#The supplies from the “Catacombs” have got to be dead bodies right?

[fireflyfish]

I did not have Cute Hermit Crabs on my Star Wars bingo sheet. Nor did I have Cute Dog-Bat-Horse animal on my list of "Animals Lucasfilm Needs to Genetically Engineer Into Existence" but it is now top of my list.

[jedimasterbailey]

A sneak preview of the next chapter of my fic “The Padawans” in which Vader thinks of Ahsoka and Luminara as he plans his fated rematch with Barriss. Includes a flashback to a conversation between Anakin and Luminara post “Brain Invaders” that we should have seen! Link to the fic below, enjoy and thank you for the support 💚💙❤️

Darth Vader stares out to the busy metropolis of Coruscant from his personal quarters in the Imperial Palace, lost in thought. Behind the bulbous black eyes that served as the Sith Lord’s window to the world were tired blue ones still hoping to catch a glimpse of the former residence of Padme Amidala, the deceased wife of Anakin Skywalker. It was moments like this where the former Jedi Knight missed the Senator deeply. For Vader was about to encounter another ghost from his past, Anakin’s past. Soon Vader will be face to face with Luminara Unduli in the very place she used to call home, a home he destroyed.

In the months after the rise of the Empire, Palpatine had the Jedi Temple renovated into his own personal palace. Although the bodies of the dead Jedi have been long excavated and the relics of the Jedi long destroyed, echoes of the past were everywhere. Vader could still see the destruction he caused and he could still hear the terrified screams of the younglings and Knights that were at his mercy. No amount of refurbishment could ever erase what he had done. It was because of this that Vader avoided the palace as much as he could. The Sith apprentice despised being in the place Anakin Skywalker and his Jedi family once resided in. However, if being here resulted in the reappearance of Barriss Offee, then Vader will do what must be done.

The plan was simple. Luminara will be the bait and once Barriss was right where the Dark Lord needed her, Luminara would be disposed of. Vader wanted the Mirialan to feel the same scorching pain he felt on Mustafar when Obi-wan left him for dead. If he couldn’t have his Master’s love, neither could she.

Victory was inevitable. Anakin may have been weak, but if Barriss couldn’t defeat him, then she didn’t stand a chance against Vader, especially with a broken heart. Vader will prove Sidious wrong; that the girl is unworthy of the title of Darth or worth the attention of Ahsoka Tano.

Yet despite his quest for vengeance, Vader was admittedly nervous to see Luminara again. For months he has avoided contact, leaving the Grand Inquisitor to handle the matter. Seeing the woman Anakin viewed as a mother figure beaten and bruised by his own henchman was the last thing Vader wanted to do. It was no different than the Sith avoiding Padme’s tomb on Naboo; he could not face what he has done. As hard as the Emperor had tried to snuff it out, Anakin’s spirit was still trapped inside the machine that was his body. Vader was going to have to kill the one person he knew was Luminara’s whole heart and the Anakin part of him hated him for it.

The cyborg then walks over to a bedside table, the very table Anakin used to hold such possessions, and opens the drawer that contained the last pieces of his Jedi past he refused to part with. In one hand he held one of Ahsoka’s lightsabers and in the other, her Padawan beads.

Vader did not believe for a moment that his former apprentice was gone. Ahsoka had managed to survive situations that would have killed more experienced Jedi. He had taught her how to outsmart the enemy and how to defy seemingly impossible odds. The lightsaber had merely been a decoy and the presence of Morai was confirmation. Somewhere out there, Ahsoka Tano was alive and one day, they would meet again. Vader was sure of it.

“Forgive me, for what I’m about to do.” Vader says to the items in his hands. He didn’t know who exactly he was talking to; Ahsoka or Luminara. Regardless, the Dark Lord thinks back to a time where both women were safe and within arms reach.

Feeling ecstatic that Ahsoka has woken up from her healing trance after her encounter with the Geonosian parasites, Anakin takes it upon himself to find food for his Padawan. Just before the mess hall was a small lounge where visitors could sit and wait while the healers worked on patients. Having been up for several hours on end between their mission on Geonosis and waiting for Ahsoka to wake up, Anakin wanted to grab a cup a caf before waiting in line for food. Upon entering the quiet room, the Jedi Knight was baffled to see a very miserable Luminara Unduli staring into her own beverage.

