman looked at the canvas to hide his smile. It was hardly the first time you had outsmarted him, but he could plan his vengeance for you later.

As for the match, there were several times you nearly leapt into the ring. Taking away the Big Dog’s back-up had backfired. Roman Reigns had been a champion many times over under his own skill. With Spear after Spear, it looked like he would be again. Elias held up admirably. Until the Guillotine Choke was locked in. Your partner would never tap out. And you would never throw in the towel, or a scarf or gauntlet, for anything. It was up to the referee. He called for the disqualification bell after you finally ran headfirst into the Gorgon Knot of limbs. Elias was knocked free. He sputtered and coughed back into consciousness.

On jelly legs, he met you on the ramp. You shoved the Intercontinental title back into his hands.

“Thank you, Dove.” He kissed the side of your head as you helped him back up the ramp. “I’ll meet you in your dressing room after cleaning up. For your special present.”

“Don’t clean up too much.” Winking at Roman, you returned your partner’s forehead kiss. “I have a feeling that present will just get ourselves dirty again.”

***

With the knocking at your door, you primped your hair in the mirror one last time. “Come in.”

“I thought I told you to stay out of it, baby girl.”

You spun, sliding across the wall before Roman could pin you into a corner. All too soon, he loomed over you. Beating on his chest did nothing. He caught your wrists and fought them above your head. Of course they bumped into the handcuffs you’d prepped for celebrating with Elias. That earlier chill down your spine returned under Roman’s dark grin.

He leaned his forehead against yours. “We’re gonna have fun tonight.”

“Funny. That’s what I was going to tell her.” Elias locked the door behind him, distracting Roman long enough for you to click the cuffs around his wrists. The Drifter hugged you close when you ran to his side. Roman further tangled in the chains, following you and kicking out at Elias. “Well done, Dove.”

“What is this?” Roman snarled.

“An opportunity.” You were bubbling with excitement. Elias tightened his hold around your waist to keep you grounded.

“Did you really think my partner didn’t tell me about your little trysts back in the day?” Leaning his body forward, he brought his cheek level with yours. “I don’t blame you for taking her first. I applaud you. But now she’s with the better man.” He ignored Roman’s struggle with the cuffs. “Here’s the deal: I can let you go and we can have a little rematch, or… we can both enjoy her little… melodies.”

Your mouth dropped open and your eyes drifted shut. Slowly, Elias tilted your head to the side with his nose, running it along your jawline. He maintained eye contact with Roman as he gingerly kissed your pulse-point. Your nails clamped around his wrist, dragging it to your throat. The tiny whimper that escaped your mouth made Roman’s eyes glass over.

A warm hand slid down the front of your body. The other tightened its grip on your throat. Dipping under the waistband of your jeans, Elias shimmied your pants down with your panties, baring you to Roman. At any second, Elias was ready to stop and release his rival. But Roman didn’t say anything. He was watching you. Watching your breath catch in your chest. Eyeing the sheen grow over your skin. Roman knew you were blissed out, and Elias hadn’t even started yet.

When he did start, you almost lost your footing. His fingers, well talented on his guitar, pulled through your slick. The only thing holding you up was the hand on your neck. You clawed at his jeans as sparks tingled through your nerve endings. Between your thighs you were dripping. It was running down your leg.

Roman wanted to lick it up. He settled on licking his lips instead.

Elias released your throat, sending you careening into orgasm. Before you could recover, he ripped off your shirt, and pinned you to the wall next to Roman. Both of your hands fumbled with his belt and his jeans until his cock was able to slide through your slick. He filled you slow and quickly enough to take your breath away. Tossing your head back, you bared your throat for his teeth to drag across your pulse point, reveling in the scratch of his beard on your bare skin. When you dared to open your eyes, Roman was there to fill your vision. His hair was plastered to his forehead. There was something… feral about the way his whole body leaned towards you, held back by only the cuffs on his wrists.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Elias stilled, but toyed with your clit to make you writhe on his length. “Especially when she’s so close to cumming.” To emphasize his point, he thrust roughly. You cried out his name. Roman thrust into the air. Elias worked himself to completion, taking you with him into bliss. Stepping back, he let you fall to the floor.

You landed right in front of Roman.

He couldn’t see. Not really. Not anymore. Only one thing was on his mind, and it was the same in yours.

“Please, baby girl.” Roman panted, licking his bottom lip.

A moment later, you were licking up and down his cock. Kissing the tip. And twisting the measure you couldn’t swallow with short strokes.

The wide, calloused grip of Elias pushed you further onto Roman’s length. The Tribal Chief maintained his glare for a minute. Then his eyes closed and he moaned deep in his throat. You sucked and hollowed your mouth, drinking down his length and humming and begging for a deeper taste. From your spot on your knees, you could just see his face contorted in pleasure. Pleasure that you were causing. You moved more. Faster. Desperate. Behind you, Elias still had his hand on your head, reminding you who had placed you on your knees in the first place.

With a strained roar, Roman was seconds from filling your mouth. When he strained against the cuffs, Elias yanked you off and up to your feet. He tossed you to lean against the spot where he just fucked you. Roman’s lip curled into a snarl. From his pocket, Elias pulled out the handcuff’s key. He stepped into Roman’s face, silently daring him between two options.

Your lovers glared at one another as Elias unlocked the cuffs. They jingled against the wall, empty. A second of silence glittered. Then Roman was on you, kissing you, clawing at you, instead of beating Elias to a pulp. He pounded into you, seeking the release he almost had. You were a vessel, a means to an end. And you were loving every second of it. He steadied himself against the wall, placing his mouth right next to your ear. Your skin rushed with heat to hear his sighs. The moans. And the desperate grunts as he chased your ends. For you were desperate for release too. You could hardly breathe with all the need coursing through you.

When it came, Roman shuddered and stiffened against you, pinning you tightly to the wall. You clamped your thighs around his waist, riding it out.

Elias was there to catch you when Roman rotated to lean against something sturdy. They sandwiched you between them. With your mind still spinning, you couldn’t tell who was behind or in front of you. It didn’t matter. They were both warm, and both had brought you to brilliant heights of delight.

“That went well.”

You hummed into the chest of whoever was holding you.

Roman rumbled above you. “That it did. Though I liked to fuck her until she can’t walk or-”

“I did fuck her that hard. She fell to your feet easy enough, didn’t she? Or didn’t you like her sucking your-“

Grabbing him by the beard, you tugged Elias down for a searing kiss. When you broke apart, he panted and needed a second to collect his thoughts.

“Round two back at the hotel?”

“Only if we really get to share her this time.” Roman arched an eyebrow.

They looked down at you as one.

It was going to be a long, lovely night.

***

***

More Roman Fics:

   Such a Tease (S)

   A Reflection of Us (S)

   Back Hallways (AR, F, S)

   Taste of Terror (S, Horror, Vamp!Roman)

More Elias Fics:

   Chiffon in the Streets, Lace in the Sheets (S)

   Jealous (S)

   Fuck the Demon Away (A, S)

   Full For A Song (S, Challenge Fic, Angel/Demon AU)

***

Masterlist 

Forever Tags: @blondekel77​ @brianaraydean​ @chwehansol98​ @fireflyfunhousetrash​ @laochbaineann @ramblingsofabourbondrinker​ @savmontreal @shieldgirl18 @tinyelfperson​ @writtingrose​ @xladyxfatex​ @gold--gucciempress​

WWE Tags: @1dluver13xx @a-home-for-stray-stories​ @flightofthefantasies​ @livelifewondering​ @mother-forker​ @neversatisfiedgirlfics​ @racheo91​ @roman-reigns-princess​ @scuzmunkie​ @secretagentfangirl​ @wrestlersownmyheart​ @thirst-n-bullshit​ @top-1-percent-blog​

Elias Tags: @mrsbreezango​ @ohnojustimagine ​ @secretagentfangirl @sixdegreesofsamson​ @team-elias​ @wrestlingbabe​

Roman Reigns Tags: @danielle-ferrara @imagination-of-a-fandom-slut @it-is-reigning-men​  @littledeadrottinghood @mybeautiful-worldrrfics @savmontreal @stylesgirluk​ @theangelsfightwithdevils @vanity1385

[the-hopeless-haze]

Somebody Hurt Me Too Deep (Being Alive Ch 14)

Previous Chapter

A/N: I AM BACK omg ok like I’ve been through it in the last month..... yeah. This was of course based on “Being Alive” but also “champagne problems”... thank Taylor Swift for any emotional distress I cause :)

CW: talks of mental illness, brief mentions of past trauma and car accidents

Taglist (thank u all for reading ily): @caked-crusader @thatesqcrush @law-nerd105 @blackeyedangel9805 @moon-river-drifter @the-baby-bookworm @dianilaws @xecq @lv7867 @arabellathorne  @teddybluesclues​ @averyhotchner​ @houseofthirst​

“Carino? I’m home,” Rafael says as he steps through the apartment door, placing his briefcase down on the recliner. It was only 3pm, early for him to be finished with work for the day, but he had been getting out earlier recently to accompany you to physical therapy appointments. You were doing well, at least physically. It had been a long six weeks, but today might be the appointment that cleared you to go back to work full-time and maybe get out from behind the desk a little.

Mentally, though, it was a mixed bag. Some days were easier than others, and that was to be expected, but it was hard to tell the squad you were doing better when you couldn’t even bring yourself to text them back. Still, he pleaded otherwise, said every day was a new day and carried on even if they didn’t believe him.

Today, though, today was the turning point, he could feel it. You were doing so well, and eventually, your brain would have to catch up with your body. So tonight, he booked a reservation at a restaurant… not any restaurant, but the Cuban restaurant he took you to the night you asked him out and he barely used your first name and he swore he hated you with nearly every fiber of his being.

Right. As if he hated you even then.

You’re in a good mood, albeit not as elated as he hoped, but the physical therapist approves you for work but to “take it easy” and you’re laughing at his wry remarks and squeezing his hand in the back of the taxi on the way to the restaurant. His nerves almost dissipate, but they don’t. And maybe that should’ve been his first sign that tonight was not going to go as planned.

Rafael was never a superstitious man, but you order the same dish you ordered the first time he took you out, and he can’t help but think this is a sign to push forward.

“Oh, fuck it,” Rafael murmurs, a surge of anxiety overcoming him. “I was going to wait until after dinner… but…. I have something I want to ask you.”

And just like that, your face falls, but Rafael can barely take that in, he just keeps talking, his mouth moving faster than the neurons in his brain that tell him to stop, now isn’t a good time.

“I love you so much, (y/n), and I know these past few months have been so hard, and this isn’t the way either of us have wanted this year to start, but… we got through it together. I never thought I’d be in a position in my life, with someone who I love… that I’d be willing to do this, but… (Y/n)... will you marry me?”

You don’t say anything for a few seconds, but it feels like hours, days, months. “Can you get up off the floor, Rafael? You’re embarrassing us,” you finally say hollowly, and it’s true, the whole restaurant is stopped in their tracks staring at the two of you. Rafael couldn’t possibly care less, though, he couldn’t comprehend anything that was going on - he was just thinking “well, she hasn’t said no…” and then you’re getting up, throwing your napkin on the table, shaking your head, saying “I can’t do this.”

Rafael gains some of his senses back, enough to follow you outside into the tempering late February air. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, Rafael, I don't,” you say stiffly without turning around to face him. “I’ll get my stuff in the morning. I need to be alone right now.”

“I just… I didn’t know you weren’t happy,” Rafael says, his voice breaking, and that gives you enough impetus to turn around.

“You didn’t know I wasn’t happy? Goddamn, Rafael, do you even live with me? I’ve been unhappy for months.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you know?”

“Jesus, (y/n), maybe because I’m not a fucking mind reader?”

“Right. You honestly thought we were in a good enough place to propose tonight?”

“Obviously! Or I wouldn’t have done it!” he snaps. “You honestly think we’re in a bad enough place that you couldn’t say yes?”

“Obviously! Or I would have done it!” you throw his words back at him, and god do they sting.

“You never told me anything. You just withdrew.”

“Yeah. Maybe that should’ve been a sign. Look. I’m moving back home. I was going to tell you tonight.”

“What? Is that all it was? (Y/n), if you want to move back, I could work something out--”

“No. No, you can’t, Rafael. You’ve never been able to work anything out in your life because you’re too scared to! You just operate on fear - and this is no exception. You thought I was going to die six weeks ago and that’s the only reason you’ve been acting this way, and I’ve been slipping away recently and you’ve just been trying to consistently deny it so you just get on one knee and think that’s going to solve everything, think that’s going to make me stay. That’s not how it works! I’m not happy. I need to go home.”

“Oh no. You know what it is? You’re afraid. Don’t try to put this on me. You’re the one who’s walking away. You’re the one who’s running back home.”

