#Ammunition Market Share

[priteshwemarketresearch]

Ammunition Market Analysis, Key Players, Share Dynamic Demand and Consumption by  2023 to  2031

Ammunition Market: Trends, Challenges, and Opportunities

The ammunition market is an essential segment of the global defense and security industry, playing a pivotal role in both military and civilian sectors. From firearms enthusiasts to law enforcement agencies, the demand for ammunition continues to grow worldwide, driven by increasing security concerns, geopolitical tensions, and rising interest in recreational shooting. This blog explores the current trends, challenges, and future opportunities in the ammunition market.

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What is the Ammunition Market?

The ammunition market encompasses the production, distribution, and sale of various types of ammunition used in firearms and other weapons systems. Ammunition can be categorized into small-caliber (used in handguns, rifles, and shotguns) and large-caliber (used in military artillery, tanks, and aircraft). The market includes bullets, shells, cartridges, and other types of projectiles that are used for defense, law enforcement, hunting, sport shooting, and other applications.

Growing Demand for Ammunition: Key Drivers

Several factors are driving the growth of the global ammunition market:

Rising Security Concerns: The increasing threat of terrorism, geopolitical instability, and military conflicts has prompted governments to invest more in defense and security. This, in turn, has increased the demand for ammunition for military and law enforcement agencies. Ammunition is critical in ensuring the readiness of armed forces and law enforcement personnel.

Civilian Gun Ownership: In many countries, the trend of civilian gun ownership has risen significantly, with firearms enthusiasts seeking ammunition for personal use, hunting, and sport shooting. The growth of recreational shooting sports like target shooting and skeet shooting is further contributing to the demand for small-caliber ammunition.

Advancements in Technology: Technological improvements in ammunition manufacturing have led to the development of more efficient, reliable, and cost-effective products. These innovations make ammunition more appealing to both professional and recreational shooters. For example, advanced projectiles and eco-friendly ammunition have gained popularity.

Hunting and Sporting Activities: Hunting continues to be a popular pastime in many parts of the world. The demand for ammunition used in hunting rifles, shotguns, and other firearms remains steady. As more people participate in recreational hunting and shooting sports, the need for various types of ammunition increases.

Key Trends in the Ammunition Market

The ammunition market is evolving, and several emerging trends are shaping its future:

Shift Toward Lead-Free Ammunition: Environmental concerns have led to a shift toward lead-free ammunition. Lead, a hazardous material, is being phased out of ammunition production due to its environmental and health risks. Many countries have already implemented regulations to ban lead-based bullets and shells in certain areas, especially in hunting.

Increasing Adoption of Smart Ammunition: Smart ammunition, which integrates advanced technologies like GPS, sensors, and guided systems, is gradually gaining traction. These types of ammunition are particularly useful in military applications, as they can increase accuracy, reduce collateral damage, and enhance overall operational efficiency.

Emerging Markets: Developing regions, particularly in Asia-Pacific and Latin America, are becoming key players in the ammunition market. As defense budgets in these regions rise and military modernization programs continue to expand, the demand for ammunition is set to increase. Additionally, the growing interest in shooting sports in emerging markets is contributing to market growth.

Consolidation of Manufacturers: The ammunition industry is witnessing consolidation, with major players acquiring smaller manufacturers to expand their product portfolios and increase production capacities. This trend is expected to continue as companies seek to strengthen their position in an increasingly competitive market.

Sustainability and Eco-Friendly Solutions: In response to consumer demand for greener products, ammunition manufacturers are exploring alternatives to traditional materials. Companies are focusing on producing ammunition that is both effective and environmentally responsible. This includes developing biodegradable components and using non-toxic materials for the manufacture of cartridges.

Challenges Facing the Ammunition Market

Despite its robust growth, the ammunition market faces several challenges:

Regulatory Constraints: The ammunition market is highly regulated, and manufacturers must comply with strict rules and guidelines regarding production, distribution, and sales. These regulations vary from one country to another and can impact market dynamics. For example, some regions have enacted laws that limit civilian access to certain types of ammunition or impose heavy taxes on sales.

Supply Chain Disruptions: Global supply chain disruptions, exacerbated by events like the COVID-19 pandemic, have impacted the ammunition industry. Raw materials shortages, transportation delays, and labor shortages can all contribute to price fluctuations and supply shortages in the market.

Rising Raw Material Costs: The cost of raw materials, particularly metals like copper, lead, and brass, plays a significant role in the cost of manufacturing ammunition. Any increase in the price of these raw materials can drive up the cost of ammunition, affecting both consumers and manufacturers.

Increasing Competition: As demand for ammunition rises, so does competition in the market. Both established players and new entrants are vying for market share. While this creates opportunities for innovation, it also puts pressure on companies to maintain profitability while keeping costs low.

Future Outlook: Opportunities and Growth

The global ammunition market is expected to continue its upward trajectory over the next decade. The following opportunities may drive further growth:

Defense Budget Increases: With countries around the world investing more in their military capabilities, the demand for ammunition is expected to rise. The continued modernization of defense forces and the development of new weapon systems will create sustained demand for ammunition.

Technological Innovations: Advancements in ammunition technology, such as the development of high-performance and guided munitions, will enhance the effectiveness and utility of ammunition in both military and civilian applications.

Growth of Shooting Sports: As recreational shooting becomes more popular, particularly in regions like North America and Europe, the demand for ammunition will continue to expand. This trend, coupled with increasing participation in hunting activities, will support steady market growth.

Conclusion

The ammunition market is poised for significant growth driven by increasing demand from both defense and civilian sectors. While challenges such as regulatory restrictions and supply chain disruptions remain, the opportunities for innovation, technological advancements, and emerging markets present a bright future for the industry. Companies that can adapt to changing trends, meet regulatory requirements, and invest in sustainable practices will be well-positioned to thrive in this dynamic market.

[amrutmnm]

The Global Ammunition Market size is projected to grow from USD 28.0 Billion in 2023 to USD 33.1 Billion in 2028, at a CAGR of 3.4% from 2023 to 2028.

Terrorism, regional conflicts, and geopolitical disputes have become global issues, posing potential risks to countries and their populations. Thus, governments of different countries are procuring and maintaining an inventory of advanced warfare equipment and ammunition to maintain peace. Ammunition forms an integral component of combat equipment and arms that are owned by various military and law enforcement agencies across the globe.

The Ammunition Industry is dynamic in nature, and parameters such as defense budgets, the number of armed personnel, inventory of firearms/artillery/tanks, stockpiling or war reserves, and geopolitical  tensions, among others, play a key role in defining market attractiveness. Factors such as the changing nature of warfare, the militarization of police forces, the increasing incidence of drug trafficking and terrorist activities, and the modernization of armed forces are fueling the growth of the ammunition market. Apart from its use in defense forces, ammunition also sees increasing importance in civil and commercial applications such as sporting, hunting, and self-defense.

[anna743453]

Exploring the Explosive Growth: The Ammunition Market's Trajectory (2024-2032)

The global ammunition market size is no small player in the world of commerce. As of 2023, it stood tall at approximately USD 27.82 billion, a figure that paints a vivid picture of its significance. Even more intriguing is the forecast for the years ahead – a projected Compound Annual Growth Rate (CAGR) of 3.6% between 2024 and 2032, set to propel the market's value to a staggering USD 38.28 billion by 2032. So, what's driving this explosive growth? Join us on this journey as we delve into the dynamics, trends, and factors shaping the ammunition market's future.

Understanding the Market Dynamics

The ammunition market is intricately linked to various factors, both internal and external. From economic conditions and regulatory changes to technological innovations and geopolitical events, a multitude of forces can influence its growth. Let's take a closer look at some key dynamics shaping this market:

Economic Factors: Economic stability and fluctuations in disposable income play a pivotal role in ammunition market trends. As economies grow, consumers often have more resources to invest in firearms and ammunition for various purposes, including self-defense, sport shooting, and hunting.

Regulatory Changes: Firearms and ammunition are heavily regulated in many countries. Changes in gun control laws, import/export regulations, and background checks can have a significant impact on market dynamics. The constant debate over gun control in various nations continues to influence the ammunition market's trajectory.

Technological Innovations: Advancements in ammunition technology can drive market growth. Innovations in materials, design, and ballistics can improve the performance and safety of ammunition, making it more appealing to consumers.

Geopolitical Events: Global events, such as conflicts and tensions between nations, can create spikes in demand for ammunition. Uncertainty and concerns about personal safety can lead to increased sales.

Trends Shaping the Market

Now, let's turn our attention to the trends that are shaping the ammunition market in the forecast period of 2024-2032:

Sustainability in Manufacturing: Environmental concerns are prompting manufacturers to explore more sustainable production methods for ammunition. This includes reducing lead content and recycling spent casings, aligning with a broader trend of environmental responsibility.

Digital Ammunition Sales: The rise of e-commerce and digital marketing is transforming the way ammunition is sold. Online platforms provide consumers with convenience and accessibility, and they also allow for a wider reach in terms of product availability.

Personal Defense and Home Security: The desire for personal safety is expected to drive demand for self-defense ammunition. As people become more conscious of their security, sales of ammunition for personal protection are likely to increase.

Sport Shooting and Hunting: Ammunition isn't just for self-defense; it's also a critical component of recreational activities like sport shooting and hunting. These pastimes continue to thrive, contributing to sustained demand for ammunition.

Factors Influencing Growth

Several factors are expected to contribute to the ammunition market's growth in the coming years:

Global Security Concerns: Geopolitical tensions, terrorism, and civil unrest in various parts of the world are likely to maintain or increase the demand for ammunition, especially among law enforcement agencies and civilians concerned about their safety.

Firearms Ownership: As the number of firearms owners grows globally, so does the demand for ammunition. Firearms enthusiasts and collectors consistently drive the ammunition market forward.

Technological Advancements: Ongoing research and development efforts in ammunition technology are expected to result in improved performance, safety, and reliability, making ammunition more appealing to consumers.

Market Expansion: The ammunition market is also expanding geographically. Emerging economies and regions with growing interest in firearms are becoming key players, contributing to the market's overall growth.

Conclusion

The global ammunition market is set on an explosive growth trajectory, with a projected value of USD 38.28 billion by 2032. Understanding the dynamics, trends, and factors influencing this market is crucial for industry players and enthusiasts alike. Whether you're interested in the economic impact, technological innovations, or the broader implications of this growth, one thing is certain – the ammunition market is a dynamic and evolving industry with a significant role to play in the years ahead. Stay tuned for more insights and updates on this captivating market journey!

[mi-researchreports]

The Ammunition Market is expected to reach USD 9.11 billion in 2023 and grow at a CAGR of 4.09% to reach USD 11.13 billion by 2028. BAE Systems PLC, Rheinmetall AG, General Dynamics Corporation, Nexter Group, RUAG Group are the major companies.

[marketsndata]

[aerospace-and-defence]

[269 Pages Report] The global small caliber ammunition market size is projected to grow from USD 10.03 billion in 2024 to USD 11.91 billion in 2029, at a CAGR of 3.4% from 2024 to 2029. The factors such as the increase in geopolitical tensions, Growth in military expenditure and arms transfer, change in the nature of warfare, modernization programs undertaken by military forces, militarization of police forces, and rise in drug trafficking globallyare driving factors assisting the growth of the small caliber ammunition market.