The Mirialan’s hands were shaking and her eyes were red and puffy, presumably from crying. Never in all his years of knowing the Jedi Master has Anakin seen her look so broken. He takes a seat beside Luminara and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Master?”

Luminara raises her head up to meet the young man’s gaze, fresh tears streaming down her face, “Is Ahsoka alright?”

Anakin nods, “She just woke up. Physically, she’s on the mend, it’s her mind I’m worried about. Our Padawans have been through a lot, more than I’d like to think about.”

“Yes... our girls deserve so much more.” Luminara sighs, grabbing tissue to dry her eyes.

“Barriss is going to come through too, she’s strong and resilient like her Master.” Anakin says gently, earning a watery laugh from the woman.

“I’m not sure about that Skywalker... I’ve failed as a Master.” Luminara professes sadly.

Anakin would hear none of it, “Now hold on a second, you have not failed Barriss. None of this is your fault!”

Luminara shakes her head, “I’ve almost lost her twice within a day. It’s my job to protect her and I’ve failed. According to Master Fisto, Barriss’s head scans indicate that she may have suffered some head trauma between the worm and the extreme cold. First, she almost suffocates after blowing up a whole factory with herself still in it only to then get infected by a parasite hours later! Who knows how she’ll be when she wakes up!”

“Perhaps you were right all along. Maybe I should have accompanied Barriss inside the catacombs instead of endangering your student. Maybe I should have gone with the girls on that supply run. There were plenty of Jedi to interagate Poggle and Ahsoka would have been safer in your care. I’ve been a fool! I’m so sorry Anakin and I owe Ahsoka an apology too!”

Anakin then wraps an arm around the woman and pulls her close, “You're being way too hard on yourself, Luminara. You’re forgetting that there were a lot of factors that were beyond our control. Your plan on Geonosis was good! We probably would’ve been successful without it because Force knows I don’t think things through, I’m glad someone was doing the thinking!

“The assignment given to the Padawans was more than reasonable. I’m sure Ahsoka was thrilled to see Barriss’s photographic memory at work and I really do need to work on trusting her. You weren’t planning on those slimy bugs getting in the way nor were you counting on one of those nasty worms infecting the troops on that shuttle. I can’t believe I’m saying this to you of all people, but I think you should give yourself some grace!”

“If you’ve failed as a Master for things not according to plan, then I am a huge failure as well as Obi-wan and probably every other Jedi Master that’s ever lived. You saw how well his plan went when he thought he could talk sense into the Queen of bugs. You were just seconds away from being possessed!” Anakin argues, rolling his eyes at the memory of Obi-wan’s curiosity.

“Rest assured, I’ll be giving him plenty of grief for that!” Luminara smiles, her face brightening up a little, “But thank you Anakin... your kindness never fails to amaze me.”

“Let me know when you do because I’d love to see that. All things considered, he deserves a good beating.” Anakin winks with a playful nudge before getting serious again. “Did you want to see Barriss? I was going to grab something to eat for Ahsoka, but if you need the company, I’d walk with you.”

Luminara nods, “Yes, I wanted to give you and Ahsoka some time alone especially since it may be a while before Barriss wakes up given her injuries.”

Anakin beams at the Jedi Master. For as long as he’s known Luminara, she has always been considerate and gentle with his needs.

“I appreciate that, Master.”

“Can I ask you something?” Luminara says with a far off look on her face.

“Anything.”

“Did you really believe that I gave up on Barriss when the factory went down?” Luminara asks calmly, but Anakin could tell from her breathing that it was a facade.

“No.” Anakin admits allowing Luminara to exhale a sigh of relief, “I allowed my fear to get the better of me and I took it out on you. You were trying to console me and even when I didn’t deserve it, you never got upset with me. You were hurting just as much as I was and I was selfish. I know better than that! Of course you care about Barriss! I owe you an apology Master, I’m sorry.”

Luminara begins to cry again startling the Jedi Knight, “Did I say something wrong?”

Luminara shakes her head.

“No! I’m just so relieved!” Luminara sobs, putting her face in her hands.