“Fuck you, Rafael. Your family is all here. Mine isn’t. My brother’s getting a job for the first time, my mom just got on disability, I miss my dad… I’ve spent too long here. I’ve spent too long with you.”

“What happened? What the fuck happened?”

“What the fuck happened every other time, Rafael? You’ve gone through this plenty of times before.”

Rafael scoffs, shakes his head, leans against the outside of the restaurant. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m fucking sick, Rafael!” you’re screaming now, your cheeks turning red, your eyes leaking angry tears. “All this time, since the accident, I’ve been fucking drowning and you didn’t even notice!”

“Sick?”

“Depressed, Rafael. Anxious. Liv wanted me screened before I came back and the therapist said so. AGain. For the fucking umpteenth time in my life. But this time, I thought I had someone who cared--”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know if you didn’t tell me?”

“Couldn’t you see?”

Rafael shakes his head slowly, but now it comes back to him, all these subtle signs, the days you wouldn’t make it out of bed until 3 pm, all the days and nights you spent staring listlessly at the walls, the inability of anything he said or did to make you feel better. But it came and went, and Rafael just took it as you being upset sometimes at the limitations placed on you by your injured leg. Never did he think there was something more serious going on. Or maybe he just didn’t want to think that, and he ignored every signal.

“I’m sorry, (y/n),” he whispers, but he knows that’s too little, too late. Both of you were at fault - that was clear to him now - but was it clear to you? “I really didn’t know.”

“Evidently,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest.

“But you can get help. We can work this out.”

“I just… Rafael. I’m not ready. You of all people should have some sympathy for that.”

Ouch. You were going for the jugular now, hurting him where only you could, rejecting his proposal, leaving him crestfallen on one knee in the middle of a restaurant, but somehow your words hurt worse. Anyone could reject a proposal. Only you could psychoanalyze him and hurl the worst remarks his way, things no one else would be able to come up with.

“Then okay,” he sighs. “We won’t get married yet, or ever, if that’s what you want. But you really want to throw this away entirely?”

“I don’t know, Rafael. I don’t. Look, I’m sorry too. I just… I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Do you think… do you think maybe--”

“I don’t know,” you say firmly. “I don’t even know if I really want to go back home. I just know I don’t want to live like this anymore, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“But it isn’t going to drop. I just fucking proposed. I’m in this for the long haul. And fuck it, if you want to go back home, I’ll work it out.”

“This fake optimism isn’t you.”

“This lack of optimism entirely isn’t you! What happened to the woman who got through some of the worst shit imaginable and landed on her own two feet? You got into a car accident, (y/n). You lived! You should be thankful, not sitting here sulking like your world’s gone to shit.” Again, his mouth moves too fast to register the look on your face as it falls, and tears start to stream down your face. He can’t stop but push it further, hurt you in retaliation.

“Seriously, Rafael, how insensitive can you be? I tell you I’m struggling and you invalidate my feelings? Fuck off.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“Why’d you say it then? You know what, I’m done. Goodbye, Rafael.”

“But--”

“No. Give me space. You owe me that.”

He does. And god, it hurts to watch you walk away, his abuelita’s ring burning a hole in his pocket when it should be on your finger. But maybe.... maybe this isn't the end. Maybe all you need is space.

Maybe Rafael's wishing on a pipe dream. He doesn't know anymore. All he knows is the sting of this pain.

-----

You walk alone in the dark, your leg still aching slightly, and you just feel like utter shit. You can’t remember ever feeling quite this low, but you can’t remember feeling rage like this, either. No one’s hurt you like Rafael.

But that’s because you loved him enough to let him.

You still love him even now, but spending day in and day out with him coddling you, you couldn’t handle it. And maybe you should’ve acted like an adult and told him and stopped pretending everything was fine when you knew it wasn’t. If only you weren’t so fucked in the head, right? Just how it always went, your life, cycles of feeling fine and cycles of feeling like you’re scraping at the bottom of a barrel for a will to go on. And yeah, sometimes even you would question why you were taking this so hard - so what, it’s a car accident, you were lucky to have lived - but Rafael didn’t understand and you didn’t know how to make him. How were you going to get in a passengers seat again without having a panic attack? Would your leg ever fully heal? You’d wasted six weeks staring at the walls of Rafael’s apartment, doing menial paperwork for Olivia that anyone could have done. How could you not feel entirely worthless? And then for Rafael to make it seem like you were overexaggerating like you should just get over this… you hated him.

But you didn’t, really. You know deep down he’s just angry the night didn’t go the way he wanted it to, with you promising to be his for the rest of your life. Still, rage is a truth serum of sorts, like cheap wine, and it makes you wonder how deep that resentment runs. How could he not notice you were upset, though? That’s a hell of a blind eye to turn.

At least back home you had Ben if nothing else.

But here, you had everything else. The squad, your career, Rafael… You couldn’t even begin to think about marriage right now - Lord knows Rafael isn’t ready either - but did you really want to throw in the towel? How do couples move past a rejected proposal, though? Hadn’t you hurt him deeper than anyone else could have? And would he ever figure out how to propose again?

Maybe to someone else, you think, someone who didn’t have all these fucking issues.

Before you know it, you have a cigarette in your mouth and a lighter in hand and you’re leaning against the side of a convenience store, watching girls walk by in stilettos hanging on to their men or giggling with their group of friends, the taxis blurring past. Then you realize you broke the first promise you made to Rafael: you bought cigarettes in New York.

Had he really wanted to collect on that promise? It wasn’t like you were addicted, it was just a stupid habit you started in high school to take the edge off, but you supposed some people had the inclination to start and never stop, but you always could when you wanted to.

Your vice wasn’t cigarettes, no, it was love. You gave all you could to whoever would take it because you were so used to people wanting nothing to do with you since you isolated yourself due to your past trauma. Once you got to college, you refused to hide in the background, and you took chances you weren’t used to taking and loved in color, you loved until it made you blue when the boys would cheat or your so-called friends would find different cliques.

You were still like that, albeit in so much a desperate way, and you had been loved in return, now, not just by Rafael but by the squad too - even if you had your squabbles. You loved them to death and back.

But friends were easier to keep than lovers.

Maybe it is scary to think Rafael was going to be the end. That he’d be the last man you ever kissed in love or passion. That you’d be the last woman standing in his long list of ex-lovers - the only one who didn’t get crossed off.

How do you love someone that much? You always said you wanted that, but the thought always terrified you anyway, and maybe it’s why you did push people away when they felt too close because you felt like you didn’t deserve it, like you were still atoning for some sin you didn’t remember committing but you still feel guilty for all the same. You wonder if Rafael feels just as guilty.

You inhale the smoke, feeling the familiar, carcinogenic burn in your throat, causing yourself pain to cause Rafael pain only to cause you pain in return; an endless cycle of hurt.

With ambivalence, you put your cigarette out and hail a cab, and tell him to drive you to your apartment which you haven’t seen in weeks. There’s dust on every surface, it’s freezing as hell, and you don’t know how you’re going to sleep tonight, alone, so you light up another cigarette, sitting solitary with your nerves running haywire underneath your skin. What the hell were you going to do now?

[frozen-hearts-club]

The blue moon part 2

This story will have graphic murder scenes.

It had been a week since Davids investigation started. The girl was considered a Jane Doe for now. The DNA from the bite marks was not in their database. There was plenty of evidence all over her but no one to match it to.

David sat at his desk blinking hard at the photos of the crime scene sitting before him. The police station had Jane Does picture all over the news paper all over the television . Nothing important ever happened in Conyers. The girls missing case before this one had been the first thing to happen there in years.

David had let himself sink into this case. At night he would close his eyes and see the young girls body Twisted and bit up. The look in her eyes never leaving his mind.

David arrived at work the next morning early. His boss was on everyone's case about the dead girl. The hole town was flooding the police station with questions they did not have the answers to. Random calls would come in saying they knew the girl or that they had seen her that same day. But all was dead ends. Even her DNA was not in the system and nobody was coming forward to claim her.

Later that evening David and the other officers set off to search the woods for more missing evidence. David walked along the side of the rushing waters that ran down the side of the small hills. Until he came across a set of boot prints leading into the woods. David followed them deeper and deeper untill there was no more prints. It was like that had just disappeared.

That's when he looked up. He saw a run down looking deer stand. It looked like it had been abandoned for years. David blinked hard a few times looking at make shift ladder going up the tree. He slowly starting to climb up. The wood underneath him began to creek. Inside the stand was dusty. Old spider webs covered the walls and a small hole was in the roof.

He saw tally marks carved into side of the wall. He counted each one. There was 20 all together. David figured it was the amount of Deer kills the hunter had gotten. Under the tally marks there was initials carved into the wall. R.L. David didn't think much of the stand since no one had been up there for years. But little did he know someone was watching him from far away through binoculars.

Another week went by. There was literally no leads at all. Nobody ever come to claim the young womans body. David had almost felt sorry that the office was just going to cremate her and put her ashes on one of there shelves in the basement. But it had ran cold there was nothing to go on.

More time went on. The towns people stopped talking about the young girl. Everyone was starting to get comfortable again with going back out. They was certain that it was just a drifter who committed the awful murder. It had been 3 months now.

David sat in his back yard he had a small bond fire going. He was laying back in a chair enjoying his drink looking up at the hills that ran though Conyers. The moon was full and beautiful. The light from it alone lit up his back yard. The moon light shined bright against the snow. It was so peaceful. David sucked in a deep breath his fire had went out completely now so he decided it was time to head to bed

***DING***

David woke up to his loud cell phone going off way to early in the morning. He answered the phone very irritatedly.

"Loki here"

It was Davids boss

"" David you have to get down to the creek. Some hunters discovered another body.""

David jumped from his bed. His mind starting to cloud over with confusion and anger. How could this be happening again!? Everyone believed it just a drifter. There was no way that someone could have done that again.

David arrived at the top of the hill where the creek was.The same loud rushing waters filling his ears back up. The same exact spot. David could not believe his eyes. There lay another young woman horribly twisted with her neck broken just like the first one. The young girl had medium length bright red hair. Her big blue eyes screamed death. She also had deep bit marks all over her naked body. Her feet was the same as Jane Does. Cut up and muddy. David knelt down beside the young girl she had to be around the same age as the other one. David opened her hand slowly to see a number 2 burned into hand.

This was it David knew then that this was not going to end well at all. Conyers had it's very own serial killer.

David was in the interrogation room with the hunters who found the young girl. Both of them looked to be the same age. They definitely did not have a hunting's license. Both boys was under age, 16 and 17. The two brothers has hunted squirrels and raccoons in the woods since they were younger with their father.

""Why were you there? How long have you been hunting the areas? Did you see anyone else? Did you know her?

David loaded up the the boys with same questions over and over again for hours. By the time he was done they were crying ready to go home. David knew if they had known anything they would have broke a long time ago. They had no helpful information at all.

David was again at a stand still. He and other officers did the same as before. They walked the hills they looked and nothing was to be found.

David growing more frustrated as the day went on. He slowly made his way down to the morgue. He wanted to take another look at the young womans body.

There she was but cleaner this time. The workers had did the best they could on cleaning her up. Her hair glowed bright under the fluorescent lights. They had no news for him either only the fact that it's the same DNA just no one to match it to.

as the days went on the new young woman's picture was in the news on the television. This time the townspeople were a lot More scared than before. News reporters different people from town all circled outside the police station. So many questions and no answers at all to give these people. Everyone was growing frustrated everyone was scared.

David had a feeling that both girls having red hair was something definitely in common. He figured the killer must have a thing for redheads.

David didn't know just how deep this case would truly go

[changingourdestiny]

Season of the Hunt Finale: A True Hunter

Summary:

It’s finally over. The Celebrant is defeated. Spider no longer has a hold on Crow. The only left question is now what?

Previous Part: Here

Spider let out a small growl as he heard the laughter of the four Guardians outside the lair. He muttered a curse in Eliksni as he sat back in his chair.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Spider’s attention snapped to his left as Marcia decloaked, leaning against a pile of crates that were stacked against the wall. The guards went to raise their spears, but Spider raised a hand, stopping them. “What do you want, Marcia?” Spider growled, “I’m not in the mood for your ‘antics’.”

“I’ll say.” Marcia chuckled, “I just snuck in to see the end result of Paralight’s one-on-one with the Celebrant. Y’know, you always talk about how Drifter and I can’t seem to keep our mouths shut…and yet it was your big mouth that got your ‘little bird’ taken away. “Anything in the lair.” Honestly, how did you think that would end?”

Spider narrowed his eyes at Marcia as she stood up straight, “But if you want me to be honest here…I came here to give you a titbit of advice.”