[hellishjoel]

seven days, six nights

5.6k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

← masterlist

summary: You get jumped in the QZ after a deal gone south and hide yourself from Joel to keep him safe. After eventually finding you and learning the truth behind your injuries, he heals you and promises revenge. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), post-outbreak Joel, living in the Boston QZ, somewhat established relationship, mentions of falling ill, mentions of hunger/starvation, mentions of weapons, mentions of sleeplessness, descriptions of a fight/brief assault, descriptions of bodily injury, talking about medical shit (and I ain't no doctor, I used google, don't sue me) thoughts and descriptions of murder (… isn’t he just so dreamy?), angst, light fluff at the end, half-ass edited (apologies in advance)

A/N: So happy to practice some post-outbreak writing! Enjoy this angsty one shot (inspired by this lovely ask!) that I fuckin loved writing. Dedicating this to @macfrog, as I pictured this entire plot with pixel Joel. 

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I lost you the battery-” “Someone stole it from you.” He corrects, shaking his head as a sinking feeling washes over you. Your eyelashes flutter as you feel a droplet of water land on your nose. You glance up at the sky, seeing the clear summer day has turned into dark clouds overhead threatening to flood the city in rain. Joel doesn’t look up, he stays watching you. You can’t seem to meet his eye contact. “But the battery-” “Don’t care about the battery right now, care about you.” 

Joel doesn’t know where you’ve been. You haven’t returned to his apartment in the QZ for days. He keeps track. Every time the sun rises and shines blistering beams of light into the quiet apartment until the moon replaces it and casts light silver streaks between the torn-up pieces of newspaper taped to the windows. Another day gone.

You had a routine. Make the smaller drops or pickups on your own, return to Joel, and report back to him with anything you think he might find useful or interesting. Five days ago, he sent you off to negotiate a truck battery with that West End District piece of shit, Robert. He shouldn’t have let you go alone. Fucking smugglers, you couldn’t trust any of them. Hell, Joel was even surprised you trusted him at first. He regretted not insisting on being by your side, even if it was just as your personal attack dog to keep Robert  on his toes. 

Despite Boston being one of the more “well-managed” QZs to still exist, the black market that emerged from it was just as strong. That’s where Joel came in. He figured if he could smuggle himself into one of the most protected quarantine zones in the country, he could smuggle just about anything else. 

Drugs, weapons, ammunition, illegally forged paperwork, counterfeit ration cards, you name it, and Joel could work it in or out of the city.  Joel’s reputation was usually enough to keep you both out of imminent danger as he became popular with not only the inhabitants of the QZ, but also with fellow smugglers. You all needed each other to stay alive, in one way or another. 

Don’t be mistaken; the Boston QZ wasn’t perfect. It went through its fair share of scares. Food sources dwindled occasionally, leaving people angry, starving, and rebellious. Fireflies were a constant nag on depleting military resources. The fighting never truly stopped. This partially made Joel’s life easier. When times got tough, people searched for Joel to procure particular goods to help keep them afloat or, more importantly, alive. 

That’s the problem Joel ran into after spending a night in FEDRA lock up. He was the one in need of supplies. 

Joel was sick. Not infected sick, not cordyceps sick, some kind of infection he got from poor sanitation in the lock-up that attacked its way through an open wound Joel had gotten. He didn’t know if it was from work duty or from the recent street attacks, hence his stay in the FEDRA lockup. No matter where he got it from, an infection in the bloodstream wasn’t easily curable. 

The doctors, what very few the QZ had, were scarcely treating the sick due to a lack of supplies. And Joel was only getting worse. 

He was fighting a high fever, his breathing was fucked, as was his heart rate. Only a few days into his symptoms, he was crashing. He was damn near on the devil’s doorstep. He wasn’t made for heaven’s gates. 

Joel didn’t have friends in the QZ, but there were certain high-powered people who needed items smuggled, too. And the guards paid him well to keep his mouth shut about what he saw going in and out of those gates after curfew. That’s why when one of his more popular clients heard Joel was an inch from  death, they sent you. 

You burst through his apartment, the door nearly flying off its hinges as you fled to his bedside. He pushed you away with what little strength he had at first, the infection was making him lose his damn mind. His skin was scarlet red, and he was clammy with sweat. He didn’t know you, you didn’t know him. But you weren’t going to let him die. 

“Joel, I’m here to help you, hold still.” 

Then you started your search, tearing Joel’s clothes off one by one until you found the sizeable cut on his upper bicep near his shoulder, a huge scrape from a metal blade that had gotten infected. The man had tons of scars, all in varying sizes, shapes, and places on his body. You didn’t know his past, but his body told his story. He was a fighter. 

Your fear was how far into sepsis Joel was. Any further or even just a few hours later, you might have witnessed his organs begin shutting down. 

Despite his hazy state, Joel was struck by your amount of supplies. You weren’t a Boston QZ doctor, he would remember a face like yours. It took a smuggler to know a smuggler, and you dealt in medical supplies. 

Joel passed out not long after you got there. You caught him up in the morning, you never left his side. You monitored him, kept checking his vitals, pumped him with water, shoved antibiotics down his throat, cleaned his wound before it could fester anymore, and tried to regulate his body temperature. This could have been a lot worse. It should have been a lot worse. 

This was your first time experiencing Joel Miller’s tenacious stubbornness. He wouldn’t fucking die, not last night, and not today. 

A few weeks later, with Joel improving, he picked up on you around town. The way you blended in with just about everyone else. Not much slipped past Joel these days with his eyes like that of an eagle. But you slipped right through his fingers, didn’t even know you existed,  despite running the same territory. 

That’s when he decided he wanted someone like you on his team. Not just for your medical skills, but the type of supplies you ran was in high demand. You never did tell him where you got it, or how it was funded, all he had to know was that you were in. And you have been in ever since. 

Joel introduced you to heavier smuggling, like weapons and bundles of cash. Even people for the right price. He taught you how to make fake documents of verification and how to forge other paperwork. This was a lot bigger compared to your clean syringes and medicine. 

You learned a lot from each other. You taught Joel patience, and to thank you for saving his life, he taught you how to orgasm in less than five minutes. 

The relationship you shared, if you could even call it that, wasn’t strictly a romantic one. Both of you were too guarded for something like that. But also, life was too short and unpredictable right now not to crave pleasure to erase the pain from the past. 

It was hard to admit, considering how independent you’ve grown since being accepted into the Boston QZ, but you were thinking about Joel in ways far beyond a slightly romantic relationship. He had protected you and cared for you in the Joel sort of way that’s hard to read but you know exists. 

Joel worked extra hours to hand you off extra ration cards, shaking his head and not looking at you when he said it was no big deal, just take’em. Or when he didn’t want you to stay in spare housing, he offered to let you live with him in his nicer, non-shared apartment. It was a small slice of heaven in this fucked up world. You liked him, hell, maybe it was more than like. 

That’s why when you got jumped by Robert’s guys on the way back to Joel’s with the truck battery, they damn near killed you. They left you passed out in the alley. Robbed you of your ration cards, stole back the battery, smashed your head so hard into the brick wall you had passed out. All you wanted to do when you came to was crawl to Joel. So you did. You were outside his door, beaten and bruised, about to knock. Then you just stood there and spiraled. 

You listened from the other side of Joel’s door to the floorboards creaking as he paced the old wooden beams. You were late and left him worried. He was waiting for you to come home. 

The thought made your stomach twist. You looked like shit. You knew what Joel was capable of. One look at your bruised and bloodied face would send him flying down the street with a rifle in his hands and a pistol shoved in the back of his jeans.  You couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt in a war with Robert. 

Joel was smart, a hell of a lot smarter than Robert, but their smuggling operations varied greatly. Robert was an arms dealer, with henchmen all around the QZ. Joel only worked with a handful of people, he kept his circle small. If Joel went after Robert, you were more likely to find him dead in the street than anything else. And you couldn’t do that to Joel, not after all he’s done for you. 

If Joel saw you hurt, he would kill Robert. He’d kill anyone that laid a finger on you. No one touches what’s Joel’s. Not merchandise, not weapons, not the pills he smuggles in and out of the QZ, and certainly not you. 

So you tiptoe back down the stairs and run to the spare housing blocks just before the curfew alarm sounds. What Joel doesn’t know won’t get him killed. 

---

Joel stands in line during the heat of summer, ration cards stuffed in his back pocket as he waits with others in the queue for a tray and some food. The dining hall was packed, and by the looks of other people’s trays, the food was low again. All he can think about is how he worked extra shifts all last week to get more ration cards for both of you. Without these cards, you were going hungry. You were supposed to be by his side, where were you? 

By day six, Joel was restless. He didn’t realize how accustomed he had grown to having you in bed beside him. All he could picture during his sleepless nights was his body spooned in behind yours, the heavy weight of his arm curled around your waist, being able to sense even the tiniest of movements. You’d push off his arm in the middle of the night, telling him that you just needed to use the bathroom or get some water. 

It wasn’t always like that, though. Sometimes, you have nightmares. Ones that left you shooting up straight in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, crawling backward in bed like something or someone was chasing you. Joel didn’t know everything about your past and vice versa, but he knew wherever you came from before Boston was a different form of hell. He would hold you in his arms, console you, wipe your hot tears, lay your head on the warmth of his chest, and tell you to level out your breathing by listening to the beat of his heart. He held you in his arms until you eventually fell back asleep. Most of the time, you’d wake up and wouldn’t remember a thing. 

What if nothing was wrong with you, and you just realized you didn’t want to be with someone as broken and battered as Joel? He didn’t make being in his company easy. He gave you a lot of shit, pushed you to the limits, told you on more than a handful of occasions he just wanted to be left alone. You’d ask about his daughter, the one he sparsely spoke about, and he’d bark at you until you regretted even thinking about her. He didn’t make things easy on you, but Joel did care about you. Even if he was shit at showing it. 

He pushed you away, maybe you took the hint and left him. 

On day seven, he started asking around about you, something he saved as a last resort. The less you two were seen together, the better. You had him worried sick, and he was damn near ready to raid Robert’s warehouse to see if he had taken you, made you his girl against your will.  

That was until he caught a glimpse of you going past the market. It didn’t take much, he recognized your figure and trailed you with his eyes.  You were walking towards spare housing, with a heavy backpack and a sweatshirt on. Your arms were wrapped securely around you, and your head was down. 

He navigated through the crowds, jaw tight, putting down heavy steps on the broken gravel road as he pushed people out of his way with a guided hand on their shoulder. He followed you out of the crowd and down the street lined with stone barricades and rubble from a recent building that was raided by patrol on the hunt for Fireflies. You turned sharply down an alleyway, and Joel followed you, needing to see if you were okay, looking for answers. 

As soon as Joel took the alley, he was attacked and harshly shoved backward, his shoulder blades smacking the red brick wall behind him. A small switchblade was then shoved against the protruding vein in his neck, heated puffs of breath leaving him. He initially panicked in the moment, his hand tightening around the wrist that held him there.

“Why the hell are you following me?” You bark at him, head still lowered. Joel’s eyes narrow at the sound of your voice. 

He speaks your name.

Your strength relaxes, and you lift your head up to see you had pinned Joel. Shit, you thought one of Robert’s men was following you from town. You let out an exhausted breath of relief. 