“And that is…?”

Marcia’s expression turned serious, “Don’t underestimate Rae. She ain’t the same Guardian that walked in here two years ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well first off, she seems to be taking my advice. She’s started making her own rules and is starting to find things out for herself instead of taking the Vanguard’s word for granted. She’s beginning to think for herself. Secondly, and honestly more seriously, she’s got a new trick now.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of Stasis.” Spider replied dismissively.

“Not Stasis.”

Spider seemed intrigued as Marcia continued, “She calls it Darknebula. And from what I can tell, it works in the opposite way to Starlight.”

“Explain.”

“Starlight is triggered by the desire to protect and preserve life. Darknebula works in the opposite way: it’s triggered by the desire to kill and destroy it.” Marcia explained, “Basically, if someone was to, oh I don’t know…maybe anger her to the point of her wanting to completely annihilate them – whether she realises it or not – she becomes a feral killing machine that doesn’t stop until the source of that desire is dead. This is a warning, Spider. If she’s done following the Vanguard’s rules and you push her too far, it’s game over for you. I’ve seen that form first-hand when she was up against Eramis. Now the kell of Salvation is an ice sculpture on Europa.”

Spider just hmphed in response, “If she kills me, she loses her best ally on the Shore.”

Marcia laughed, “Oho, really? I look forward to seeing you try to tell that to a feral, acting-on-instinct Rae who has lost all sense of logic and reasoning. Hell, I’ll be impressed if you get more than a word out!” Marcia began to walk out, “Like I said, just a lil’ bit of advice for ya. Take it if ya want. See ya!”

Spider grumbled as he leaned back in his chair, watching the rogue leave.

“I hate that Hunter…”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been a few weeks since the High Celebrants defeat. Spider had sent an engineer to remove the explosives from Glint’s shell, officially ending his hold on Crow and his Ghost. However, there were still remaining Wrathborns lurking in the Shore and the Dreaming City, so Crow had remained in the lair to aid Paralight in wiping them out. The last of them had finally been wiped out and the cryptoliths had begun to decay without the Celebrant maintaining them. The hunt had finally come to a close.

Crow leaned on his workbench, deep in thought, but was pulled out by his vision suddenly going dark as two hands covered his eyes from behind.

“Guess who!”

“Rae?” Crow guessed with a smirk, “No, wait. It’s Marcia!”

“I don’t smell that bad!”

“Ha! I know it’s you, Blaze.”

Blaze removed her hands from Crow’s eyes and plopped her head on his shoulder, “Yup!” Crow poked Blaze’s forehead, “Bang.”

“Gah! Crow has killed the Celebrant! Curse you, Guardiaaaaans!” Blaze dramatically sunk to the floor while Crow laughed at her performance before motioning to her armour, “New look?”

Blaze’s usual blue and gold armour had been swapped for red and gold armour, a bit similar to her very first set. Her cloak, gloves and skirt looked like fiery feathers with her boots matching the upper half of her armour. “Yeah. I’d been sticking with blue and gold for a while now.” Blaze replied, “Figured I should switch it up a little.”

“It suits you.” Crow smiled. “Thanks.” Blaze grinned, a small blush appearing on her face, as the two leaned against the table with a sigh. “I suppose this is it.” Crow said with a sense of finality, “Time to say goodbye to the Reef. To the only home I've ever known.”

“Yeah…” Blaze sighed, “It’s weird. It’s been three months, but it feels like only a few days ago we met on the moon. Now it’s over.” The two stood in comfortable silence for a moment before Blaze spoke up again, “So what are you going to do now?”

“I’ve given it some thought.” Crow replied, “Osiris actually came by earlier and we talked for a while about my plans for the future. I told him I'd considered exploring somewhere remote, like Venus, but he suggested a different course."

“What’s that?”

Crow held his head up high, “I’m coming to the Tower.”

Blaze’s eyes widened as she stood up straight, “F-for real?”

Crow nodded with a smile, “People may judge the man I was, but I refuse to cower in the shadow of his legacy. I'm a Guardian. I need to act like one. I also talked to Rae about it. She suggested joining a Fireteam and…I’ve decided to join Paralight.”

Blaze’s eyes lit up at this before lunging at Crow, wrapping her arms around him as she let out a squeal of delight. Crow stumbled back a bit before steadying himself, letting out a chuckle as he returned the hug. “That’s great! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

“I know I won’t. I’m still a bit anxious about showing my face in the Tower, but I think I’ll be okay with you and the others.” Crow cupped Blaze’s cheek and gave her a brief kiss before touching his forehead to hers, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Crow.”

 The two pulled away upon hearing footsteps approach the workshop. A moment later, Rae and Adam entered wearing new armour of their own. Rae had cut her hair, so it looked similar to her Kinderguardian hairstyle. She now wore pink, purple and blue robes with the Stasis symbol on the skirt and metal, layered shoulder pads. She also wore a black and white bond that had a spade projection. Adam wore armour that was several shades of white and blue with a white furry collar. “Looks like you’re not the only one with a new look.” Crow noted as the two Guardians entered. “Yeah.” Rae laughed, rubbing the back of her neck, “I figured since I’m the Stasis Vanguard now, I should look like it.”

Crow turned to Adam, “And you?”

“Everyone was getting new looks, and I didn’t want to feel left out.” Adam shrugged. “Suuuure. It TOTALLY isn’t to impress a certain Awoken in the Dreaming City or anything.” Blaze chuckled. “Hardy har.” Adam rolled his eyes. Rae laughed at the two’s banter before turning to Crow, “So, you ready to go?”

“Almost. Osiris wanted to meet me before I arrive.” Crow replied, “Said he had something to give me.”

Rae nodded in understanding, “We’ll meet you in the Tower courtyard then. See you starside, Guardian.”

“See you starside.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you think Osiris wanted to give Crow?”

Rae stood in the courtyard with her Fireteam and the rest of the Vanguard. “If I had to make a guess…” Ikora gave a small smirk, “A lengthy lecture on the importance of being a Guardian.”

“That tracks!” Rae giggled. “Ikora had to get it from somewhere!” Cayde added, earning a laugh from Blaze. Ikora glared at Cayde and Blaze, who ducked behind Adam for protection from any potential incoming nova bombs.

“Oh helvete nej! I am not being your meat shield!” Adam walked away from the cowering Hunters.

“H-hey! What happened to Titans protecting others?” Cayde stammered.

“Not from angry Ikoras! I doubt even Shaxx would stand in the way of Ikora when she’s angry.”

“VERY TRUE!!” Shaxx yelled from the other side of the courtyard.

As the group continued their banter, Blaze noticed a figure emerge from the hangar entrance walking towards them. There was Crow, now wearing a short black and white cloak with a white crow displayed on it. Under it, his usual black scale-like armour was now white along with matching boots and now wore grey trousers. “How do I look?” Crow asked as he approached Blaze. “Like a true Hunter.” She smiled. Zavala stepped forward, “Welcome to the Tower, Guardian.”

“Thank you. I won’t let you down.” Crow nodded.

“Well before we do anything…” Cayde began, a serious tone to his voice, “There’s one important thing we need to do.”

“True, true.” Blaze agreed. “W-what? What’s wrong?” Crow asked, glancing between the two Hunters with concern.

“…INITIATION!!!” Cayde and Blaze yelled in unison as they both grabbed the arms of a very confused Crow and began leading him towards Tower’s Spicy Ramen. “We better go make sure they don’t cause trouble.” Rae chuckled. “I feel like that’s always a given when it comes to those two.” Ikora replied as she began walking back to her post.

 The rest of the evening was spent at Spicy Ramen, celebrating Crow joining the ranks of the Guardians. Crow still thought the noodles looked like worms but eventually gave in after some peer pressure from Blaze and Cayde and ended up enjoying it. They shared stories of their own embarrassing Kinderguardian moments, from Cayde falling off a cliff moments after his first revival to Paralight getting caught in a Benny Hills-style case with two minotaurs and a flock of harpies on Venus after running out of ammo while their Ghosts continued their scan. They also told stories of their greatest victories such as Adam’s infamous swordfight with Crota after Rae and Blaze were downed. Blaze and Crow joined in by telling them about how they both fended off Savathûn’s forces while trying to restore Hawkmoon. Slowly, Crow felt the anxiety of arriving at the Tower wash away. He knew there would still be Guardians who would hate him for his past self’s mistakes, despite what the Vanguard would say to them. He knew of the possible dangers awaiting him with the Darkness looming throughout the system. He knew of the certain chaos running with this trio of misfits would bring. But right now, he didn’t care. In that moment, he was surrounded by friends – his friends – laughing and sharing stories together. They knew of what his old self did, he could see it in their eyes, yet they still accepted him for who he was now. He knew who he was. And he knew who he would always be.

A Hunter.

A Guardian.

 Crow.

 End of Season of the Hunt.

[ltleflrt]

Ltleflrt’s Writing Year In Review

I say this every year, but I wish I’d written more lol.  On the other hand, I thought I was probably done writing Destiel early in the year and thought I’d go into writing hibernation until a new fandom or pairing poked my muse in the ass with a sharp stick, BUT I ended up writing a whole ‘nother goddamn 100k+ fic!  So I’m thrilled af about that XD

Total 2020 Word Count: 164,013 Estimated 2020 Kudos: 1,846 Estimated 2020 Hits: 32,193

My 2020 Fics:

Hunter’s Caress: 161,095 (18,866 written in 2020)

Castiel Jameson won’t rest until the outlaw who murdered his brother faces justice, and Dean Winchester is the only man alive who can help him track the villain down. Some say Winchester is a cold-blooded killer himself; others say he’d been wronged his whole life. All Castiel knows is that the desire glinting in Dean’s green eyes is even more dangerous than he is. Castiel fights to keep his mind on business, but during the long nights on the trail with the dangerously handsome hunter he finds himself dreaming of yielding to Dean’s illicit kisses and losing himself in lawless passion.

Dean Winchester is about to hang when Castiel saves his neck with his crazy plan. But dying might be better than spending day and night playing nursemaid to such an infuriating city slicker. He appreciates the stubborn detective’s desire for justice, but he’d appreciate Cas a lot more if he’d stop being a lawman long enough to just be a man. He certainly has all the right equipment. Dean aches to run his fingers through Castiel’s dark hair, yearns to know how Castiel’s golden skin will feel against him. And before the coming of the next dawn, Dean vows to teach him the pleasures and sweet rewards of a Hunter’s Caress.

Most of this was written in 2019, which is why my Kudos and Hits are estimated, since a lot of that came from Hunter’s Caress. 

I learned so much from this project.  It’s based on a favorite book that I read for the first time when I was 11 years old, and have re-read probably twenty times since then.  Since I had the book open for reference most of the time I was working on this story, I got to compare my writing to a professional.  And y’all know what I think?  I’m kinda better at this than they are?  Not on the story creation front, because I consider Desperado’s Caress one of the best romance adventures I’ve ever read, but on the technical side of things.  Looking at the book with the eyes of a writer, with a little bit of editing experience under my belt now too, I’m just like... this is kind of a mess?  It was actually quite a boost to my ego lol

The Thing About Heaven Is...: 2,363 words

The thing about Heaven is that even though Dean has been here before, this time he’s taking the time to enjoy the experience, and things are a lot different than he expected.

I put a note on this fic that I didn’t hate the SPN Finale, even though I didn’t love it either, but I was being generous because sometimes I’ll remember what we got and I’m filled with rage.  I wake up in the middle of the night and think of all the ways it could have been better, and lose hours of sleep.  I spend far too much time yelling at Jared in my head for talking it up, and also at the imaginary C*W that lives in my head that gets to hear me ranting about how they fucked up so bad at least once a day. 

When I say that I didn’t hate the ending, what I really mean is that Dean going to Heaven first while Sam spends time back on Earth was kinda what I was expecting, so those 2 events are not bad in themselves, but the execution and the lack of Castiel on screen completely ruined it for me.

But that’s what fix it fic is for, right?  I decided to set my fix it fic post 15x20, because I know more invested and skilled writers who enjoy writing canonverse are going to give us hundreds of post 15x18 goodness, so I’ll let them do that while I work with what we got.  This was what gave me catharsis, and even though I’m never going to watch that train wreck of an episode ever again (seriously, I want to rage scream that the last “good” episode was by Bucklemming), I feel like I can come back to this fic again someday and feel some peace when I read it.

Man in the Wilderness: 142,784

As a veteran, Dean has survived more than most people could handle without going completely cuckoo. And he hasn't exactly escaped being a little messed up himself. So he's returned home to the tiny town he grew up in, retreating from a world that has become too much. But when you know everyone in town, the dating pool is shallow and it can be a little bit lonely, even when surrounded by friends and family who love him. And then a drifter on a motorcycle rolls into town, and Dean thinks just maybe this might be the man he's been waiting for.

While wandering the country in an attempt to escape his problems, Castiel's motorcycle breaks down in a small desert town. He's helplessly drawn to Dean, the town's handsome mechanic, and the feeling appears to be mutual. After months of aimless traveling, he thinks he may have finally found his way out of the wilderness.

Technically as of today this is still a WIP on AO3, but I finished the last chapter a few hours ago, so I’m counting the words in my WIP folder too lol

This was a surprise!  It’s a SPN/Destiel rewrite of my Mass Effect/mShenko fic Feels Like Home, which is the first story I ever wrote that made me feel like a popular writer.  Early this year I was brainstorming ideas for a fic where Castiel was the mechanic instead of Dean, and I jokingly said to @jupiterjames that I should do Feels Like Home, with Castiel as the mechanic.  She was enthusiastic about it, but I just laughed it off at first because what a silly idea.  Then I started poking at it.  Like a bruise.  Couldn’t stop.

Obviously I dropped the Mechanic!Cas angle, because it didn’t feel right for the story.  But as soon as I thought y’know, what if it was Mechanic!Dean and Drifter!Cas my muse came roaring awake screaming DO IT DO IT DO IT.

So I did.  And it was even more of a learning experience than writing Hunter’s Caress!  Because now I’m seeing my older writing (7 years holy shit!!), and I’m seeing all the ways I’ve improved over the better part of a decade, and finding even more ways to improve as I go through the rewrite. 

For a couple years now, I’ve felt kind of stagnant in my writing.  I have felt like I lost My Voice, and I was struggling to figure out what was wrong.  Was I just bored?  Yes, probably.  But also, I think I needed to look back at some of my older works that I fucking loved and thought couldn’t be improved...and improve them. 

Just Keep Writing You’ll Get There is good advice.  But it wasn’t working for me, because I’ve written 1-2 novels a year since I started writing fic in 2012, so it’s not like I was just staring at my screen and not putting any words on it while I angsted.  Read And Rewrite Your Old Shit was the next step in my evolution.  I highly recommend it if you’re also feeling stagnant and stuck XD

I’m also super amused, because Feels Like Home was 112k, and at the time it was the longest thing I’d ever written.  On accident.  Like I do.  It was supposed to be for an 8k mini-bang, and I had to drop out because obviously it got away from me and I wasn’t going to make the deadline.  As I was doing the Destiel rewrite, I had to keep cutting scenes and characters out that were specific to Mass Effect, and I speculated that the new fic would be shorter than the original. Ha.  Hahaha.  HahahahahaHAHAHAHAKDJHFADKJHF... fuck I am a wordy bitch.

[nutty1005]

Xiao Zhan: An Unyielding, Ambitious Gentleman

Original Article:https://www.weibo.com/ttarticle/p/show?id=2309404475603653886153#_0 Original Author: 雪色烟波里 

I have been reading Portrait Magazine for longer than I have known Xiao Zhan, so when I heard that he was going to be on the cover of Portrait Magazine, my initial reaction was as though the fourth wall had been broken. Portrait  Magazine had always been a magazine famous for reaching deeply into people’s lives, and Xiao Zhan, an actor who has just started his career, is he able to give a deep and exciting interview as required by Portrait Magazine? Very soon, I found out that my worry was needless, not only did he match the expectations, he exceeded it by giving a 7 hour long interview consisting of 20,000 over Chinese characters. As such, I decisively put down my order for Portrait Magazine, and entered the world of Xiao Zhan as an explorer. 

In psychology, there is this famous theory about halo effect, which basically means that a person’s special or outstanding characteristic may overpower and cover all of his other qualities and affect our understanding of that person.

In Xiao Zhan’s case, most of the first impressions of him are of him being a good looking new celebrity, and maybe like all other looks based celebrities – a crazed fanbase, average acting capabilities and perhaps even shortsighted in terms of his career. However, the Portrait Magazine interview shattered this narrow minded view, and brought forth the true Xiao Zhan.

He is not a natural born star, but just someone who works hard to pursue his dreams.

Xiao Zhan’s experiences are almost legendary. Portrait Magazine describes him aptly – he broke into the entertainment scene by chance, battling without armor, and this means that he is an anomaly. After being an every-man person for 20 odd years, working in an industry totally unrelated to the entertainment business, he participated in an idol search variety show by chance and debuted as part of an idol group. After 3 years, he burst into the acting scene with “The Untamed”, and since then, his burst in popularity meant that he attained what many others tried for years in the short span of a few months.

In the short span a few years, he was able to work with the photographer that he used to follow as a photography senior; he was able to perform on the same stage with the very same idol that he used to fanboy. Just a few years ago, he was being interviewed as a commoner with movie dreams, and now he had became the lead role in a movie. This is almost miraculous, and this is even more so when you realize that Xiao Zhan did not let all of that go to his head. Instead, he is taking things one step at a time – “This is just the beginning.” I started following him because I wanted to see how an every-man person like him would survive the entertainment business with just courage. 

Xiao Zhan can be considered as the icon of a commoner joining the entertainment business. With some understanding of him, you will realize that he is different from the carefully packaged idols and celebrities. He had a completely commoner education history, mature moral values and had been part of the working class. He went through the pains of society and therefore he does not put on airs, but instead, down-to-earth like every-man. In his words, he is simply “a common person, who happened to be working as a celebrity.” He calls himself “an entertainment business wage earner”, “Beijing drifter” and a “foreign staff”. Like many of us, he is a workaholic, he focuses on whether overtime is needed, and he still cannot afford an apartment in Beijing.

From the Portrait Magazine interview, you can see that he loves his career, finds joy in working hard in all he does, rejoices at the thought of knocking off and annoyance when his off-work time is being interrupted… to many, he might even feel like the “other self”, your alter-ego who is working hard in the entertainment business. 

As such, I felt that it was very apt for Portrait Magazine to choose Xiao Zhan for an interview. Beneath the glitz and glory of him pursuing his dreams, we can see ourselves in him. At this point, some may ask, I had already been through a commoner’s lifetime, why would I want to follow another commoner? This, we will have to see what stands him apart from the rest of us.

He is not a perfect idol, but just a proactive perfectionist. Xiao Zhan could be said to be someone who has no shortcomings, or in his fans’ words, good in all that he does.

From his appearance, he has good looks that appeals to the mainstream, great height, long legs and amazing amount of hair on his head. He does not dye his hair, have any piercings, wears minimal makeup. To me, this is where I started noticing him. It is ridiculous that some would consider that as being feminine (not that being feminine is a bad thing, but there is absolutely no correlation here at all), because his clean looks, attitude and temperament points to him being a gentleman.

For his capability as an artist, his singing and acting abilities are good. His representative work “The Untamed” had garnered 7 billion views on Tencent’s platform with positive reviews; his participation in the variety show “Our Song” broke 2.0 on the viewership charts, and received widespread audience recognition and support, as well as the positive acknowledgements from the participating mentor singers. Even his weakness, dancing, received more than a million views on Bilibili, a video streaming platform in China.

Besides all these, he knows how to draw, cook, use Photoshop, etc. He does not display these skills deliberately, but brought up offhandedly in various interviews and shows. He does not want to use these to setup a character or a label of himself – these are just parts of him that shows up occasionally. I used to wonder why he seems to be favored by the stars, but after reading the interview, you realize that there is no all-round talent, but just plain hard work in the background. 

Progressive improvements in his acting came from repeated practice of lines and every performance class he took. The perfect look under the camera lenses came from a strict discipline of diet and exercise plus professionalism. Singing and drawing was cultivated from his youthful passion. Diplomacy and tactfulness was learnt from his period of entrepreneurship. “For every single thing, if you want to do it, you do your best for it.” Xiao Zhan said, and also used his own actions to show that. No matter what he did – designer or artist, he did his best.

Many would think that this interview was a channel for him to bemoan about his miseries, but if you studied these 20,000 characters, you will realize that the interview simply laid down his steps and experiences. If you think that the interview showed that he is miserable, then he is, in fact, miserable. To me, the tale of Xiao Zhan is not a tale of misery, but a tale of a man who took the harder path, and an ambitious one at that. He went through the period of being a nameless extra in his acting career, but also attained the period of being a famous actor with countless awards under his sleeve. This is the result of him working hard not knowing the outcome, and this is something which is admirable – for not everyone has the determination to push on not knowing if there would be positive results for all of his efforts. He did, and therefore, he achieved these results.

“If you have the time to discuss, why not just do it?” Xiao Zhan offhandedly said this phrase, which made a deep impression on me. He had always been proactive, one who personifies “actions speak louder than words”.

While others were still mocking him for weak lines, he had already done his work to practice them. Waiting on the horizon were “The Oath of Love”, which would not be dubbed over; “The Most Beautiful Performance”, a series of short clips with acclaimed directors; “I Like You Liking Me”, a play to be performed on CCTV’s Spring Night. It might not be of the highest quality, but the improvement was evident in all of that.

While others were mocking him for needing the director to teach him step by step for his role in “Joy of Life”, he has already found teachers and attended countless performance classes. It is only through Portrait Magazine’s interview that we discovered that the director in “Joy of Life” is actually his teacher, but somehow, that particular behind-the-scenes video was twisted to become evidence of Xiao Zhan’s lack of acting skills. His improvements had always been constant, and so instead, I look forward to his new works coming this year. 

While others were mocking him for being nervous in his first fashion show, he had already looked into improving his overall aura, and in his subsequent red carpet events, he is already a star. 

While others were mocking him for not being generous in disaster efforts, or even spreading rumors of him faking donations, he never said a word to explain himself, but made arrangements behind the scenes to purchase critical medical supplies and equipment to be sent directly to the heavily affected city of Wuhan. It was only when the medical staff from the receiving hospitals posted pictures when these information were uncovered. There is no need to speak of the good deeds you do – this is Xiao Zhan, and a rarity in our impetuous society. 

He sincerely accepts all constructive criticisms and will improve upon it. There is no need to have a negative stance against idol/celebrities, his self motivation is as good as any other artist. 

He is not a packaged character, he has his own ideals and principles in his heart.

Like any popular artist, he has his fair share of anti-fans, and there is a group of “professional anti-fans” who are paid to spin rumors on him. With so many different stories about him, some would wonder who he really is. In many compositions by “fans leaving him”, the most frequent trait they brought up would be “hypocritical” and “fake”.

So what is Xiao Zhan really like?

Let’s take a look at how he does that. 

He wants to win, but not because the opponent lost.

He has a strong desire to win, but it always stems from fair competition. He is gentle and patient even to his opponents. While watching this video, I had lost my temper already, but he remained gentle and patient throughout. This is almost the classic example of restraint and courtesy. If you want to understand him further, continue with this series, and you will realize that he is as real as you and I.

Being uncouth and impolite does not represent realism. To someone who had been through the ups and downs of society, and has strict moral values, being polite and diplomatic is also real. A teenager may find having a temper with words to match it being realistic, but after meeting various people, becoming part of society, being polite and diplomatic is a reflection of the education and culture you have received. Being real simply means that you face the world with everything of you, and being truthful, doing no wrong is also being real. There is no right or wrong, the real you is as fluid as your experiences build up. The 16 year old you is not the same as the 26 year old you, but it is still you nonetheless, and the difference is made up by your growth. Our real self should be one who is able to face his/her past and present logically, be always forward looking, and be always improving.

In Xiao Zhan’s words to his 18 year old self, “You can have the frivolity, disdain, arrogance and wildness befitting of your age, but you must always remain respectful of everyone around you, and stay in awe of those around you in your heart at all times.”

You can see a man’s character from the details of the things he does. These details I would not have taken much of a notice, but I should start learning these good habits as well.

When you want to understand a person thoroughly, it is best that you do know it not from what others tell you, but from what his action does. From his works, his shows, his interviews, his words, you will find that you can understand him better with your own eyes.

For more information:

Variety Shows

Dramas

Interviews

Our Song《我们的歌》

Eternal Classics《经典咏流传》

Who’s the Murderer《明星大侦探》

The Untamed《陈情令》

The Oath of Love《余生请多指教》

Douluo Continent《斗罗大陆》

Portrait Magazine《人物》

人民网采访

《文化十分》

His working capabilities has brought him fans from all corners, but also anti-fans from all over. For a short period in my time with Xiao Zhan as a fan, I momentarily gave up on him because there were just too many anti-fans. However, in this 6 months, he has shown to me the kind of person he is – never speaking of his miseries, fighting his way through on his own, always showing a happy face to those around him. He takes care of everyone around him, from his staff to his colleagues, always emphasized on the importance of education to his team mates, and everyone who has worked with him, from his seniors to his staff, have nothing but praise for him. Being an independent person myself, I choose to believe what I see. He is the first celebrity that I took time to write an article on, and would probably be the last as well. I believe, and I hope you to will, that he is that unique person with a universe in his heart.