“You’re really holdin’ me up with the knife I gave you?” Joel asks. He smacks the back of your hand, reflexes making your fist open up and lose the grip on your switchblade. Joel snags it with his free hand and glares at you. He takes the opportunity to shove your forearm off his chest, the one that was pinning him against the wall, and sending you a few paces back from the force he exerts. He hesitates but folds the blade back into the handle, and offers it back to you.

You let out a sigh of relief to see that it was just Joel. But this was still a problem. 

You retrieve the switchblade you accidentally surrendered to him and stuff it into your sweatshirt pocket. You cross your arms and look away to the entrance of the alley. “What the hell are you doing following me, Joel?”

He lets out a scoff through his nose and shoots daggers out of his eyes that you won’t meet. “What the hell am I doin’? Where the hell have you been?” He tries not to bark so loud. You won’t stop staring at the entrance of the alley, and Joel’s not sure if you’re thinking about running or thinking about being ambushed. 

He grabs your arm and drags you further into the alley, sunset on the horizon. He brings you to the back of an old school that was ready to collapse. He pushes you back against the wall and stands close, too close. 

“Answer me, what the hell happened to you?” His voice shoots goosebumps across your skin, low and growling for answers. 

The grip he has on your arm tightens and washes a flood of heat over your injured arm. Your mouth hisses with hurt, trying to breathe through the pain. You shake him off of you and clutch your arm lightly. “‘M fine, Joel, I can manage.” 

You’re speaking with a break in your voice that Joel can’t quite place. The hood you’re wearing is working overtime to shield your face. 

He pauses before he slowly looks over you. “Why are you wearin’ a sweatshirt in the middle of summer?” 

The silence he’s met with only leaves him more curious. What are you hiding? He swiftly pushes the hood off your head before you can stop him, and he’s not prepared for what he sees. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, his large hands delicately coming up and caressing your cheeks.

You sigh and roll your eyes. The skin around your right eye is blueish-purple. You lightly twinged at the contact, no matter how delicate he was being. “It’s not as bad as it seems, it doesn’t hurt-”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Joel mutters, lightly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger as he angles your face from left to right, allowing him to get a full look at the damage done to you. You glance down at his broken watch for comfort, the band fraying and the glass shattered, but he still wore it. 

You can’t exactly explain why your lower lip starts to wobble. It was so hard to stay away from Joel, to distance yourself, but it was all for keeping him safe. Your small fists lightly clutch the button-up shirt he’s wearing around his abdomen, finally feeling a slight sense of security. 

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I lost you the battery.”

“Someone stole it from you.” He corrects, shaking his head as a sinking feeling washes over you. Your eyelashes flutter as you feel a droplet of water land on your nose. You glance up at the sky, seeing the clear summer day has turned into dark clouds overhead threatening to flood the city in rain. Joel doesn’t look up, he stays watching you. 

You can’t seem to meet his eye contact. “But the battery-”

“Don’t care about the battery right now, care about you.” His thumb gently examines the cut on your lip. You curl it inwards to stray from his touch. “Robert do this to you? His guys?” Joel’s asking accusingly, and you know better than to lie to him. You swallow the growing lump in your throat and gently nod, blinking back tears. 

His face grows taut with anger, his brows furrowing and the creases in his forehead are set in stone. His jaw is clamped shut while he grits his teeth. Joel’s probably thinking of a million scenarios of how to put Robert down. Which way would last the longest, string out the torture, make him apologize to you, and beg for his life. Make him apologize to Joel for ever touching a hand on what was his. 

“Joel, you need to take a breath. Focus.” The last thing you wanted was for Joel to go on a rampage tonight in search of Robert. “I’m fine, this shit happens. We’ll get back on track and-”

“Can’t believe they let you live.” He murmurs, taking a look at the damage that he can visibly see before lightly sighing and releasing your face. You’re quick to pull the hood back up and cross your arms in front of you as some sort of shield. 

His eyes are sunken in, his chest is lightly heaving as he tries to sort through his muddled thoughts. The rain is starting to scatter more, hitting your muddy sneakers and Joel’s dark denim shirt. The setting sun meant curfew was just around the corner. 

“Come on. We’re goin’ home. Need to take a look at you in the light." You hesitate but his eyes are pleading for you to just let him take care of you.  So you let him. 

---

You travel up the same staircase you did just a week ago, limping and injured, broken and feeling guilty. Joel needed that battery for the truck. He was going to leave Boston and go to find his brother, Tommy. Neither of you had discussed if you would come with. For Joel, you think you might do just about anything for him if he asked. 

He stabs his key into the lock of his door. You hear a crying baby in a neighboring apartment, it was probably startled awake by the blaring of the curfew alarm. Lightning and thunder crack outside as Joel pushes open the door. You follow him inside and set down your backpack by the door like you usually do. Another strike of lightning makes his apartment flood itself with white-silver streaks of light, if only for a moment. Joel flips the lock back into place and hits the switch to the one overhead light in between the kitchen and the living room. You’re sweating up a storm in your sweatshirt. 

Though living in Boston’s QZ wasn’t great, you had to admit that not every quarantine zone had clean water and electricity. Joel had an old standing oscillating fan that was stationed at the foot of his bed during the summers since he ran so warm all the time. He said he traded about four or five meals worth of ration cards to get it, said that it was considered a steal. You shed the heavy material of your sweatshirt and sit tiredly down at the end of his bed, closing your eyes as the fan wicks away your sweat and cools your face. 

Living in spare housing the past week was hell. You barely slept. The homeless, sick, and injured all found their way to spare housing. You weren’t safe there. And you didn’t have any ration cards to your name. You had to trade one singular, perfectly clean syringe to afford four rolls of bread. It was all you could get at the time being. Everyone was fighting for work, knowing ration cards and food were low. Since you were still somewhat new to the QZ, you weren’t given privileges. You laid on a nasty, old cot for a week. Joel’s small apartment was heaven. The solitude was peaceful. 

Joel was standing at the sink, water running over a cloth as he stared down at the water circling the drain. He needed to take a breath, set his anger aside, and get you to talk. 

Joel wrings out the rag, loose droplets of water splattering in the sink before he sits down at his small wooden kitchen table. “C’mere.” He whispers, taking your attention away from the fan. You slowly stand up and make your way to the table under the central light in his living room, sighing softly as you slowly sink into the accompanying chair. Now in the light, he observes your injuries closer. 

Without your sweatshirt on, he can see bruises and scrapes along your arms, residual blood on your knuckles and under your nails. His little fighter. He notes that your tanktop is a bit shredded, and he fears the worst. 

You catch him staring and intervene. “Don’t worry. I didn’t let them get close enough to touch me like that.” You glance down at the sweaty tank top and lightly tug on the hole. “Just got this while I was running away, trying to hop a fence.” 

Joel frowns and slowly works his eyes over you. “‘S not like you to get caught. You’re pretty damn fast.”

You held down a bubble of laughter as your fingers played with the fraying material of your top. “Yeah, well, they already got one or two good hits on me, so I was a little hazy.” Your words don’t settle him. They infuriate him. 

He brings his attention to your face. Your eye must have been swollen at one point, but it wasn’t anymore. The puffiness had gone down, and the bruises were in their final stages of healing. You have another more prominent bruise on your cheekbone, black and blue, but it’s not broken. That’s good. The cut on your eyebrow and the matching one on your lip catches his attention. A man with a ring. 

“Red hair? Crooked nose, missing a front tooth?” 

You blink a few times rapidly, curious as to how the hell Joel knew the characteristics of one of your attackers. 

“How did you…” You start to say until your words trail off, shaking your head in confusion. 

Joel sneers lightly and brings the wet rag up to gently dab at the cut on your lip. “Not a lot of men are stupid enough to wear a ring that basically signs their name on whoever’s face they’re knocking in.” How he describes your fight makes you flinch and shift uncomfortably in your chair, evading his eye contact. “Sorry.” He mutters quietly. “His name is Chase, Jase, somethin’ stupid like that. One of Robert’s guys.” Joel’s words lightly flitter off as he shifts his attention to your lip once more. 

It was still swollen and angry. You probably tried to eat with it still agitated and delayed its healing. But you know this already. You ate because you didn’t have a choice. It was that, or starve. He hated knowing you were roaming the streets in a horrible hunger, especially when he had ration cards waiting for you at home. 

Your eyes twitch closed as Joel’s wet rag rinses the blood out of the cut on your lip, the old excess blood lightly trickling into your mouth. Your tastebuds catch the tang of metallic and salt. You did what you could with the medical supplies you had, but you didn’t want to waste on yourself what you could potentially sell. If you were avoiding Joel for a while, you needed to be able to make trades of your own. You did use some supplies to clean the cut on your head. You were lucky the wall you were thrown into didn’t leave you with a concussion. 

Joel is still wrestling with why the hell you didn’t come home, why he had to go out and find you. Why, why, why? Why did he let you go alone? Why did the deal go south? A terrible feeling soured his stomach.  Robert’s men were ruthless, they must have felt kind enough to let you live. Or it was a message to Joel from Robert. You’re next. 

Joel wasn’t scared of Robert, but for them to be scared of a young woman was a mystery for the masses. 

He tosses the rag down on the table and stands up. “I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em.” He grunts up, his lips snarling and his nostrils flaring in heated fury. 

He storms to the kitchen and impatiently fills up a glass of water. Joel was fantasizing about plunging his thumbs into Robert’s eye sockets and squeezing until his head turned into mush. Or maybe Joel could take him to the Eastern district, throw him in the Massachusetts Bay, and hold him underwater, only bringing him up from the brink of drowning before pushing him down again. And again. And again. 

Your sweet voice breaks Joel’s murderous thoughts. “Joel, I owe you the battery, and I promise I’ll find another one. Just give me a little time and-”

Joel slams the glass of water on the counter, the clatter of it echoing around the room. “Don’t care about the damn battery!” His back is to you, broad and strong shoulders heaving lightly as his head hangs low. His hands are gripping the edge of the counter. “Thought they fuckin’ kidnapped you! Or worse!”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, your lower lip wobbling once more as he slowly starts shaking his head. 

“I almost lost you, and it’s my fault.” 

Your eyes soften at his words. He’s felt this way before, and he’s been haunted by the mistake ever since. His daughter, you think. 

His low, southern drawl makes you focus on him once more. “Tell me why you hid. Why didn’t you come to me? We could have figured things out, for fuck’s sake!” He shouts as he turns to face you, his body falling back into the counter as he crosses his arms. 

Your chest swells with heavy emotion. You stand up so fast from your chair that its sent scraping backward. “I did come here! I did! I heard you inside and I..” you pause and shake your head, still finding your voice. 

“I was scared you’d be upset with me letting someone steal the battery, I was afraid you’d go after Robert and get yourself fucking-- killed, Joel! I don’t want you to die, okay? I need you!” 

“And I need you!” He shouts back, lips parted with heavy breaths, both of you trying to settle with the newly shared revelation. 

You both stare at each other from across the room, watching as Joel’s jaw slowly begins to click loose. He shoves himself up off the counter and closes the distance between you two. You hesitantly take a step back, and he pauses his footsteps. His eyes soften, and he looks as broken as you do. 

“Please,” he pleads, gently shaking his head. “Would never hurt you, baby.” He puts his hand out, a gesture of kindness and warmth that you’d missed all week, yet you still hesitate. You almost wait too long, he’s already reeling his hand back into his side. 

“Joel,” you whisper with soft relief. You eagerly take a few steps forward, ignoring his hand, and gently settle your head on his chest as you tightly squeeze your arms around his lower back. You close your eyes and melt into him, finding solace in Joel’s embrace. 

Joel’s arms stay hovering in the air for a moment, lips parted as he looks down at the top of your head. He shames himself for even hesitating. He puts one hand on the side of your head and holds you to his chest, while the other settles low on your back. He breaths peacefully for the first time in a week. 

You stay like that for who knows how long. He’s warm, and you feel protected. You sink into his arms, he takes on your weight. He walks you backward to the foot of his bed once more, letting you delicately fall back into the mattress. You watch with tired eyes as he unties the laces of your sneakers, one after the other. He shucks down your jeans, making you giggle. 

“Joel, you don’t wanna fuck me right now, I smell like spare housing.” 

The right side of his mouth twitches up as he shakes his head at you. “I know you do. ‘M takin’ you to shower.” 

You sit up on your elbows as you smile a bit bashfully at him. “Good. Because I’m too sore to fool around anyway.” You whisper with a teasing smile as you grab the bottom of your tank top, peeling it up and off of your sticky skin. Joel tries not to stare. You’re not sure if he’s clocking your naked figure or the bruising around your ribs and legs. 

You’d need some time to heal. Joel knows you do. While you shower, he makes you as big of a feast he can muster up with the canned goods he has in his cupboards. You try to eat the first real meal you’ve had in a week slowly, to savor the taste, but you end up shoveling your spoon into the bowl and scraping it clean.  

Joel’s eyes are on you the whole time, watching you, observing you. He won’t let you out of his sight for a while, but maybe that’s what’s good for you. You meet his gaze and he speaks a silent vow. We’ll find Robert, steal the battery back, then kill him and anyone else who laid a finger on you. He nods. You nod too. 

Joel’s not sure how late it is by the time you two fall into bed together. He doesn’t know how to tell you how much you mean to him, but he says it in the way he holds you. Back in his arms, he’s more alert of how sore you are from your fight. He gently cups your face, watching your eyes slowly flutter closed with long blinks. You must be so tired. And he doesn’t want to keep you awake. He’s afraid to look away, like if he lets you out of his sight, you’ll disappear again. 

He speaks your name and gently stirs you awake. “Hm?” You softly murmur, bringing your hand up and gently feeling over the planes of Joel’s chest, fingers lightly grazing his chest hair. 

He looks down at you for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Don’t run away like that again.” His words are stern before he pauses again,  lightly pushing some hair behind your ear and touching you like a delicate flower. You watch him attentively. He cups your jawline and angles you to look up at him.  “We’re takin’ that battery back, and we’re gettin’ the hell out of here. You hear me?” 

Your heart swells at his words. We. You slowly nod in agreement. You feel Joel’s gentle kisses on your forehead and the tip of your nose. You lean up to capture his lips, but he falters by an inch. A confused expression crosses your face. 

“You’re hurt.” He mutters, referring to the cut on your lip. Don’t wanna hurt ya, sweet girl.

You roll your eyes and take his face in your small hands. “Don’t care.” You whisper before you pull him in, and the two of you share a featherlight kiss. You let it last, both of you soaking it in after a week apart. A week too long. 

Joel’s the first to pull away, giving you a playful little glare. The bruising on your face reminds him of the boxing movies he grew up watching. “Easy, Rocky.” 

You look at him confused and cock your head. “Who?”

He rolls his eyes at you and sighs, gently running his hand down your side. “Go to sleep. I’ll teach you about Rocky one through five tomorrow. D’you at least get a few good hits on Robert or his guys?”

You hum quietly and let your eyes dip closed. “Mhm.”

“Like I taught ya?”

“Just like you taught me. Gave ‘em the ole left, right, goodnight." You bring up your fists to demonstrate. "Made Robert’s nose bleed, think I broke it.”  

Your head falls into Joel’s chest, feeling it rumble with laughter and a sense of pride. “That’s my girl.”

His body shields you from the outside world. You sleep like a rock for the rest of the night. You live another day, and so does Joel. But with Joel’s promise, you know Robert’s days are numbered. You’ll be sure of it. 

---

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[olderthannetfic]

fandom social justice history anon here - aaah, thank you, early fandom being dominated by academics definitely connected the dots I was missing, thank you! Yeah, now looking at it with this in mind, it's pretty obvious how the tone of the meta essays from that era, while often snarky or even outraged, definitely sounds more like the tone of people who are used to passionately arguing in a setting that doesn't allow you to just throw whatever ad hominem accusation at your opponent's head. In contrast, tumblr's (and as a result, twitter's and tiktok's) style of fandom drama now reads to me even more blatantly like a catfight between high schoolers who have just recently learned some Big Words they only care to use as ammunition. I've read multiple older fans (including your invaluably informative blog) talking about how tumblr definitely reshaped fandom and brought in a TON of new people, and how slash was far from the "mainstream" of fandom even in the livejournal-ffn.net days, and I'm having a feeling that, for all the imperfections of this first tumblr generation of fans' activism ("let my gays marry" etc etc) the thing that got slash to be "mainstreamed" within fandom the way it currently is, also has to do with this pretty sizeable influx of new fans being mostly teenagers. As in specifically, overwhelmingly teenage girls who were having their first sparks of interest in romance during the height of the "I'm not like other girls" era + everyone shitting on twilight & "girly" musicians, because if you look at the posts from that period, they often contrast being a slash reader with being the slutty partying "other girl" or annoying hipster & at my school too slash kind of spread as a "not like the other girls" alternative to mainstream romance. Yes, not the healthiest attitude either, and it's good we've mostly grown past that, but like I said, there's a good chance that was what buffed up the numbers of slash fans to the point where today people are surprised fandom ever even was hostile to it, and at least in my environment, fandom activism, for all its flaws, was most people's first exposure to any sort of "-rights" activism at all. But (as is probably obvious) I did not experience most of even that era personally (I joined tumblr fandom in 2014). Anyways, excuse the rambling, if you feel like adding anything to confirm or deny my hypothesis, I greatly appreciate it, and I hope you have a nice day/evening!

--

M/M still isn't mainstream in plenty of fandom contexts, just not the ones I hang out in, and "not like the other girls" of the type you describe was already big in the 90s among people who'd heard of fanfic. It's just that fanfic was harder to stumble across overall.

I think the two biggest factors are the changing attitudes towards gayness in mainstream culture in a number of countries and... well... AO3 getting popular.

FFN was the big place in the past, though not for my crowd. Now, AO3 is taking a massive bite out of not only its market share but now, in the last few years, Wattpad's.

When the visible institution around which fanfic revolves puts filtering out het front and center, it sends a strong message that previous fandom platforms did not. You had your m/m-only archives and your f/f-only archives and your places that let you filter for those but that treated het as an unmarked default.

Look at early discussions of AO3. There's an undercurrent there that we all assumed it would be one of a number of archives and that we didn't expect it to get this big.

Nobody could have foreseen the Het-Is-Eternal-Default Wattpad crowd being forced by their own platform's suckitude to come camp on the thing built by slashers. Now, we are the admins and they are the also-tolerated. That never happened before.

The thing that makes people not report gay hand holding as evil porn that must be eradicated is simply AO3 putting its foot down.

Anyone who thinks that virulent slash hate is gone just hasn't looked at other spaces.

This is not about individual fans behaving better: it is about institutional power.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Union pensions are funding private equity attacks on workers

On October 7–8, I'm in Milan to keynote Wired Nextfest.

If end-stage capitalism has a motto, it's this: "Stop hitting yourself." The great failure of "voting with your wallet" is that you're casting ballots in a one party system (The Capitalism Party), and the people with the thickest wallets get the most votes.

During the Cultural Revolution, the Chinese state would bill the families of executed dissidents for the ammunition used to execute their loved ones:

https://www.quora.com/Is-it-true-the-Chinese-government-makes-the-families-of-executed-people-pay-for-the-cost-of-bullets

In end-stage capitalism, the dollars we spend to feed ourselves are used to capture the food supply and corrupt our political process:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

And the dollars we save for retirement are flushed into the stock market casino, a game that is rigged against us, where we are always the suckers at the table:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/25/derechos-humanos/#are-there-no-poorhouses

Everywhere and always, we are financing our own destruction. It's quite a Mr Gotcha moment:

https://thenib.com/mister-gotcha/

Now, anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop. We are living through a broad, multi-front counter-revolution to Reaganomics and neoliberal Democratic Party sellouts. The FTC and DOJ Antitrust Division are dragging Big Tech and Big Meat and Big Publishing into court. We're seeing bans on noncompete clauses, and high-profile government enforcers are publicly pledging never to work for corporate law-firms when they quit public service:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/09/nein-nein/#everything-is-miscellaneous

And of course, there's the reinvigoration of the labor movement! Hot Labor Summer is now Perpetual Labor September, with 75,000 Kaiser workers walking out alongside the UAW, SAG-AFTRA and 2,350 other groups of workers picketing, striking or protesting:

https://striketracker.ilr.cornell.edu/

But capitalism still gets a lick in. Union pension plans are some of the most important investors in private equity funds. Your union pension dollars are probably funding the union-busting, child-labor-employing, civilization-destroying Gordon Gecko LARPers who are also evicting you from the rental they bought and turned into a slum, and will then murder you in a hospice that they bought and turned into a slaughterhouse:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

Writing for The American Prospect, Rachel Phua rounds up the past, present and future of union pension funds backing private equity monsters:

https://prospect.org/labor/2023-10-04-workers-funding-misery-private-equity-pension-funds/

Private equity and hedge funds have destroyed 1.3 million US jobs:

https://united4respect.org/press-release/people-who-work-at-walmart-sears-amazon-formerly-toys-r-us-more-join-forces-together-as-united-for-respect-2-2-2-2-5-3/

They buy companies and then illegally staff them with children:

https://www.dol.gov/newsroom/releases/whd/whd20230217-1

They lobby against the minimum wage:

https://pestakeholder.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/Insire-Brands-memo-on-15-wage.pdf

They illegally retaliate against workers seeking to unionize their jobsite:

https://www.hoteldive.com/news/dc-hotel-workers-enlist-us-representatives-to-fight-sofitel-union-busting/650396/

And they couldn't do it without union pension funds. Public service union pensions have invested $650 million with PE funds. In 2001, the share of public union pensions invested in PE was 3.5%; today, it's 13%:

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1B0vv26VEFmwtfw5ur6dSDMY8NftvZKij/

Giant public union funds like CalPERS are planning massive increases in their contributions to PE:

https://www.calpers.ca.gov/page/newsroom/calpers-news/2023/calpers-preliminary-investment-return-fiscal-year-2022-23

This results in some ghastly and ironic situations. Aramark used funds from a custodian's union to bid against that union's members for contracts, in an attempt to break the union and force the workers to take a paycut to $11/hour:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2012-11-20/pension-fund-gains-mean-worker-pain-as-aramark-cuts-pay

Blackstone's investors include the California State Teachers Retirement System (CalSTRS). The PE ghouls who sucked Toys R Us dry were funded by Texas teachers.