Easter Egg – Quotable Quotes from Xiao Zhan

Regardless of how life is bringing down the roof on you, there is always a sky of hope beyond.

Idol and fans are actually symbiotic, we support each other and move forward together. When we live our respective lives well, and continue to become better selves. Hence I would say that my fans, I feel that you must first live your lives well, so that you have spare time to like and follow the idol you like.

I don’t think I’m a perfect person, and I don’t want to be a perfect doll.

There is no technique, throw away the vanity, the most precious component would be sincerity, let us use our passion to do well.

I feel that the ideal status is not changed by regrets. What is most important about life is making sure we live in the present and live well, and not regret the past. Present and future is the most important.

Maintain passion, persist, maybe the path forward is not bright and straight, but there will be countless possibilities. Passion can withstand the test of time, protecting each other is not something that is just said.

[foxtophat]

hahah well here i am back on my 10k word bullshit

promise the next chapter is way shorter, john is just so fucking over the top that i spend so much time just trying to organize his thoughts for you guys lmfao. what a chad, right?????

anyway, i hope you guys enjoy nick and john bitching at each other, because that’s pretty much the theme of this chapter.  i really enjoyed writing it, which should tell you everything you need to know about how bad a day john is about to have

as usual, i hope that you enjoy! if you do, please consider throwing me a bone in the form of a kudos, comment or reblog -- i eat those up like turkish delight, nom nom nom

also as usual, i got the fic text beneath a readmore for my friends who like to stay on one page.   no matter what your reading experience, i will try to accommodate for you!!!

i hope you guys are all having a good day and that it continues to be good even after i’m done giving you fic to read!! that’s... all that’s all i got

John had known offering his help was a mistake as soon as he'd done it. Suggesting that he knew where hidden supplies might be was obviously setting himself up for colossal failure, but he'd had to think on his feet. He hadn't wanted to build up Kim's hopes, or encourage her to talk to Nick about it. All he'd wanted was for her to go back upstairs so he could sneak outside without her haranguing him for it. Then he'd seen how much it had reassured her, and the obligation to follow through had set in. Now, no matter how obvious a failure the endeavor may become, he has no choice but to push forward with the plan.

That's why John doesn't protest when Nick suggests they go sooner than later. He probably should, because it's been too hot to dig for the past week already, but the sooner he disappoints Kim, the less disappointment he'll incur. None of them will have time to blow things out of proportion. The cache he has in mind had been buried by Jacob a little under a mile outside of town, in some unused patch of farmland. They'll be back before sundown, and the sting of returning empty-handed won't last too unbearably long.

Of course, when the morning comes to go look for the cache, John can barely manage to drag himself out of bed. If he'd thought yesterday's heat was unbearable, then he doesn't know what he'd call today. The sun has barely risen and it's already baked his room, leaving him tangled up in sweaty sheets. Summer has always been John's least favorite month, even before the Collapse, but there has to be something wrong for them to be going through a second week of a heatwave. At least blaming the nuclear apocalypse for their shitty weather makes him feel slightly better.

He can't tell if he managed to sleep, but from the way his head aches as he slowly rises, John is willing to bed he failed that task yet again. God, what he wouldn't give for some fucking Ambien. Even a good, stiff drink would help, but John's shot tolerance hasn't recovered from his last encounter for post-apocalyptic liquor, so that's out of the question. Just his luck — he's going to have to suffer a whole day around Nick without much keeping him upright.

Even in the relatively cool shade downstairs, John finds himself blinking sweat out of his eyes. It's a struggle for him to focus on anything besides how miserable he is. If only he could blame it on trauma — but no, he's just never handled prolonged heat well. Montana might not have Georgia's overwhelming humidity, but the temperature climbs twenty degrees higher, and summer out here never seems to fucking end . That, combined with his pitiful heat tolerance, is probably why he's running on maybe two hours of sleep.

There are a handful of raw carrots on his plate, next to a few strips of old jerky that even Nick is leaving for last. It's going to be a long, long day, and he's not going to be getting much else until dinner, but John can't scrounge up any sort of appetite. He hasn't been hungry for what feels like days now, and his stomach barely tolerates anything more than water.

"Hey," Carmina asks, leaning into John's peripheral vision, "Can I have that?"

John doesn't know which part of his meal she's eying, but he slides the plate her way regardless. Kim watches him do it, openly frowning at him because she's also seen him picking around his food at every meal. So far, she hasn't said anything to him about it. Why would she? His lack of an appetite means that Carmina gets to have more. She can't possibly complain about that.

Nick is more vocal about his concern, furrowing his brow as he asks for the second time this morning, "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes," John replies once again. He's too tired to be exasperated, but he wishes Nick would knock it the fuck off, at least until after they leave. The last thing he needs right now is for Kim to hold some sort of intervention. Just in case, he qualifies his yes , choosing the most honest excuse he can this early in the morning. "I'm exhausted," he says. "I didn't get much sleep."

"Do you really wanna do this today, then? I mean, you said this thing was buried, and I don't wanna get stuck digging it out myself."

"I won't be any better rested tomorrow," John sighs, suppressing the yawn that tries to follow.

Nick doesn't look pleased, but he relents with a shrug. It isn't like they're going somewhere particularly dangerous, and even if they do happen to run into trouble, Fall's End will be within eyesight. The wildlife won't be much of a problem, and drifters are more common in the eastern part of the county, moving in from the 94 and occasionally trying to bully their way through. John's confident that they won't run into any trouble, even if he winds up passing out mid-dig.

John lets the rest of breakfast wash around him as he counts the minutes until they leave. He feels distinctly separated from the moment, the Rye family nothing more than white noise going in one ear and out the other. Silently dissociating around their idyllic family unit is still the norm, of course, but at least today he can blame it on too much heat and not enough sleep. Maybe he'll be able to get some rest in the truck, assuming Nick doesn't decide to test the suspension over every goddamn pothole.

Nick reluctantly says goodbye to Kim after breakfast, repeating it two or three times as Kim and Carmina see him off from the porch. John doesn't remember Nick as an anxious person; he doesn't know if there had always been long, uneasy goodbyes on the porch before work. The Collapse has turned most everybody into a paranoid mess, but maybe John just never knew Nick very well to begin with. He doesn't want to ask.

"Okay," Nick says once they're both buckled in, the windows cranked down. "You said we're looking for a silo outside of town?"

John waits until the truck lurches into drive to respond. "The silo was a convenient marker, but I doubt it's still there. I know where to look, though — assuming the landscape hasn't changed too dramatically."

"Well, let's hope so. I don't want to dig around for nothing."

"We both know who's going to be doing the digging."

"I thought it was gonna be you, until you nearly passed out at breakfast. Probably gonna leave me with the hard work like the selfish prick you are."

"I'll be fine," John replies, yawning unabashedly. He rests his head next to the open window, closing his eyes against the hot wind. "I've done more with less energy."

"Yeah, sure," Nick says, rolling his eyes hard enough that John can hear it in his voice. He waits a few beats for John to return the gentle banter, but John can't muster up the energy. He needs to save it all for the dig. It's going to be hard enough on Nick, who manages to sleep at night. John isn't expecting to have much left for anything else once this is all over. It'll be a miracle if he makes it back home.

Quickly figuring out that John isn't in the mood to talk, Nick falls quiet. There isn't a radio station to listen to, so he hums under his breath occasionally, gently swerving along the cracked asphalt to avoid potholes. He's usually happy to bounce through them, but John knows better than to think it's for his sake.

John opens his eyes briefly, just in time to see the washed out turn that once led towards the Ranch. He hasn't been back yet. He doesn't think he could bear asking the Ryes for permission, let alone see the place rotting in a field. Despite repeated assurances to Joseph that he didn't care about his stronghold, he had hand-picked the furniture, the paint, the bedding — all of it — and he had spared little expense. Now, all of his pride and poorly spent money has been abandoned, probably picked clean by scavengers over the harshest years. After all, the security systems he had dropped thousands of dollars into hadn't been able to stop a cop wielding a shotgun — he doubts they would do much to deter anybody now.

He should have listened to Jacob when he'd said it was a waste of time. Of course, John hadn't paid much attention to anything Jacob said unless it was directly related to the Project. Part of him wishes he'd made more of an effort to connect with his oldest brother, but he doubts that he would have made it to this side of the Collapse if he had.

Once he starts thinking about Jacob, it's hard to stop. It's not much of a surprise that his oldest brother is on his mind, considering how often his dreams are haunted by Jacob's presence. Thankfully, with the sun in the sky and the wind on his face, John's more inclined to remember him for who he was, instead of imagining him as the specter of his nightmares. There are no dark corners for him to lurk in, and for once John imagines him as the quiet, withdrawn man he was.

It might have been almost ten years ago, but John can still remember riding along in Jacob's truck, listening to him hum along with the radio. The heat had broken late in August that year, so while the heat had been awful when Jacob had picked him up, it hadn't wiped John completely out. Not that it would have mattered — Jacob had no patience for John's distaste of heat, and he would have forced the issue regardless.

He'd gotten a brisk call fifteen minutes before Jacob showed up at the Ranch, telling him to be ready. John hadn't known what to be ready for, but he'd stopped asking questions by this point — when Joseph or Jacob arrived unannounced, he would only follow after them and do whatever they asked. As long as he did that, they would mostly leave him to his own devices. It had been more freedom than John had ever had in his life.

"You're positive nobody saw them," Jacob reiterates from the driver's seat. The memory of his voice bounces like an echo in John's skull.

"Of course I am," John remembers saying. He remembers being exasperated. Frustrated that even Jacob didn't trust him with menial tasks anymore. He had understood Joseph's distrust, had it explained plainly to him, but Jacob wouldn't even give him the chance to earn back the trust he'd somehow managed to lose. "Not that it matters," he remembers adding. "What can they do? It's our property. We could bury a plane there and they wouldn't be able to stop us."

Jacob's heavy sigh belies his irritation. "That's not always going to be the case. We don't know how the Reaping will go. Or the Collapse. You don't know what will be the last straw."

He'd been stressed. In two weeks, the Reaping would begin, but for now, Jacob's only concern is maintaining a steady flow of willing and able soldiers. He'd been irritable all the time, ever since he and Eli had fallen out, getting short with everybody, even Joseph, who allowed Jacob to be openly insubordinate even while punishing John for the same crime. The main problem in the weeks before the Reaping had been the slowing influx of soldiers making it through the trials. Lots of people had made it through at first. Nowadays, the conversion rate has dipped significantly. Jacob says it's because the people aren't strong enough, but John has a suspicion that it might have something to do with the Bliss, which has become more potent and arguably more toxic since Rachel's arrival as Faith. John hasn't brought up his concerns yet, because nobody has bothered to ask for his opinion. He will never get the chance to find out if he was right.

"John," Jacob's voice calls from the far away driver's seat. He sounds deeply, strangely concerned. "I'm trying to save you."

The words aren't right at all. John's body feels heavy in his seat, the hot air scratching at his face through the window. Where is he? They're on their way, but where?

The next thing Jacob says is achingly familiar, down to his tired inflection. "Joseph is worried about you," he says. "He still worries about your commitment."

It had been a warning, clear as day, and at the time it had filled John with a deep dread. But now, John feels nothing. Let Joseph be disappointed in him. Let him regret ever bringing John back into his life. John hopes it's a bitter pill he chokes on.

John had been on the defensive that day, scoffing loudly and snapping, "And yet, I'm the one converting the faithless." But the defensiveness is missing in the words. The people he'd been using like points against his brother are all dead now, and bragging about the things he'd done only roils his stomach.

"I don't think it's about converting people." Jacob reaches for the rear-view mirror, checking it for the umpteenth time as the truck trundles towards the distant silo. "Forget the religious bullshit for a minute. What we're doing, what's going to happen — we can't afford mistakes. We have to be prepared for every possibility. You understand that, don't you?"

"Nobody saw them," John sighs. "I promise ."

"Good," Jacob mutters. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out.

"Honestly, though. There are caches all over the county. I don't remember you being so particular about the last dozen drop points I organized."

At first, Jacob hadn't responded. John had thought at the time that it was because he was tired of having to explain his every move to someone as soft and short-sighted as John. He'd figured, as he always had, that Jacob saw him as nothing but the PR arm of the Project, kept around out of blood loyalty and nothing else. He would grimace whenever John mentioned atonement, mentioned his hard work, and John had suspected he thought it was beneath him.

But now John wonders if that's all there was to it.