Then there's KKR, one of the most rapacious predators of the PE world. Half of the investors in KKR's Global Infrastructure Investors IV fund are public sector pension funds. Those workers' money were spent to buy up Refresco (Arizona Iced Tea, Tropicana juices, etc), a transaction that immediately precipitated a huge spike in on-the-job accidents as KKR cut safety and increased tempo:

https://www.osha.gov/ords/imis/establishment.inspection_detail?id=1675674.015

Petsmart is the poster-child for PE predation. The company uses TRAPs ("TrainingRepaymentAgreementProvision") clauses to recreate indentured servitude, forcing workers to pay thousands of dollars to quit their jobs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

Why would a Petsmart employee want to quit? Petsmart's PE owner is BC Partners, and under BC's management, workers have been forced to work impossible hours while overseeing cruel animal abuse, including starving sick animals to death rather than euthanizing them, and then being made to sneak them into dumpsters on the way home from work so Petsmart doesn't have to pay for cremation. 24 of BC Partners' backers are public pension funds, including CalSTRS and the NYC Employees' Retirement System:

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2023-06-02-days-of-plunder-morgenson-rosner-ballou-review/

PE buyouts are immediately followed by layoffs. One in five PE acquisitions goes bankrupt. Unions should not be investing in PE. But the managers of these funds defend the practice, saying they "facilitate dialog" with the PE bosses on workers' behalf.

This isn't total nonsense. Once upon a time, public pension fund managers put pressure on investees to force them to divest from Apartheid South Africa and tobacco companies. Even today, public pensions have successfully applied leverage to get fund managers to drop Russian investments after the invasion of Ukraine. And public pensions pulled out of the private prison sector, tanking the valuation of some of the largest players.

But there's no evidence that this leverage is being applied to pensions' PE billions. It's not like PE is a great deal for these pensions. PE funds don't reliably outperform the market, especially after PE bosses' sky-high fees are clawed back:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3623820

Pension funds could match or beat their PE returns by sticking the money in a low-load Vanguard index tracker. What's more, PE is getting worse, pioneering new scams like inflating the value of companies after they buy and strip-mine them, even though there's no reason to think anyone would buy these hollow companies at the price that the PE companies assign to them for bookkeeping purposes:

https://www.institutionalinvestor.com/article/2bstqfcskz9o72ospzlds/opinion/why-does-private-equity-get-to-play-make-believe-with-prices

To inject a little verisimilitude into this obvious fantasy, PE companies sell their portfolio companies to themselves at inflated prices, in a patently fraudulent shell-game:

https://www.ft.com/content/646d00f4-af5d-4267-a436-54fb3bc1697b

What's more, PE funds aren't just bad bosses, they're also bad landlords. PE-backed funds have scooped up an appreciable fraction of America's housing stock, transforming good rentals into slums:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/27/extraordinary-popular-delusions/#wall-street-slumlords

PE is really pioneering a literal cradle-to-grave immiseration strategy. First, they gouge you on your kids' birth:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/27/crossing-a-line/#zero-fucks-given

Then, they slash your wages and steal from your paycheck:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3465723

Then, they evict you from your home:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/05/vulture-capitalism/#distressed-assets

And then they murder you as part of a scam they're running on Medicare:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/05/any-metric-becomes-a-target/#hca

As the labor movement flexes its muscle, it needs to break this connection. Workers should not be paying for the bullet that their bosses put through their skulls.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/05/mr-gotcha/#no-ethical-consumption-under-capitalism

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[hallowxiu]

Gentle Monster

part 1

i will be posting this as a chaptered series on my a03 linked here.

characters: zombie!Beel, gn!mc

word count: 4.8k

Summary: You're living in a zombie apocalypse where your current struggles have brought you to a small town where you meet a strange zombie.

"The zombie, which hasn’t immediately attacked you, strikes you as odd. It doesn’t seem violent, but you know that can’t be true. If anything, it seems startled by your presence."

Autumn leaves rustle on the ground, the wind blowing them down the streets as you walk hurriedly. You’d left your house, your very own sanctuary that you built with your own hands, to run into town to look for supplies. You were stocked on most things, but you found yourself running low on medical supplies (you had a bit of a nasty run-in with a handful of zombies a few nights ago) and ammunition (for the same reason you ran low on medical supplies). 

For the last year, you were nearly sure you were one of the last remaining humans in your town. You hadn’t seen or as much as heard a peep from people, which was somewhat uncommon. If there were groups of armed people holed up somewhere, you would have eventually run into them when out on supply runs. 

The echo of your steps is the only source of sound in the otherwise quiet town. You can hear the faint grunts and groans of zombies in the distance, but the sounds aren’t close enough to draw any sense of alarm. Still, you had your hammer ready in case you were surprised. 

You weren’t feeling hopeful today with the potential outcome of your supply run. Medical supplies and ammunition generally were rare to find, but in a town where most humans were wiped out? Yeah, fat chance. You felt a growing pit of anxiety forming in your stomach. Never run low: that’s what you drilled into yourself whenever it came to medical supplies and ammunition. How could you let yourself get so careless? You should have never put yourself in this situation to start with.

Your eyes scanned over the abandoned and ruined buildings, moss and vines covering the exteriors and forcing their way inside through broken windows. Damaged bricks lay discarded and forgotten on the ground. Most places had already been ransacked by both you and other survivors. You knew markets had little to provide, and long-forgotten homes had been stripped of anything valuable they once had. There was, however, one place in town that most people avoided. The feeling of anxiety grows larger within you, threatening to break out. You didn’t want to go to that section of town, but you were low on options. You needed medical supplies and ammunition desperately; if you wanted to survive, you’d have to take calculated risks. Running a dirty hand through your hair, a shaky exhale forces itself past your lips as you head toward the town’s police station. 

The police station was a place to avoid for several reasons. However, the most pressing one was that it was located right on the outskirts of town. You tried to avoid the outskirts of town as much as possible. Zombies always seemed to linger in groups that could easily overpower someone traveling alone. The police station also had a small jail toward the back of the building, which became an issue once people started dropping dead and turning. Many of the prisoners were still in their cells, turned years ago. It was just a place you didn’t like to be around, but you also knew many survivors shared that sentiment. If you wanted to get the supplies you were so desperately in need of, you knew the police station would more than likely have it. However, there was a risk that you may end up using all the supplies just trying to get back out of the station. 

You stop short in front of the station. The building looks the same as the rest of the infrastructure in town. Something, likely a herd of zombies, had pushed in the front doors that were now barely attached to the hinges. Bloody handprints had been smeared on the remaining glass, and from what you could tell from where you stood, the inside didn’t look much better. You could see the center of the reception room, papers discarded and dumped on the tiled floor. Inhaling and giving yourself a false sense of confidence, you step inside the station. 

The first thing you noticed was how quiet it was. No grunts, no moans, no shaky breaths. Your dominant hand grips the hammer tighter. It was rare for the police station to be empty; there were almost always zombies roaming around the building. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, pounding away as you scan the room for any threats. The air held a musty and metallic smell, and you could see thick layers of dust on the plastic chairs that sat haphazardly in the room. Slowly, carefully, you walk behind the receptionist's desk, looking for anything useful. Nothing, but that didn’t shock you. Survivors brave enough to break into the station usually only made it to the receptionist area. Not many were brave, or for lack of a better word, stupid enough to push further. Luckily (or unluckily), you were stupid enough to do such a thing. 

Moving through the reception area and toward the back of the station, you knew the likelihood of finding supplies increased. You swallow nervously, glancing around as you push through the building. Somehow, it became more nerve-wracking the longer you went without running into anything. The lights are out, thanks to the power outage from the outbreak. Still, you weren’t anticipating just how dark the building grew the further you pushed. You knew you had to be getting close to the jail based on the lack of windows. 

You blink several times, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness. You hated being in the dark, something you didn’t initially have a fear of until you found yourself living in a world full of blood-thirsty monsters. Your mind would play tricks on you, conjuring up distorted images of things lurking in the shadows, hiding behind every corner. Whenever you found yourself in the dark, it became incredibly difficult for you to stay focused, to separate reality and hallucinations. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to stay grounded in the moment. Losing yourself to panic would only cause more trouble. Opening your eyes again, you grab a flashlight in your bag. Once on, the flashlight illuminates the room with a narrow tunnel of light, giving you an idea of where you’re at in the building. You had been right; you were in the jail portion of the police station. Lifting your flashlight, you freeze when seeing the outline of something right in front of you. 

Disorientated from the darkness, it takes your brain a moment to process that you are staring directly at someone or something’s chest. Before a scream can erupt from your lungs and you lose yourself completely to panic, you throw yourself back, trying to put as much distance as possible between whatever’s in the room with you. You aim your flashlight, the light revealing a zombie in the corner of the room, visibly startled by your sudden movement. You glance from the zombie to your hammer, noting that it’s of significant size for an ordinary zombie. It didn’t seem like a Griever, the deadliest zombie from the outbreak. That relieved you; you didn’t think you could take on a Griever of that size without a gun. It was the risk you carried when traveling into town; the sound of a gun firing could attract all types of zombies from all over. You were exposed enough as it was in town; you didn’t need to make it worse for yourself. 

You didn’t want to fight the zombie with your hammer. It was large and could easily overpower you. Your pistol is in your bag as a last option, but you couldn’t risk alerting more zombies to your location. The palm of your hand is sweating as your grip around the hammer tightens, your knuckles turning white. Cautiously, you take a slow step back, desiring to add more space between you. The zombie, which hasn’t immediately attacked you, strikes you as odd. It doesn’t seem violent, but you know that can’t be true. 

Without warning, the zombie lunges for you, its hands outstretched as it runs toward you. You force a scream down as you stumble back, unthinkingly swinging the hammer out in front of you, striking at the air. You back into something, feeling cool metal pressing against your back. It’s bars to a jail cell. 

Making a rash and sudden decision, you yank the door to the cell open, darting inside and slamming the door shut behind you. You stumble back against the wall as you watch the large zombie trying to squeeze its arms through the gaps of the cell door. Your chest rises and falls, eyes dilated and wide as you try to make out your dark surroundings. You must’ve dropped your flashlight in the struggle because you were again thrown into darkness. You place a shaky hand on your chest, trying to calm your nerves. You were away from the zombie, but now, admittedly, you were trapped in a pitch-black jail cell. The full gravity of your decision begins to settle over you. You have no medical supplies, you’re low on ammunition, you’re without a light source, and you’re trapped in a jail cell with limited food and water on your person. Feeling panic welling inside you, you struggle to keep it at bay. Throwing yourself into a jail cell has to be the most impulsive decision you’ve made, and it may just cost you your life. You’re only lucky that you managed to pick a cell that wasn’t already holding a zombie.

“Fuck.” You mutter under your breath, watching wearily as the zombie continues its assault on your cell. You had no idea how long it would take before the bars would give out under the zombie. Sure, it was a heavy metal door, but this was also a larger-than-average zombie. You had no idea the strength it held. You watch as the zombie begins to slowly lose interest, another thing that strikes you as odd. Typically, even if a zombie couldn’t reach you, it’d try to get to you as long as it could see you. Hunger was not something that ever went away with zombies. It was what drove them to survive, what drove them to keep going. You were a free ticket to a hot meal as far as this zombie was concerned, and yet… 

You observe how it still lingers by the door, its hands wrapping around the cool metal of the cell bars. It’s watching you closely, its eyes following your every move, no matter how small—the zombie’s groaning, something that sends a shiver up your spine. Regardless of how long you’ve been stuck in this hell, the sounds of zombies never stopped creeping you out. The zombie pulls weakly at the bars; odd. Why would it pull so weakly when you both knew it could easily apply more strength? You were at the mercy of this zombie, and surely you both knew that. Your eyes narrow suspiciously as you feel backed into the wall behind you, your back pressed flat against the cool, bricked surface. 

You needed to plan your escape, but escaping while this monster hovered around your cell wouldn’t do you any good. You lost your flashlight, and while your eyes have been slowly adjusting, you were still at a steep disadvantage. You still have your hammer, but you ultimately knew it wouldn’t do much in a fight against this guy. You could lodge it in its eye and run for it, but then you’re without a weapon. As morbid as it was, your only hope would be if another poor soul wound up here and took its attention off you. You never prayed on the downfall of another human, but if it was the only thing standing between you and getting back home, then you just might. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you see movement in front of you, watching in curiosity as the zombie slowly sits down in front of the cell door. It wasn’t like zombies to sit and wait for their prey; they usually just continued to groan and pound away at whatever was blocking them. This zombie was nothing like one you’ve encountered, and its odd behavior was only stacking up in front of you. “What are you?” You find yourself asking, knowing you won’t get anything in response. And true enough, you don’t, except for a grunt. If you weren’t so hung up on how to get out of this situation, you’d probably be taking notes on this zombie, trying to learn about its behavior and unnatural size and classify its type. 

It’s still quiet in the jail, something that hasn’t gone unnoticed by you. You wonder if the zombie in front of you is the reason for the lack of other zombies in the building. That thought sends another shiver up your spine; if this zombie could keep other zombies out of this building, how strong was this beast? Your grip on the hammer tightens as you try to keep as much distance as possible despite the cell door acting as a barricade. You chew on your bottom lip anxiously, your stomach already growling. Pushing the thought of food aside, you look down at your left ankle. It was swollen, ballooning in your shoe. Your ankle was the main reason you were out for medical supplies. During your last run-in with zombies, you sprained it when fleeing. However, with the current state of your ankle, you’re starting to suspect that you might be suffering from a sort of fracture, and you’re even more sure that trying to escape this zombie earlier only made it worse. You should have waited until your ankle healed more; patience in a zombie apocalypse was vital, but it seems it was something you lacked. 

Your ankle was throbbing as you sat, and you started to wonder just how fucked of a situation you landed yourself in. You glance back up to see the zombie still staring at you. It’s strange, but what’s even stranger, you think, is how you aren’t unnerved by its stare. You don’t feel anything. You shake your head, trying to steady yourself. If you get lost in your thoughts now, if you let your panic consume you, you are dead. There was no other way about it. So, instead of letting yourself get wrapped up in your head, you needed to focus on-

“H…el…p.” 

Your head snaps up, and your eyes widen as you scan the area as best you can while stuck in the dark cell. Was someone else in here with you? Was someone also stuck in a cell? A prisoner, maybe? Or someone in a very similar situation to yours? “Hello? Who’s there?” You didn’t bother hiding your voice, you were nearly positive that there was only one zombie back here with you, despite you not fully understanding what kind of zombie this was. “Are you injured?”

You were met with silence, and you felt your eyes narrowing in the darkness as you tried to pinpoint the direction the voice was coming from. “Hello?” You try again, waiting on bated breath. After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear a response. 

“Not… injured.” You’re confused by this. They’re not injured, but why are they replying as if they are? “You… injured?” 

“What?” You’re straining to hear the person, and the more you strain, the more you’re uncertain that you might be going insane and hallucinating the entire conversation. You’re so absorbed in this conversation that you inch yourself closer to the cell bars, your fingers wrapping around the rusty metal, the zombie the last thing on your mind. 

Suddenly, the zombie’s face is blocking your view, pressed against the cold metal bars. You let out a surprised yelp, throwing yourself away from the bars and zombie and back against the brick wall. The overly large zombie is pressing itself into the bars with its hands outstretched towards you. You notice it’s not moving aggressively but slowly and curiously. “In…jured.” Okay, now you know you’re going crazy because there’s no way you just saw and heard a zombie attempting to communicate with you. There’s just no way. The zombie points at your swollen ankle with its outstretched hand as if to prove a point. 

“Yeah… injured.” You repeat slowly, not quite believing that this thing is speaking to you. Or that you’re responding to it. There’s a beat of silence as the zombie stares at you, its head tilting. You’re unsure if it's trying to speak or thinking of eating you. 

“Why?” The zombie’s voice is rough and raw. You assume this is because its vocal cords are damaged, and possibly because it hasn’t spoken in who knows how long. You look down at your ankle, bruises blooming across your skin. 

“Because I sprained it. Maybe fractured it. I don’t know.” You offer lamely. Why are you talking with a zombie? Are you really that desperate for some kind of human interaction, even if it comes in the form of a bloodthirsty monster? You look up when hearing the zombie grunt. You’re unsure if that was a response, or just the zombie grunting for the sake of grunting. It’s still pitch black, but your eyes have somewhat adjusted. You can see the outline of muscles and the torn fabric on its dirty and bloodied clothes. It looks like a type of uniform, but you couldn’t figure out what. The zombie has shaggy hair and strands of grown-out bangs covering its eyes. Its hand is still out stretched toward you, the other clutching onto a bar of the cell. There’s dirt packed under its broken and chipped nails. You spot what looks like a nametag on the monster’s chest. “What’s your name?” You don’t know why you’re asking. Maybe to give the zombie some human element, to make it less scary. Or maybe you’re trying to prove to yourself that this whole situation isn’t made up. 

The silence stretches out, lasting so long that you almost forget the zombie is there. You begin to wonder if you did imagine the scenario. “B…Beelze…bub.” Huh. Odd name. You rub your hands against your face, crouching over as you try to comprehend everything. Odd name aside, the zombie answered your question. You asked for a name and it gave you a name. Which meant the zombie understood your question and has been asking you questions and responding in kind. 

“How is this possible?” You ask out loud as you lean your head against the brick wall behind you. You’ve never heard of this happening; you never imagined this happening. A talking zombie that isn’t immediately trying to kill and eat you? It’s as if you fell into a completely different world. Were there others like it? Was it possible for a community of zombies to exist? The zombie, or Beelzebub, only stared in response. Perhaps it was letting you think things over, or maybe its vocal cords were on the verge of giving out. You could also be crazy.

You lean back against the wall again, your swollen and throbbing ankle nearly forgotten. “Will you eat me if I get out of here?” It was a question you did but didn’t want to be answered. You were stuck in this situation because of it, and it did try to attack you earlier. You also figured you’d ask this before asking if it would help free you from your cell. 

“Y…es…” 

Solid. You managed to find the only talking zombie in town, maybe even the world, and it still wants to eat you. You’re not sure how to feel about that. You needed to think of a way out of this. “What if you let me out, you know, find a key or something, and then you don’t eat me?” Beelzebub stares at you with an expressionless face. You’re fairly sure you see it blink one eye at a time. However, a lightbulb goes off in your head; bargaining with it might work. “Uh, if you get me a key and get me out of here, without eating me,” you find yourself emphasizing, “I’ll help you find animals to eat or something.” You haven’t seen humans in town for a long time, so you don’t know the last time Beelzebub ate. Could zombies last for periods without eating? “So? What do you think? Pretty sweet deal, right?” You fully intended on ditching this zombie as soon as it lets you out. Hopefully, it can’t tell. 

Still, you don’t receive anything in response. It’s still staring. “Key? You know, the shiny metal thing that unlocks doors? Cells?” You make a gesture with your hand in the air, mimicking unlocking a door with a key. “You know? Key?” You’re starting to sound desperate; you’re also stuck in a cell with a talking zombie for company. Is desperation really that bad of a look? 

The zombie grunts before pushing itself away from the cell bars and standing up. It turns its back to you, shuffling away quietly. Either it’s looking for a key, or it got bored of you. You’ll gladly take either option at this point. 

You sit for several minutes, trying to brainstorm ways of escape with your near-useless ankle, while also being located in the back of the police station, possibly the most dangerous place to be in town. You were also without a weapon other than your hammer, and missing your flashlight. Maybe you could brute force your way out of here? Bang on the bars enough until they give way? No, that’s ridiculous. You could try lockpicking your way out; you’ve seen it done in movies before. Maybe if you found something like a paperclip or even your fingernail-

Clank.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel something hard and cold bounce off your forehead. You look to the ground to see a shiny metal key by your hand. Looking up, you see Beelzebub staring at you from the other side of the cell bars. “Really? You threw it at my head?” But most importantly, this zombie fetched you a key. You asked for a key and it retrieved a key for you. Whether it’s the proper key or not is yet to be seen, but still, you find this astonishing. 

“Key.” It grunts out and leans against the bars again, its expression unreadable. 

“Key.” You repeat and slowly lean forward to pick up the small object. “And you’ll let me unlock the door? Without trying to eat me?” You cast a suspicious look the zombie’s way. It only grunts in response, and you struggle to decide how to take that as an answer. Regardless, your options are limited, and you don’t have much in the way of supplies when it comes to food and water. Inhaling deep, you push yourself off the ground and force your way to the door. If it tries to attack you, you can always try to outrun it. Doing so might prove slightly challenging with your ankle, but adrenaline can do wonderful things for the human body. “Can you take a step back?” You ask as you approach the cell’s bars. Unlocking the cell with your hand outstretched, a feeling of unease washes over you. The thought of it potentially seizing your hand at any moment kept you on guard, emphasizing the need for caution. It could grab your hand at any moment and bite down, why wouldn’t you be hesitant? 

You watch in slight relief as Beelzebub takes a step back, and you quickly reach your hand between the bars to unlock the door with the key. With a loud click the lock opens. You swiftly slide the door open and run for it. You don’t bother looking for your flashlight or even checking for other zombies. You just run. Your feet feel heavy as they hit the ground and a searing pain swiftly travels up your ankle with each step. How long you could keep going remained unknown as you raced away from Beelzebub. It was a relief to know that Beelzebub wasn't a Griever, but its true nature remained a mystery. Could it match the speed of a Griever? Possess greater strength? These were questions to which you had no desire to find answers.

Running down the hall, you suddenly hear loud footsteps approaching from behind. The light from the reception area is just starting to become visible. You refuse to look back and instead pick up your pace. Your ankle is screaming in agony, but you couldn’t afford to stop now. This entire thing was a bust, and you knew you’d be getting out of this situation more fucked up than you were before. 

The light is an overwhelming assault on your eyes the moment you step foot into the reception. Your vision is white as you stumble blindly, your hands outstretched as you try to grab onto a nearby item for support. You had to get your shit together and fast. The police station was always a hot spot for zombie activity and you were completely exposed. You were blinded, your ankle was an absolute mess, and you only had a hammer to defend yourself with. As your vision slowly returns, a rough hand lands on your shoulder from behind, and you struggle to suppress a blood-curdling scream. You spin around, your ankle nearly going out in the process, only to be met with Beelzebub’s fogged-over eyes. 

“Human… lied.” You swallow the growing lump in your throat as you stare up at the monster before you. Now in the light, you can see just what you’re dealing with. The zombie’s tall, but not taller than a Greiver. It’s muscular too, which oddly enough, brings some comfort. Grievers were not known for being muscular, but that didn’t mean this zombie couldn’t seriously mess you up either. 