"I'm trying to cover for every possibility," Jacob says. "That's all. It'd be good if you could help me."

"I did help," John retorts. "I do help. I do everything Joseph asks me to, and I don't complain about it. I don't complain when you order my men and me around, either, even though that was never part of the deal."

Jacob clicks his tongue against his teeth. He's checking the mirrors again, all of them. John remembers him checking the glove-box during their conversation, but he doesn't do that now. It hadn't mattered — there hadn't been anything in there — but John remembers it being very, very strange. The glove-box hangs open for a moment in his memory, as he looks through the windshield and spots the tall, bright red silo down the road.

"I wish you would plan ahead for yourself," Jacob says at last. "Stop taking orders and start taking initiative."

John huffs. "You've seen how well Joseph responds to that."

"Yeah," Jacob replies. John had been too arrogant to realize at the time that Jacob was commiserating with him, leaving him feeling deeply guilty now.

"He's convinced that the Reaping is going to begin any time now," John continues, ignoring Jacob's visible-in-hindsight unease. "Do we really have time to be burying barrels of ammunition? Or is this your newest plan to stick it to Eli?"

"It's for after the Reaping," Jacob says.

"A whole lot of good it does us this far from the bunkers."

Jacob had a real response for John, once. It had even satisfied him, at least enough to stop his complaining. But John doesn't remember what Jacob's reasoning had been; all he has is his exhausted brain struggling to stitch together the memory.

"There's so much you don't know. That you'll never find out." Jacob reaches out, his hand resting on John's shoulder, but there's no physical connection. John can't feel the weight of his hand, and for a dizzying moment the world around him turns smudged and blurry. There's a distinct melancholy in the words that Jacob never exhibited. "You know that I didn't believe any of it."

The weight on his shoulder comes out of nowhere, startling John awake as Nick calls his name. He kicks the dashboard as he jolts upright, and Nick leans back as he flings his hands out to steady himself.

"Shit," he gasps, grabbing the door handle. One disorienting glance is all John needs to realize where he is; Nick has pulled up just past the church, and the late summer heat of the apocalyptic landscape reasserts itself as reality once more.

"Sorry," Nick says. "I just, uh... need some directions from here."

"Yes," John replies. The urge to bolt from the truck is overwhelming, but John clings to the door and manages to stay in his seat. "Of course."

They sit for a minute before Nick awkwardly prompts, "Uh... Well?"

John desperately attempts to reorient himself, still stuck in the fog of his dream. "There should be a left turn up ahead. The silo was in a field on the right side of the road, just before the turnout before Larry Parker's house."

"God, talk about whack-jobs," Nick mutters as he pulls ahead. The intersection is mostly washed out now, barely distinguishable from the dunes that have formed over the fields, but Nick has a local's muscle memory. "I mean, I believe in aliens as much as the next guy, but Jesus . You hear what happened to him?"

"Not specifically. I assumed he was killed in the Reaping or the Collapse." Despite himself, John finds his curiosity piqued. "Why? Was I wrong?"

"I mean... I guess it's up to your interpretation." Nick doesn't bother to ease around the potholes now that John is awake, bumping them down along the cracked asphalt. "So, the way Dep told me, they went to go check up on Larry, y'know, make sure he's okay. Larry's got his weird-ass machines going, and he's talkin' about aliens and shit, as he usually is, and Dep keeps going, 'Larry, there's no time for aliens, there are cultists coming for you!' But, of course Larry pushes the point until Dep caves, like, 'Fine, let's fix the generator first, then we can run from the cult.'

"Except the cult rolled up right on top of them before they could patch everything up. Of course, Dep manages to clear them out, and Larry gets his machine working in the meantime. He says, 'help me get to Mars, Deputy!' and they figure, 'hey, might as well humor him.' I mean, what else can you do when the guy you're trying to evacuate insists he's got a fast pass to outer space?"

"Is this honestly what the Deputy was dealing with while we were in the middle of seizing the Valley and its resources?" John asks. He probably shouldn't be surprised, but really . Larry Parker's life couldn't possibly have been worth all the effort involved.

"I guess," Nick shrugs. "People were asking them to do all sorts of weird shit. So, anyway, Larry says so long to Dep and to Earth, and tells Dep to flip the switch. Dep decides that the sooner Larry realizes this isn't going to work, the better, so they turn the machine on the way Larry told them to, and, well, long story short, I guess the thing vaporized the poor guy."

However the story was supposed to end, that hadn't been what John expected. His disbelief is momentarily overwhelming, and he can't help but choke out, " Excuse me?"

Nick shrugs. "I mean, that's what Dep told me later. They were real bummed out about it, too. I guess that makes sense, since they felt responsible. But, at the same time... he said it was a teleporter, right? So maybe he wasn't vaporized at all. Maybe he really did get zapped to Mars."

"The choices are 'vaporized' or 'teleported to Mars'? Are you serious?"

"I guess Dep could have been bullshitting me, but it fits with what I remember about the guy."

John frowns. "I suppose either option is better than what happened to the rest of us," he says, "Although realistically, the man was one paranoid delusion away from assassinating a government official. I don't think he was nearly as technologically savvy as he professed himself to be."

"He wasn't that bad," Nick says as he shakes his head. "He was just some kook who believed in aliens more than people. And, well... I mean, if he really did make it to Mars, then we probably look like a bunch of assholes from wherever he's sitting." He sighs, then admits, "I wish I could've gone to Mars. I bet Kim would like it there."

" Why ?"

"I dunno, she always wanted to go on foreign trips and stuff. Can't get much more foreign than outer space." He hums thoughtfully, then says, "I guess she would've been pregnant, though, and if you can't fly with a pregnant lady, I bet you can't vaporize them either."

John takes a deep breath through his nose before he responds, reminding himself that he owes Nick his life. "That's a logical assumption," he manages to say, proud of his nearly-neutral delivery.

"Oh, shut up," Nick snaps, although he doesn't seem particularly upset by John's back-talk. "I'm just saying, if that's what would happen. It's not like I'm gonna go hot-wire the thing and test it out now ."

"I certainly hope not. There's no way I'm explaining that to the bloodthirsty mob that comes for me after you've disintegrated."

They've nearly reached the end of the road. John can see the T-shaped intersection coming up ahead, but he doesn't immediately recognize the right-hand field. A copse of pine trees have put down roots, and although John can see the skeletal framework of the hay storage, there's no sign of the silo that once marked the spot. John doesn't know if it was destroyed during the Reaping or in the Collapse. It doesn't really matter — everything it held has long since rotted away.

"Here?" Nick asks as they roll to the end of the road. John remembers Jacob slowing along the empty field; he had barely come to a stop to investigate the location. It had been around here that Jacob had checked the tilled soil for any hint at what lay underneath. He'd seemed content with how John's people had handled it, leaving the field as unassuming and untouched as they had found it.

If there had been any hint left behind in the silo or the hay storage, it's been wiped from the face of the planet. Long, sun-bleached panels of what used to be a silo lay scattered across the ground, weather-beaten past their use. Some pieces are pinned in place by the nine-year tree growth, never to be moved again. It's a struggle for John to envision the spot as it used to be, but there's no doubt that this is the right place.

"Yes," John says. "This is it."

Nick puts the truck in park and climbs out of the cab. John waits a moment longer, hoping to spot some hidden bump or curve that would indicate where to dig, but of course nothing reveals itself. He should have paid more attention. At the very least, he should have paid more attention to Jacob's diatribes about preparedness. Maybe he would be able to determine exactly where to start if he had.

John's nerves ease as he steps out of the car and stands at the edge of the worn-out road. It doesn't matter if he doesn't remember the exact spot — there's always been an element of gut instinct in understanding Jacob's methods, and John has plenty of that to rely on in lieu of real information. If he has to waste his time out here, then he might as well try to waste it productively.

He meanders a bit along the shoulder, then takes ten paces onto the field. Instinct has him go another twenty steps, until he's halfway between the truck and the hay storage. "Here, I think," he calls out to Nick, who's wandered ahead to explore the wreckage.

"Are you sure?" Nick asks as he passes John, returning to the truck for the shovels. "I don't wanna be digging holes all day like some kind of Stanley Yelnats."

" I'll be the one digging," John replies tepidly. "I don't need your help."

"What else am I gonna do, sit around and watch you all day? C'mon, let's get to work."

Really, John had expected as much. Nick can't leave things alone, and he can't resist giving whatever help he can. Long ago, John had figured it was a sign of Nick's obsessive need for control, something dark to be manipulated hidden under a folksy veneer. He had never considered that Nick's stubborn helpfulness had really been a coping mechanism for some long-standing anxiety. Even now, knowing full well that Nick's biggest worry is seeming unhelpful, John struggles to accept it. It still rubs him the wrong way when Nick insists on giving him a hand on some menial task that he ordered John to do in the first place.

Digging a three-foot hole is easier with two people, though, so of course John doesn't argue. The two of them hit a rhythm pretty quickly, although John's lack of sleep is slowing him down. Normally, the beat of manual labor is the only thing that helps empty out his mind, getting him as close to meditation as possible these days. For the first few months with the Ryes, it had been the only tangible comfort he had. He could disengage mentally while performing simple tasks with visible results, then ascribe to them penance for any one of his crimes. Even now, John can't help but wonder which sin he's paying for as he buries the spade into the ground.

They dig three feet down before John calls it. "Okay, fine ," he hisses through gritted teeth. "It's close to here. Maybe..."

John ignores Nick's theatrical sigh as he takes a few paces to the left and begins all over again. Of course, it doesn't take long before Nick joins back in.

"Maybe we should hunt down a metal detector," Nick suggests when the second hole reveals nothing.

"Sure, Nick," John snaps, "Add that to the other rational shit on your wife's shopping list."

"Jesus, it was just a joke."

John is far too hot, tired and sweaty to handle any jokes right now, much less from somebody he's trying to help. If Nick thinks John is digging around under the blazing sun just for his own enjoyment, then he can go fuck himself.

Even with John's attitude tanking rapidly, Nick continues to help him dig another hole and a half. His help only makes the defeat sting worse when John has finally had enough. He has no energy left, which makes flopping down on the dirt as easy as giving up. He buries his sweaty, sunburned face into his dirty hands, unable to hold back a groan.

"God damn it."

"What, that's it?" Nick huffs, pushing his hat back to wipe at his sweating forehead. He's using his shovel as a prop, and no amount of bravado can hide how much John's wild goose chase has worn him down. "You're just giving up?"

" No ," John spits, despite that being exactly what he's doing. "I just need a fucking break ."

There was a time when Nick would have punched him for being so miserable, but he doesn't even comment on it today. Somehow, it manages to make John feel worse, as though Nick's pity is fueling his fiery self-loathing. Nothing helps, especially not when Nick jabs his shovel into the dirt and offers John an excuse. "Probably need something to eat," he says. "Some water, or something. Look... just stay there, okay? I got a canteen in the truck, it'll just take a second."

The most response John can offer up is an affirmative grunt. He drops his hands from his face, watching Nick retreat to the truck before turning his eyes on the derelict storage in the opposite direction. He should have known better. He should have known that it would be impossible to find the cache without Jacob's help. Other than a set of probably mis-remembered coordinates and a gut sensation of being so close , John is flying completely blind. Why the hell hadn't he known any better? He could have saved them the time, gas and disappointment, if only he'd just kept his stupid mouth shut.

He guesses it must be progress that he's blaming himself and not Kim, whose insomnia kicked this whole thing off. It doesn't feel like much to show.

The wind changes direction, finally sending the few clouds in the sky drifting past the sun. The breeze picks up, sending a ripple of noise through the young pines. Pink-flowered vines creep through the roots of the trees and up the metal legs of the shed, twisting and choking the rest of the weeds just like they do everywhere else. Despite them being a mysterious, invasive species, they soften the landscape, lending a pink sugar-coating to the wasteland. John watches the blossoms bob in the breeze and thinks that Joseph might have been wrong about a lot of things, but he hadn't been too far off in declaring Hope County a promising garden.

The flowers look so much like the ones that had decorated the hem of Faith's dress that it's impossible not to think about her. John remembers the silk blossoms stitched onto lace, trying to conceal the ripped hem. There had been a dozen women who had tried to take on the mantle left behind by Joseph's wife, but now the only one John can imagine is Rachel, dancing in the sunlight. Even now he sees her swaying along with the wind, although he only has to blink for the vision to fade. A dozen women hadn't made the same impression that Rachel had. They hadn't been as proactive as her when it came to the Path, and they couldn't hold a candle to her wide-eyed understanding of the Bliss. None of them had adopted themselves as a sister into the family, turning quickly into the golden child that Joseph could praise over all others. They'd tried to fill the shoes of a dead woman that they couldn't hold a candle to. Rachel had been much, much smarter than that.