You noticed the uniform it had on was that of a police officer, and the nametag did in fact display the name Beelzebub. So, your zombie friend was once a cop and this is likely where it died and became a zombie. Interesting. “Human prom…ised… food.” You can feel a thin layer of sweat forming on your skin as its eyes bore down into you. Hopefully, it doesn’t consider you to be the food. “Human ran. Human left. I let… human out.” It seemed angry, that much was clear. Your throat was running dry, and any and all words in your head died as soon as they reached your tongue. 

“I, uh…” Could you seriously not think up any excuse? “Forgot?” On second thought, maybe it would’ve been better to stay quiet. The look on Beelzebub’s face tells you it doesn’t quite believe your words either. “Alright, look. I was nervous. Can you blame me? You’re a talking zombie and I’m your five-course meal. How am I supposed to believe that you won’t try to eat me the second my guard is down?  What if you call your zombie buddies to tell them you found the hottest meal ticket in town?” 

“Zombie… budd…ies?” There’s a look of confusion on Beelzebub’s face as it stares down at you. 

“You’re missing the point entirely.” 

“B…Beelze…bub hun...gry.” A sigh leaves you as the insistent zombie stands before you. You briefly check your surroundings. It was a risk standing in an area as open as reception. You were no stranger to the types of zombies that lingered by the police station, and you didn’t want to draw a crowd. You needed to hurry this up. 

“Look, if I feed you an animal or something, will you leave me alone?” You don’t know why you’re even trying to bargain with this thing; possibly because you want to get out of here and can’t outrun it. The zombie nods its head, or at least the best it can. “Fine, fine. Follow me and I’ll lead you back to my home. I have food there. Meat.” The word meat seems to do the trick, as the zombie’s eyes widen and it seems overall more aware. “Attack me though and I’ll kill you.” It doesn’t look very intimidated by your hammer or you. 

Once you two agree (if you can call it that), you look around the reception area. You don’t see any zombies lingering outside. It was just as clear as when you first came in. That was weird. Normally there are at least a dozen, and the fact that there were none when you first arrived or even now leaves a sour taste in your mouth. Uneasiness aside, you didn’t want to wait around for more to show up. “Alright, follow me. Stay close behind,” you turn around to narrow your eyes suspiciously at the zombie, “but not too close, and don’t get lost because I won’t come looking for you.” You couldn’t believe you were actually considering bringing a zombie home with you. 

You couldn’t see this ending well. 

[amrutmnm]

Small Caliber Ammunition, Small Caliber Ammunition Market, Small Caliber Ammunition Industry, Global Small Caliber Ammunition Market, Small Caliber Ammunition Market Companies, Small Caliber Ammunition Market Size, Small Caliber Ammunition Market Share, Small Caliber Ammunition Market Growth, Small Caliber Ammunition Market Statistics

[luckylolabug]

So I've been working on this dumb Modern Ketterdam AU thing where Inej is working for Wylan's dad for a while before defecting to work with Kaz's crew, and I just have to share this Wesper interaction because it's one of the earlier ones they have after Jesper realizes Wylan sells illegal fireworks under his dad's nose and I just. God, sorry, I love them.

Wylan kept his head down, navigating through the crowd with practiced ease, already planning his route back to the mansion where his tutor would be waiting. He hated being late—it would only give his father more ammunition to fire at him later. But just as he was turning a corner, a familiar figure caught his eye, leaning casually against a marking stall, a bright, amused grin spreading across his face.

The boy with the guns from last night. Jesper, Kaz had called him.

Wylan's heart skipped a beat as Jesper spotted him, eyes lighting up with recogntion. There was no mistaking the tall sharpshooter, dressed in flashy attire—a dark coat thrown over a vivid red shirt, his fingers tapping the side of one of his revolvers. He was as confident and at ease as he'd been the night before, and Wylan instantly felt exposed, like Jesper could see every thought racing through his mind.

“Well, well,” Jesper drawled, pushing off the stall and strolling over, his steps lazy and confident. “If it isn’t the pretty boy from last night. Small world, huh?”

Wylan bristled, feeling his cheeks flush with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. “My name’s Wylan,” he muttered, crossing his arms defensively. “And I really need to get going.”

Jesper’s grin widened, undeterred. “Wylan, huh? Nice to meet you properly then.” He fell into step beside Wylan as if it were the most natural thing in the world, weaving effortlessly through the crowd. “So, what’s a Van Eck doing wandering around the markets on a morning like this? You slumming it for fun, or is there something more interesting going on?”

Wylan’s jaw clenched. He didn’t have time for this, and he certainly didn’t want Jesper—Kaz’s man, one of the Dregs—following him back to his father’s house. He kept his pace brisk, eyes fixed straight ahead. “I’m just running errands,” he said tersely, hoping Jesper would take the hint and leave.

But Jesper wasn’t the type to let things go that easily. “Errands, huh? Like running around with fireworks? Were you serious about that?”

Wylan stopped abruptly, grabbing Jesper’s arm and pulling him off to the side, away from the bustle of the market. Jesper’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he didn’t resist, letting Wylan guide him into the relative privacy of a narrow side street. Wylan released him, running a hand through his curls, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Do you have to be so damn loud about it?” Wylan hissed, keeping his voice low but urgent. “Not everyone needs to know what I’m doing.”

Jesper raised his hands in mock surrender, though his smile never wavered. “Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to get you all riled up. Just curious, is all. I mean, it’s not every day you meet a merchant’s son sneaking around with explosives.”

Wylan glared at him, the words stinging more than they should. Jesper didn't understand. None of them did. To him, it was probably all just a game—another quirky detail to file away in his catalog of oddities about the city's elite. But to Wylan, it was his life, the only thing he had any control over. He didn't want to be another sideshow attraction for the Dregs, another point of interest for Kaz Brekker to exploit.

"I'm not sneaking around," Wylan snapped, though even he didn't fully beleive it. "And this isn't some... some hobby. I'm just trying to—"

Jesper cut him off, his expression softening, just a hint of genuine interest peeking through his usual bravado. "Trying to what, Freckles? Trying to be something other than what everyone thinks you are?"

Wylan blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. It was as if Jesper had seen straight through the walls he had spent so long building up, and for a moment, Wylan didn't know how to respond. He wanted to push Jesper away, to brush off the question and move on, but something in the gunslinger's eyes—sharp, knowing, but not unkind—made him hesitate.

"I'm just... I'm trying to figure things out," Wylan finally said, his voice quieter, the fight draining out of him. "I'm not like my father. I don't want to be like him. And I don't need people like you making me feel like it's all a waste of time."

Jesper leaned back against the wall, his gaze never leaving Wylan's facve. "Who said anything about it being a waste? I think it's pretty fucking brave, actually. Takes guts to go against what's expected of you."

Wylan stared at him, unsure if Jesper was mocking him or being sincere. Nine times out of ten, it was the former, from his experience. Inej was usually the only exception. But there was something about the way Jesper was looking at him now, something that made Wylan feel seen in a way he wasn't used to.

"Look," Jesper said, pushing off the wall and clapping Wylan on the shoulder. "I won't keep you, I'm sure you need all your beauty sleep to keep your curls that perfect. But if you ever want to talk—or, you know, need someone to set off those fireworks of yours—I'm around. Ketterdam's a small place, after all."

Wylan nodded, dumbfounded, still processing the unexpected encounter as Jesper turned and sauntered back toward the market, his figure blending into the crowd. It wasn't until he couldn't see the sharpshooter anymore that he glanced down long enough to realize Jesper had slipped a piece of paper in the front of his bag, a string of numbers scribbled across it.

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Rawhide

The Rawhide is a medium BattleMech built by Kaiser Systems. It shares many similarities to the Scourge heavy BattleMech, and these similarities are more than superficial. In fact, some parts of the Rawhide come from a failed Scourge prototype. Aside from the armor and actuator enhancement system, the Rawhide is constructed of fairly standard and common parts. While some may call this design choice a detriment, it is in fact an advantage on the combat and marketing battlefields, where ease of maintenance and lower costs make the Rawhide attractive to the mercenary market.

Its long-range striking ability and mobility allow the Rawhide to operate in a variety of roles, from heavy scout to skirmisher. Its primary weapon is an ER PPC mounted in the right arm, with a medium pulse laser riding sidecar. The entire arm is equipped with an actuator enhancement system that allows the arm-mounted weapons to fire with uncanny accuracy. An MML-9 occupies the left torso and is supplied by two tons of CASE-protected ammunition, which gives the pilot some options for their ammunition selection. 11 and a half tons of laser reflective armor protect the Mech, while five jump jets give it superb agility.

[transkingcobra]

Okay I got this idea while trying to sleep last night and then proceeded to write most of it until 3am instead of just noting it rip

Finished this scenario and I actually mostly like it for not having written in ages and I never feel like I capture others’ characters correctly

Halsin x m!named!Tav

(x2 but mainly focusing on one in this)

Diex finds himself jealous and then proceeds to panic about it. Halsin snaps him out of it and talks him through it.

Mainly angst I guess, ‘tis sfw, moment of jealousy not aimed at other current partner if that matters to anyone, anxiety/panic attack, going nonverbal for a bit, I think that is everything?

A little background/explanation before the lil fic because I know I’ve shared not a damn thing about these two but it should be completely skippable, just know that Diex is a changeling in his tiefling persona to start this. If you’re confused you can always go back to read it after and/or send asks, was trying to keep it short I’m already rambling

Background info:

First and foremost, Nix and Diex are changeling brothers who both fell for Halsin. I want to emphasize there is nothing between the brothers other than being brothers, no incest, they do not share Halsin in those moments.

Nix (ranger) is mute and solely communicates via signs or writing (I think I wrote it understandably but the quotes that are italicized are signed). Diex (druid) is with him 99% of the time so he’ll translate signing to spoken language for ease/speed of communication to others.

They’re technically not “Tavs” as in neither of them is the leader and they’re not worm-wielders, another bean is in the “Tav position” but I didn’t even mention him in this. They were hanging out to help out with the tieflings in the grove (as their tiefling personas) before joining the group.

Context for slight mention of their past, Diex was on the run for 10 years where both brothers were completely alone before finally finding each other again.

The brothers usually use their tiefling personas to travel with the group since that is the one the party knows and met them in, and drop it at camp since they prefer to just be themselves.

I think that is all but let me know if something feels missing?

————

Today was a prep day, everybody gathering potions and ammunitions, sharpening weapons, preparing spells. Halsin and Diex wandered vendor stalls together in the city, looking for anything the others had need of. The two became lost in their own worlds and drifted a few stalls apart before the changeling started to notice a woman’s obnoxious flirting.

“I’ll bet those strong hands of yours can do far more than that.” The woman’s advances earned an amused hum from the man she had her sights on. Wait. Diex lifted his gaze and turned to where the voices had come from and, sure enough, there she was standing and staring at Halsin. He didn’t hear anything else that was said; his feet took him over to his bear immediately. Arms wrapped around Halsin’s waist, Diex flashed the woman a dirty look, made worse by his morphing face but angled so the much taller druid couldn’t see.

“Well, I should uh, be getting home!” The woman grew visibly uncomfortable at his show and left in a hurry. He didn’t move, just watched her leave as his tiefling tail swayed behind him.

“Diex?” Halsin’s voice is all it takes to snap the clingy changeling out of it. He’s suddenly out of his head and in the market again, clung to his large elf. Embarrassment and shame hit him like a tidal wave. Halsin isn’t only his.

His arms fell away from the other druid and he took a step back, not sure he wanted to look Halsin in the face.

“I- I am so sorry- …Halsin I-“

“Calm, my heart. I am not angry.” A gentle hand found Diex’s chin and lifted his gaze. Halsin’s face was that of gentle concern, not anger, although Diex wasn’t sure if that was better at the moment. “Are you alright?”

“I…” He couldn’t hold the eye contact anymore, couldn’t form words, and suddenly he realized his heart felt like it was ready to escape his chest. He wanted to run, but he knew he couldn’t. Or well, shouldn’t. Not this time. He wasn’t doing that again. Not again…

The caress on his chin left only to take his hand with a gentle squeeze.

“Let us go back to the tavern.”

Diex nodded silently in response, letting Halsin guide him through the city. His mind spun like a hurricane only to crash and fall completely blank, then spin again.

Halsin was being calm, gentle, concerned even. Yet, Diex had just gone against what he had agreed to, to let the bear roam. He acted a clingy, possessive teen to their first love. Well… Halsin was his first, but he’s no kid. He should’ve known better. Been better. Halsin didn’t deserve to deal with this. Diex should’ve just said no before. Let Nix lie with Halsin in camp alone. The quiet brother was more level-headed. Mature. He thought before he acted, didn’t make stupid mistakes. Some days Diex still wasn’t quite used to living around so many people, but Nix adapted well. He lived the way he hunted, patiently with no missteps. Yes, he should’ve just said no. The minor ache of losing a crush would’ve been far more manageable than what was going to happen when they made it back to the tavern.

The Elfsong… Diex’s stomach twisted as they entered the establishment. The noise of the tavern’s crowd barely felt like it reached his ears. The stairs felt like far too many to climb yet not nearly enough to keep him away from what was to come. The common area around the main fireplace and hallway felt like he had only taken two steps before they made it to the room Halsin was using. The one he usually shared with one or both of the changelings. Diex heard the door close and felt it in his heart. He dropped his tiefling persona and stood feeling bare in front of Halsin.

The room felt suffocating. The first moments felt like hours. Every fiber of his being wanted to run again. To leave the room, the tavern, the city, the people behind. Instead, two strong hands found his shoulders, gentle but steady, and a low voice brought him back to himself.

“My love, you’re shaking…”

Halsin was right; Diex had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts he didn’t notice how unsteady he was. Did the others see? Was anybody even there as they passed the common area to get to the room? Was Nix there? Although the shaking wouldn’t have made a difference for Nix, the two knew each other far too well. The elder brother would have known something was wrong anyway.

Halsin gently sat them both down, holding Diex close but gently enough he could pull away easily. They had fought countless foes on this journey and had more than a few terrifying encounters. Diex had never flinched at those dangers yet here he was a near mess and panicked.

“My love, speak to me…” Hands left Diex as Halsin signed a broken “Please, what are you thinking?”

Bless Halsin, the man had taken up learning as many signs as he could during their travels and the brokenness pulled Diex a little more out of his own head.

“I’m stupid.” Diex couldn’t remember teaching that sign, Halsin is far too kind to need use of it, but maybe Nix did for whatever reason. The larger druid wiped a newly fallen tear from the changeling’s cheek before signing a request for Diex to spell the word he signed. “…stupid.” His voice cracked and was barely a whisper.

“I disagree.” A warm kiss graced the pale man’s head. “But you do have yourself worked up terribly, so when you are able I hope we can talk about where your mind is right now.”

By the gods, how can a man be so gentle? Diex leaned into Halsin’s chest, letting himself be held once more.

“I just… sorry I chased her off.” A low hum rumbled in Halsin’s chest.

“I am not angry, my heart. And I was not returning her advances.” A chuckle lightly shook them. “You and Nix keep me very occupied in that regard.” Diex couldn’t help the faintest hint of a smile start to form on his lips, but it quickly faded.

“…but if you did? Want to…return them? And I ruined it…” As much as he was certain it was over, Halsin felt safe. He curled himself into the bear, wrapping his arms around Halsin’s waist.

“I would still not be angry.” Halsin’s answer was soft, steady. Patient.

“But I-! We agreed that-“ Calloused fingertips hushed Diex’s onslaught of worry. He finally lifted his gaze to meet Halsin’s, those hazel eyes obviously choosing his next words.

“Nix told me I was his first in every way, and that I was more than likely yours as well. I do not expect either of you to know exactly how you are going to feel and react to a new lover. Nor do I expect you to hold yourself to that agreement should you discover it doesn’t work for you. But, I do, however, expect and ask you to be honest with yourself and with me.” Halsin’s hand lowered to caress the changeling’s cheek. “I do not wish to see you so worried. I would not want to lose you as a partner, but I would hate to see you go against your nature for me. If you ever find this does not work for you, please say so.”

“I…” For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Diex’s mind was calm. Halsin’s words comforted him but those eyes soothed his very soul. He was allowed the space to just be. Love and learn, wherever that took him. “Thank you.” He realized he’d honestly not put much thought into sharing Halsin beyond his brother, or even beyond the tadpole party just outside the door. Gods know they’d each bed him in the right situation. Though, now he’d really need to consider Halsin with a complete stranger, however odd a thought that felt to him at the moment. But he didn’t have to figure it all out immediately.

Diex stared into those gorgeous eyes a moment longer before pressing his lips to Halsin’s, soft and knowing, a promise he’d keep. Halsin gently rubbed a thumb over the pale cheek.

“Your eyes are beautiful.” Halsin spoke with a sense of gentle awe, and the comment caught Diex so off guard that he felt a blush rise to his cheeks. His eyes were beautiful? They were but a blank slate; Halsin’s eyes were beautiful. The way they glimmered as he chuckled only proved the point even more.

“What?” Diex huffed half a laugh, not seeing what his bear found funny now.

“Your eyes turned hazel. Mine, I presume?” Oh. Well, if he wasn’t visibly blushing before, his face was red now, quickly turning away and actively dismissing his unintended eye color.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” It’s been a long time since he’s morphed unintentionally, and never had he mimicked someone, even purposefully.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, my heart.”

“Gods… that’s twice today I’ve felt like a child.”

“Perhaps I could read you a bedtime story and tuck you in tonight?” Halsin chuckled as he teased, although something in Diex said the bear would do so if he genuinely asked.

“No! If you must read someone to sleep with bedtime stories, I’ll sleep alone and let Nix have you to himself tonight.”

They laughed and held each other close. Halsin was content Diex had settled back into himself, reassured in his arms.

There was a knock at the door, a pattern familiar only to Diex. He returned it tapping on the wooden floor, loud enough for Nix to hear outside. The ranger walked in, closing the door behind him before sitting next to the druid pretzel.

“I didn’t interrupt, did I? Are you alright? The expressions the two of you had got Karlach pacing.” Ah, so they did see. Diex habitually released Halsin to sign his response.

“Yeah, I’m good now. Do I have to let Karlach squeeze me so she doesn’t burn down the Elfsong?” The younger changeling’s smile and soft chuckle at the thought seemed to relieve Nix of some concern.

“It wouldn’t hurt. Well, maybe a little for you. Maybe wildshape first.” The two druids laughed at Nix’s idea, who let out his own amused breath.

The three of them eventually joined the rest of the party for dinner. Karlach got her hug, of course, after much assurance that Diex was fine. Most of them were confused about what she was even concerned over, much to his relief. He knew Shadowheart and Astarion could be nosy, but even they let it drop when he said it was between him and Halsin. Although, Nix’s blank stare from behind his younger brother may have pushed them to stay quiet.

The three would talk more later, if not just the brothers. Nix might have advice for how he’s been navigating the relationship. Then again, he may not know what he’s doing either. But that was for later. Right now, he had good food to enjoy and even better company to enjoy it with.

————

I hope Halsin felt like Halsin, I never feel like I write characters correctly anyway and trying to write about a relationship where one of them literally says that word is “unfamiliar to [his] lips” feels weird, but also a friendship is a relationship so 🤷‍♂️ and some shit just felt weird using any words, fanfic wiggle room I guess. Hope I did him justice in any case lol.

I do wanna write/draw more about these guys, funny enough I have more ideas about Nix with Halsin than Diex, but the writing demons possessed me for this specific idea last night lmao. Their dynamics are fun in my head plus the idea of exploring the brothers running into another changeling who is very not nice and everything they avoid being is something I wanna do as well cough even if orin has bs abilities for a changeling cough Nix was my first dnd character I made without help and a few years later played his brother, while now bringing them into bg3 has been living in my head rent free lol

[virologikal]

Headcanons posted for my works of fiction are merely my interpretation of the respective character(s) and should not be considered as "single point of truth".

⸻ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊: 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭

After delivering the hazardous tank left in his care by Umbrella to Rockfort Island in December 1998, which gave HUNK a distinct feeling of his and his team’s life and safety not being particularly important to Umbrella, he wrote a note informing his employer both of the successful delivery as well as asking them to, in the future, enclose better information and detail on transportations like these.

This mission was the last HUNK agreed to work for Umbrella.

He cut ties almost simultaneously to the stock market crash that rendered the company almost immovable on the market and would later cause them to shut down completely.

In the aftermath of his employ to Umbrella, HUNK - while still in demand for his excellent skills - had to lay low for a while in turn to let the worst of the corporation crashing down blow over. Knowing that he had insight on some of Umbrella’s darkest secrets along with having worked for them in the first place, he decided the most sensible move was to head to Europe.

He tried living a normal civilian's life for about two years in which he remained mostly secluded. Unable to shake his past and what it made of him, he kept as close an eye as he could on both the trial Umbrella was faced with, as well as the general worldwide arms race which unfolded in the wake of it.

Knowing in his heart he was only truly good on the battle field, he finally decided to not let his talents go to waste. During the past years he had privately developed the Close Quarters Quarantined Battle Zone fighting technique, which he perfected by 2003, including custom-made equipment and weapons.

It was during this time that a secret underground organization contacted him while he was headed for a secluded area in Eastern Europe to hone his skills in colder terrains. A strange, massive man in a carriage who mysteriously made his way through the wilds approached him, handing him a sealed letter.

Both the contents of the letter as well as what they talked about as they shared a meal by the camp fire are unknown, but the encounter would change the former military man's life. Learning the secret skills of the trade, he found himself convinced that his skill on the battle field could not only be used for killing, but for supporting, maybe even helping those in need. To not just take life, but being able to preserve it.

In 2004 HUNK took on the guise of a merchant for the first time, sent out by the merchants guild - an organisation which closely monitored the most endangered places worldwide, sending their representatives there to collect rare goods as well as sell their skills and items.

Traveling to a remote village in Southern Europe, he so happened to run into individuals like Ada Wong, Leon S. Kennedy and others of their kind, selling them much needed ammunition during their mission in regards to the Las Plagas incident. It almost felt fated to him, he occasionally mused privately, how he would meet the individuals he knew had been in Raccoon City, where it all began, at the same time he had been there.

Collecting his own information on the side to later sell to a highest bidder, no one ever connected the merchant hiding most of his face behind a thick shawl to the mercenary named HUNK.

Note: Among other things, HUNK learned various skills to alter his appearance and even change his voice (think of the skills some voice actors have). Additionally, he may sometimes use devices hidden in his shawls to change his voice and make it even less recognizable.