After all, none of those women haunt the landscape the way Rachel does. John, tired as he is, can almost hear her playfully humming on the breeze. She would sing in his bunker, vibrant and full-throated hymns written by dead followers, but now he only ever imagines the quietest tunes. Faith always seemed to be everywhere at once, thanks to the Bliss, but now she only seems to exist where John's memory allows.

Although the music fades as quickly as it came, John feels it echoing inside him. He closes his eyes against the bright afternoon light, but that doesn't do much to ease the pounding headache that's swiftly developing. He can feel his pulse against the hard-packed dirt when he drops his hands to the ground. Faith's laughter in his mind is quiet and playfully condescending as he's overwhelmed by the urge to stagger to the safety of the trees.

Nick abruptly appears in front of John, his worried face hidden under his hat. "Let's get you into the shade," he says, his voice warped by the blood rushing through John's ears. Nothing improves as Nick helps him to his feet and drags him under the shady pines. His head pounds as he collapses against one of the trees; when Nick puts the canteen in his hands, he takes a few grateful pulls of warm water until the headache begins to recede.

"Goddamn it, John," Nick says. "You have got to knock this shit off. You can't keep pushing yourself until you get sick. What am I supposed to do if you get heatstroke? Do you think we have unlimited supplies to keep dealing with your bullshit? I can't keep taking care of you."

"Whatever," John croaks. "I'm fine. I just need a minute."

"You can't seriously think I'm going to let you keep going. You must be delirious."

Taking one more long drink of water, John finally drops the canteen into his lap. "You don't understand," he rasps. "I'm not — it's here. I know it is, I just..."

Nick waits a beat before he takes up where John trails off. " You need to rest. You think Kim and I don't notice you're not eating or sleeping again? Hell, even Carmina notices, and she doesn't give a shit about you. How exactly are you supposed to be any use to us if you're like this all the time?"

John scowls, but he doesn't respond. How can he? Nick is right.

When all he gets is silence, Nick finally heaves a tired sigh and crouches down to John's level. "Look, we'll compromise, okay?" he suggests, with a tone he usually reserves for Carmina. "You're gonna rest here for me, and I'm gonna go dig another hole for you. If I don't find anything, we'll go back home and try again once you're better prepared."

He should resent Nick for treating him like a child, but John can only surrender with a weary nod. "I promise it's here," he says, hating how audible his misery is. "I know it is."

Nick scratches his brow. "I believe you," he says, although John doubts his sincerity. "We're gonna find it — maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but we'll do it. You, uh, want me to keep digging where we were, or..."

John sighs, slumping against the tree. "Yeah," he rasps. "Sure."

It's a miserable feeling, knowing that he's sending Nick on a wild goose chase, but John doesn't stop the other man from heading back out into the sun. He watches Nick pick a spot at seemingly random, drifting in and out as he waits for Nick to give up. He wouldn't even have to dig a full three feet before writing the whole thing off as one of John's delusions. John wishes Nick were that kind of man.

There's nothing there. That much is obvious when Nick finally stops digging, knee-deep in the hole and scrubbing furiously at his forehead. John knows just enough about Nick to suspect he'd genuinely hoped to find it — which just makes the defeat that much worse. John is used to disappointing himself, but letting Nick down stings.

"It's fine," John rasps when Nick returns, not waiting for platitudes or empty reassurances. "Let's just go."

Nick helps John to his feet again, and to make things worse, he keeps making suggestions. "Maybe we can find a tractor that still works. I bet there's probably a back-hoe somewhere in the county we could fix up. That might make it easier, right?"

They cut through the trees to reach the road, and John covers his eyes as they move back into the bright light. He turns back to look at the empty holes they've left behind — and for just a second, he can clearly see the bright red silo where it once stood. It's only a fleeting glimpse of the past, but it's as clear as if he were staring at it from Jacob's truck, enjoying the air conditioning while ignoring Jacob as he says, "So long as we're prepared, we can always start again."

"Wait," John says. "Hold on."

"Come on," Nick groans loudly, "It's hot, I'm tired, and this is getting depressing ."

John rolls his eyes, grabbing one of the shovels from the truck before Nick can stop him. "Fine," he says, "Go home, then."

"For God's sake..."

John ignores Nick as he takes five quick paces forward, turning and staring at the nonexistent silo. It hadn't been here, it had been...

The spot is mostly random, but as John drives the shovel into the dirt, he feels suddenly vindicated . He'd been thrown off by the trees, and it's hard to see just where the road ends these days, and of course he doesn't have the silo's long shadow to guide him. But now he knows better, and he isn't going to make the same mistakes again.

Nick pitches in, because of course he does. Even worse, he does it without complaint. Still, John needs the help; his burst of adrenaline has faded, leaving him to rapidly flag behind until Nick is picking up his slack. They don't talk as they dig, even as time wears on without any indication of them being in the right place. John doesn't think he has the energy to chat, and Nick probably just wants to yell at him, so silence is their best option. This hole could be as pointless as every other one they've dug today, but blind faith pushes John on to dig just a little deeper, just a little longer.

They hit three feet without finding anything. John twists the shovel between his palms, the tip churning the dirt.

"Okay, now are you satisfied?" Nick asks, flopping to the ground beside their latest waste of time. "Are you ready to wrap it up for today, or...?"

John shakes his head, not even realizing he's doing it. He doesn't even know what he's rejecting — the idea of giving up, or the idea that they might come back out here? Why the hell should they? Just because John thinks he might remember a cache of weapons Jacob buried a decade ago? What good would it even do, finding it now? Kim's already made it clear that they don't want more weapons. They want food, they want peace of mind, they want things to be the way they were . There is nothing that Eden's Gate could possibly give them that could help.

Nick slides closer, brow furrowed. "John," he says."

"I know ," John snaps, "I'm sorry . This was a waste of time. Forget it."

Picking up his abandoned shovel, Nick jabs the scoop into the hole, aiming for the wall beneath John's feet, and the motion is met with a metallic thunk . As John steps around for a better look, Nick taps the shovel upwards, until the scoop slides between the flash of half-hidden metal and the undisturbed earth above it. There's no mistaking the green enamel barrel that's revealed as the dirt falls away.

Dropping into the hole, John takes Nick's shovel and begins to heave the dirt away, scraping the scoop along the sides of the metal container until it's half-exposed in the ground. John can't help a triumphant shout as he reveals it, like a paleontologist discovering an unknown species.

Nick grabs the second shovel and pitches in, making short work of the dirt John can't reach. The steel drum is two feet tall and a foot or so wide, and John recognizes it from the Bliss packaging plant. Thankfully, it doesn't have a tight-head lid that implies the cannister is full of drugs. It looks utterly untouched, save for a few scratches from their shovels; the rubber sealant sprayed around the lid hasn't even cracked.

"Well, shit," Nick says, staring down at the barrel in open disbelief.

"I told you," John pants, vindicated. "I told you."

"Yeah, you sure did," Nick agrees, bobbing his head. "So... uh, what now? Do we open it up here, or take it home?"

John runs a hand over the glossy paint. As much as he wants to open it now, he can't help but remember Jacob's paranoia, reminded momentarily of how he had checked over and over for any spies or tails they might've gained while driving.

"It might be best to take it somewhere... less open," John points out. "We have no idea what's inside."

"Oh. Yeah, you're probably right."

It takes some finessing, but the two of them manage to wrestle the barrel out of the hole and, eventually, into the truck bed. Nick cranks the air conditioning as soon as he turns on the car, and John thankfully slumps into his seat as the cold air washes over him. After making a loose U-turn that narrowly misses the hole, Nick shakes the canteen in John's direction.

"Kim's gonna be pissed if she finds out I left you out in the sun like that," he says. "Try to get a hold of yourself before we get back, okay?"

Nick is terrible at sounding callous, but John isn't going to tell him as much. "Don't worry," he sighs. "I don't want her to know any more than you."

The drive back is mostly free of potholes, thanks to Nick's careful driving. John can't help but reaffirm the cache's existence every few minutes, checking the rear-view mirror to ensure it hasn't fallen out or disappeared like so many figments of his imagination have. He wonders what's inside. Certainly ammunition and weapons, but what else? Jacob had always been prepared for disasters, so it could have emergency kits or expired food rations. There will probably be money, too, although that won't help them now.

If Nick is also wondering, he keeps it to himself. He's relaxed in his seat, one arm hanging out his window, fingers occasionally tapping aimlessly against the door. He'll probably be satisfied no matter what Jacob decided to squirrel away, so long as it's not rotten food and Project propaganda. If that turns out to be the case, John will burn the contents himself.

The sun has half-set by the time they return to the Rye homestead. Nobody is waiting anxiously for their return, but it doesn't take long for Kim to come around the side of the house. She whistles appreciatively as the two men maneuver the barrel out of the bed.

"You guys actually found it!" she exclaims. "I thought it would take at least a few days."

"We got lucky," Nick replies. He doesn't mention how many holes they had to dig, or how rough the going had gotten near the end. John hopes that he looks better than he feels, at least to keep Kim from lecturing them.

Even though the cache is only about eighty or ninety pounds, it takes some careful footwork for the two men to carry it inside without dropping it. By the time they set the barrel down next to the table, Carmina has claimed one of the chairs, standing on it for a better look. Nick doubles back to the truck and returns with a crowbar, which will hopefully be enough to pry off the lid.

"What's inside?" Carmina asks, grabbing the back of the chair as she cranes forward.

"Well, hold on," Nick sighs, "Let me figure this out."

Unlike the barrels John remembers, this one isn't sealed with a tight-head valve at the top. Instead, it looks as though the lid had been hammered down into place, and then sprayed with rubber sealant to prevent gaps. It takes Nick a few tries to bury the crowbar's teeth under the lid, but he's rewarded by a satisfying groan of metal. The seal finally gives as part of the lid warps under the force.

Nick peels the lid back and John's heart leaps into his throat. Part of him expects a cloud of Bliss, or some kind of bomb, or a countdown to a new Armageddon. But there's no bomb, no Mist, no doomsday clock. Instead, John finds himself looking down at a bundle of nondescript green canvas, packed tightly alongside a cylindrical nylon bag.

" Well ?" Carmina asks.

John glances at Kim and Nick, only to find them staring back at him. It's as much an order as a request for help, and John steels himself before reaching in and grabbing the fabric. He recognizes the generic duffel bag as soon as he pulls it out — they had been ordered in bulk for the Project before they'd even reached Montana. While it isn't full, it definitely carries most of the cache's weight, and John has to adjust his grip as he sets it out on the table.

With the pack out of the way, Nick is less cautious about poking around in the remaining supplies. He takes the nylon bag out next, rattling the contents thoughtfully. "I think we've got a tent, here," he says, pulling open the drawstring to check. "Yeah, poles, stakes and everything."

There are two cardboard boxes inside, and Kim pulls out one at a time. "I think these are... rations?" she suggests, setting the boxes down next to the unopened bag. "That's what the packaging says, anyway. And this one, the heavier one? It's completely taped up."

"Could be dangerous," Nick suggests as Kim goes back to check for any remaining contents.

John stares at the duffel bag, his fingers feeling clumsy on the zipper tab. None of this feels right. Just how many times had he seen Jacob take bags like this one to his truck? How many of those had been full of supplies for a back-up plan he had never been made aware of? There's no sign of the Project so far, but John can't imagine that will last. What is he going to do when he reveals a bag full of propaganda in front of Carmina? There's no way Kim and Nick will believe he didn't know.

Careful not to rip the fabric, John steels himself with a breath and yanks on the zipper. He expects guns and ammunition, or copies of Joseph's book, or intel that would have been vital for rebuilding after the Collapse. Instead, John finds silver mylar bags, packed nearly to bursting, each one labeled in permanent marker. One reads "RICE (3LB, KEEP)," while another says "POTATO (.5LB, KEEP)" — and still another bag, this one with one clear side, has two cartons of instant coffee sealed inside.

There are guns, too, although not nearly enough. John is careful as he sets out the two .45 pistols tucked into the canvas, along with two boxes of matching ammunition and a few more boxes of miscellaneous shells that might come in handy. He inspects every box for any sign of the Project, but everything is utterly nondescript. Jacob might as well have picked these supplies up at a sporting goods store.

He keeps pulling things out until the bag is empty and the items are laid out across the table for the Ryes to see. Not only does John find more food, but he also finds a crank flashlight and a pair of binoculars, two bundles of paracord, a roll of unused duct tape, two sealed cartons of cigarettes, two pristine hunting knives and a deck of playing cards. The biggest surprise is the fact that Jacob risked packing away two bottles of unlabeled alcohol in a dry cache, but then again, Jacob had always had a soft spot for liquor. They'd been wrapped in plastic wrap and taped up tight, so if they leaked, it hasn't affected the other supplies.

There's more food than ammunition, John realizes. Rice, sugar, instant coffee, dry beef stock, not to mention the miscellaneous array of military rations that have been packed into every nook and cranny. It's hardly a cache. It's more like a squirrel's stockpile for a long winter.

"Did you guys see this?" Kim asks, leaning over Carmina to lay a small nylon pack on the table. She opens it carefully, revealing a tri-folded emergency pack stuffed with medical supplies. One use antiseptic wipes, gauze, bandages and more, all still in its factory packaging. John remembers seeing them stocked at Lorna's ages ago. It's the kind of emergency kit that tourists would buy once they realized just how unprepared they were for rural Montana.

"I thought this was supposed to be for the cult," Nick says, frowning at the supplies spread out on the table. "But most of this is stuff you'd get at the store. There's not even one of those fake Bibles in here or anything ."

"That's what he told me it was," John replies, although it feels uneasily close to a lie. "...At least, that's what I assumed. He had my people handle it, he shared its location with me... It had to be for the Project." Saying it aloud doesn't make him feel any more certain, but he can't imagine what else Jacob could have been planning. "What does it matter?" he quickly deflects, gesturing towards the eighty-some pounds of supplies. "Who cares what he was planning. It's yours now."

Unlike her parents, Carmina doesn't need to be told twice. She immediately drags the box of military rations closer to her chair, eager to devour any new literature, even if it's nutritional information and website reviews. Nick takes one of the knives and uses it to slice open the heavily taped box that they still haven't investigated. John can't imagine that it could be anything dangerous, given the rest of the cache's contents, but that doesn't mean he's any less on edge.

"Uh... huh," Nick says once he finally cracks the box open. "It's just more of the same. 'Two pounds rice, barter.' 'Two pounds sugar, barter.' But didn't he already pack some rice in the bag?"

Carmina points her finger at the offending bag. "It says 'keep' on it."

"I thought you guys were going to be the only survivors," Nick wonders, frowning heavily at John. "I mean, those weirdos have been keeping to themselves since they came back. And I got the impression that you weren't gonna be friendly neighbors ."

"There weren't supposed to be neighbors," John replies. "Anyone outside of the Project who survived were our enemies. This should have been..." He gestures helplessly, unable to figure out what Jacob should have squirreled away for the end of the world. "It should have been weapons. Project intelligence. None of this would have mattered if things had gone the way they were meant to. I don't — I don't know what he was planning with this."

Or maybe, he hadn't been listening when Jacob had talked about starting over.

"This... is too much," Kim says, tearing John away from that horrible thought before it can take hold. "Right? This is too much for us. We can't possibly keep it all."

"Excuse me?" John asks, unable to mask how deeply the comment offends him. "You're joking . I went through all of this for you ." He points at the sugar, the salt, and says accusingly, "These were on your list!"

"That's not what I mean, John."

John is getting sick and tired of being treated like a child today, but that doesn't mean he appreciates it when Nick takes the opposite route. "Don't be a baby," he groans. "You know what she meant."

"We'll keep what we need," Kim offers, "But we can't keep everything . It wouldn't be fair."

"And it'll look bad if we're the only ones who benefit," Nick adds. "They'll know it's because of you, and the cult, and they'll get the wrong idea. They might've shut up for now, but we don't know how long that'll last."

It's hard to fight the urge to run from the conversation, if only to keep himself from saying something stupid, but John manages to stay rooted to the spot. They're right, after all. They can't expect other people to turn a blind eye to anything beneficial John provides. Hell, he has no doubt somebody noticed them driving today. Somebody had to have seen them out in the dirt. It would only take a quick trip to find the holes they'd left behind.

"Yes," he mutters at last. It comes as a relief, followed immediately by his own admission. "You're both right. I know that."

Nick clearly expected more of a fight, if his relieved expression is anything to go by. "Good. Okay." He grabs one of the mylar bags as he sits, which holds two cartons of instant coffee. For a moment, he only stares at the red plastic through the clear side of the bag, and then he sighs. "Of course, now I wanna keep it all."

"We can keep the coffee," Kim says. "Or, well... we can keep some of it. We should probably give the rest up..."

It seems that doing the right thing in this situation has left the Ryes at a loss. Really, it shouldn't be a surprise. Even for a small cache, these are a lot of supplies, and there are no clear benefits to divvying it up in any particular way. On top of that, there had never been much structure to the Valley's resistance — unlike the Whitetails, people in the valley had relied on guerrilla tactics and appropriating the cult's infrastructure for their own use. The fight here had been over before they'd had time to organize.

"Well, I guess we give away whatever says 'barter' on it," Nick finally says. "And... I dunno. I mean, Jacob was meticulous as hell, right? Wouldn't he have known what to keep? Why did he only want to trade this stuff?"

"I don't know ," John snaps. "It isn't as though he planned for this. I have no idea what he would have done. I don't know why he thought to bury this shit in a field! If this was going to be a backup plan, then there should be money, passports, blackmail — something to help him get out of trouble. Not — not cooking supplies and playing cards . This isn't what he was supposed to be doing with his time!"

The realization that John had never really known Jacob cuts deeper than he'll ever admit. John breathes hard through his nose, trying desperately to grab hold of his ballooning anger. He'd known Jacob hadn't taken the religious aspect of the Project seriously, but that hadn't meant he didn't believe in the Project's end goal. He'd been more integral to their success than John, for God's sake! The bunkers had been his idea!

But Jacob had been pragmatic. If he had felt even a twinge of doubt, he would have made plans to account for it. But if that were the case, why would he have shown his hand to John like he had, when John had been so deeply entrenched? Why risk Joseph finding out? Why not play this as close to his chest as John had played all of his own secret betrayals?

"I don't know what he would do," John manages to say. There's a tangled knot of emotion balled up inside his chest, but like so many other things, he forcibly sidelines it. "It doesn't matter what he wanted. He's dead now. All of it is yours."

Kim hears his voice catch, it's clear from her expression, but she thankfully doesn't comment on it. "Well, let's think about it logically," she says. "For one, I think Grace could use some of the ammunition. She might appreciate some coffee, too, Nick."

"Yeah, I guess," Nick says mournfully. "There are two boxes, after all."

Kim chews thoughtfully on her lip, then pivots towards John. "You had to deal with directing resources, right?" she asks. "I remember all of the deliveries coming in and out of the Ranch."

"They won't trust any decisions I make," John replies, trying to cut the suggestion off at the head.

"I'm sure they wouldn't, but I'm not asking for you to make a decision. Just... You know more about this than we do, and I want your input."

John frowns, looking towards Nick for an objection. Unfortunately, Nick doesn't have one, although he doesn't look happy about Kim's request.

Sighing, John considers the groups they need to satisfy. Between Grace, the town, the trailer park and themselves, it's unlikely they'll have much to store, but a surplus would be ideal in case they need to bargain with people coming in from the west. John doesn't like the idea of giving the weapons away, but they would be an easy way to ingratiate the Ryes to anyone still upset at them for taking him in. He wants nothing more than to keep the alcohol and cigarettes, but those would be better as bargaining chips.

He starts by breaking the ammunition up, followed by the mylar bags, until the random array on the tabletop begins to separate out into four distinct piles. Seeing the resources shift in real time is the easiest way to ensure things are balanced, but John remains fully aware of the three sets of eyes on him as he begins to take over the table. While Kim and Carmina move to give John more space, Nick remains seated the entire time, his arms crossed and his eyes on the food that John is moving from one pile to another. He's clearly worried that the family will wind up with too little. He probably feels guilty that he wants to take more from others who could use the supplies.

When he's mostly finished, John has five piles organized across the table — one for each group, plus one comprised of larger bags they'll need to separate. Hopefully, they won't comment on how much he's chosen to keep for them — if they disagree with his decisions, they can wait until he escapes for the night to argue about it.

Kim had been right, though. John had been the one to schedule deliveries, redirect supplies and organize Reaping trucks; hopefully they can appreciate his choices, even if they decide not to listen to him.

"Here's what we have," he says. "The ammunition is split between everyone, as well as the rations. Given the town's location and size, they'll be better off with basic ingredients. They already have hunting equipment and usable cookware. We haven't seen the trailer park, but it's in hostile territory, and I don't think they dedicate time to cooking, so we give them more rations to make up for it. The cigarettes will be a gesture of goodwill, and they can use the sugar more than any one group. At the very least, it means they won't be ingesting straight ethanol for a few days."

Nick sniffs loudly, but neither he nor Kim interrupt, so John pushes forward. "You keep the components," he explains, "But give Grace the knives and whatever ammunition she needs. We can split the rice evenly, but it won't be very much. It would be better to keep it for ourselves, or else give it to one group alone."

"Still seems like a lot is left for us," Kim points out.

"Then you give the rest of it away," John says through gritted teeth. "I did what you asked me to do. This is what makes sense."

Kim nods. "You did, and I appreciate it."

John wishes she would appreciate what Jacob did instead, but he holds the comment back. It's his exhaustion talking, or the long day, or the lingering headache from the heat. None of those things are worth risking the shred of goodwill he's garnered with the Ryes. And the longer he hangs around here, the more likely it is that Nick or Kim will do something to really upset him.

"If that's everything, then it's been a long day. I need some..." Space , he wants to say, but he can only tiredly commit to, "I need some air."

"Sure," Kim says. She tries to mask her pity, but there's no hiding it. "Just don't go too far. Dinner's almost ready."

As if John is going to eat anything. But he keeps that comment to himself as well, knowing that it'll just start a fight that he's too tired to win. Besides, watching the Ryes go through Jacob's supplies and divvy them out the way they'd prefer might be too much for him to handle right now. He needs to put some distance between himself and his brother, even if it's only the short walk to the front porch.

[thesebrokenboys]

The new recruit

Closed starter with @soldier-on-the-run

Kit was a drifter, had been all his life. Having a wanted criminal for a father was probably the cause, since his dad never could stay in one place too long before the law caught up to him. Until of course, they did. As they always do.

Kit had been seven when the law had arrived at the doorstep of the trailer they had been squatting in. It was old, filled with mold and covered by nature, but the roof was stable enough to keep them dry, so they stayed. Kit had been curled up under a few blankets, fast asleep when suddenly a bright light filled the trailer. His father had made short work of everything, grabbing a gun and charging outside. Bullets flew around the trailer, Kit keeping himself flat to the ground, until silence filled the night once again.

"He's dead. Check the place for anything."

Footsteps approached and Kit panicked. He didn't know what would happen to him if they caught him, but he didn't want to find out. Dropping through a hole in the bottom of the trailer, he sprinted out into the night, never looking back.

That had been seven years ago. Now 14, Kit had made his way across the country, hitchhiking and stealing. He only stole what he needed to survive though, things like food, medicine, clothes. He never wanted to follow in his father's footsteps.

He found himself strolling down the streets to a bustling city one fine spring day. The sun was shining and the air was warm, meaning the streets were flooded with people enjoying the weather after months of winter. Kit himself was enjoying the warmth, debating taking an apple off a food cart, when a loud explosion sounded nearby. People paused, confused, looking at the smoke that now filled the sky from a building a couple blocks away. A woman screamed as waves of omnics, Bastion units, OR-14s ect began spilling down the streets. The peaceful day shattered like glass as the omnics marched forward, gunning down everything in their path.

Kit jumped into survival mode, coralling the people near him into buildings, barricading them in and doing his best to help people in any way he could. Help had to arrive soon, he just had to hold on until then.

As the chaos reigned, Kit spotted a small child, lost in the confusion and crying. A Bastion unit had also spotted the child and was making its way towards them. Acting quickly, Kit snatched the child into his arms, wrapping around him and putting the boy between himself and the wall as the Bastion opened fire. He felt bullets tear into his back for only a second or two before they stopped. Confused, Kit turned to see the Bastion falling to the ground in pieces. He looked around and saw men and women in military uniforms dropping from airships and attacking. Now knowing help was here, he lead the boy carefully towards a safe area that had been established. He was fully prepared to leave the kid and head back into the chaos, but the sheer pain in his back stopped him.

A blond woman seemed to notice he was hurt and made his way too him. He breifly explained what happened as she tended to his wounds.

"You were very brave." She told him, and he had to bite back a scoff.

"I was just doing what i could. Anyone else would have done the same."

"But no one else does."

"You do. You and all these people."

"It's our job. Haven't you heard of Overwatch?"

That caused Kit to pause. Of course he had, even drifters knew about the group of people who opposed the omnics. "So...you're Overwatch. Yeah, I've heard of you."

Their conversation was cut short as the woman who was tending to him looked over and called out to someone. "Commander Morrison! I need you for a second."