“Oh, good! I’m sure Obi-wan would kill me if I upset you.” Anakin chuckles, rising to offer a hand to Luminara.

“Walk with me back to the girl’s room? I gotta stop and get Snips some food, but I’m sure she’d love your company. And who knows? Maybe Barriss will wake up! I’m sure your face is the first one she’d want to see.”

With a smile as bright as the twin suns of Tatooine, Luminara graciously accepts Anakin’s hand, “I’d love to.”

Gingerly placing the lightsaber and beads back where he found them, Vader turns to leave the room, sensing the Grand Inquisitor’s presence as well as a weakened Luminara. For the sake of his sanity, the Dark Lord prayed his true identity stayed a secret with the prisoner.

[siribear]

whisper does wake up in the morning, unassailed by glory. deacon says she must be working out of another safe house. and so whisper lives another day. they scrub up as much as they can, change into cleaner clothes. deacon gets his favorite pair of jeans back.

‘good morning, you two.’ desdemona looks as if she slept little, but definitely slept. her eyes are brighter, clearer, and the cup of coffee next to her is still steaming.

‘des. carrington,’ deacon greets the two railroad officials, running a hand over his head. he’s foregone the wig today. no need for disguises around the people that know who he is. and so he scratches lightly at the ginger stubble that’s begun to grow in.

whisper toys with the end of her ponytail, combing out knots with her fingers. ‘so, what’s the plan, then?’

‘at least let us get breakfast first, partner.’

‘you’ve been spoiled, deacon. breakfast is in the coffee pot,’ desdemona says, lifting her own cup.

deacon is the only one not to indulge. desdemona and carrington fill their own mugs while whisper pours her first, and the doctor actually allows her to go first. coffee, an olive branch. once they’re ready, desdemona begins their briefing. ‘what information do you have on the brotherhood ship? i assume you two have scouted it out.’

‘it’s called the prydwen. and more than that, we’ve been aboard it,’ whisper says. all eyes turn to her. ‘i spoke with their elder, maxson. the squad that was stationed out of the police station was investigating a signal they attributed to the institute.’ she runs her finger along the rim of her cup, nails catching on the chips in the ceramic. ‘the minuteman general - ‘ it feels odd referring to herself in this way, but she has to make the distinction, now. lest carrington burn that olive branch. ‘ - offered a deal. information for information. and she just happens to know the location of a fallen brotherhood patrol.’

the holotape, distress pulser, and dogtags still sit somewhere at the bottom of her pack.

desdemona nods. carrington doesn’t look like he’s about to rip her head off again. small victories. ‘anything else to report?’

‘they’re obviously well-armed. they’ve got as many drones in power armor as we have railroad members, if not more. and that’s not even counting their foot soldiers.’ deacon shoves his hands in his pockets. ‘vertibirds, long range communication,’ he counts off. ‘we’re in trouble if we’re not careful. any more careful.’ he lets the warning hang in the air, for the other agents listening in.

‘tinker tom has already begun working on potential countermeasures. code name: red glare.’ whisper squints. as in rocket’s red glare? ‘we can’t let the prydwen stay here. or stay in the air,’ desdemona adds gravely.

‘perhaps they’ll leave once the institute is taken care of,’ whisper hopes out loud.

‘only if we ask nicely,’ deacon says with a shrug.

‘either way, the brotherhood is a threat we cannot ignore. whisper’s truce with them can get us what we need, but it doesn’t protect us if they turn their gaze elsewhere once the institute is gone.’

it’s a distinct possibility. and an unfortunate one. whisper has no wish to see paladin danse or scribe haylen or anyone else like them go up in flames.

‘on to the second matter. do you two remember a synth you helped reach ticonderoga?’

‘h2?’ whisper perks up. ‘yes, of course. is he okay?’

desdemona cracks a fleeting smile, gone as quick as cigarette smoke. ‘he’s fine, but dr. amari - ‘ carrington exhales audibly. so, still not happy about her knowing all of their contacts. desdemona ignores him, ‘ - is having problem moving him to the next checkpoint. malden center has been overrun by raiders. we have two options.’ she holds her hand out, two fingers extended. ‘one,’ she taps one finger, ‘malden center gets cleared for a final run, and we burn it immediately after. two,’ the first finger curls back as she taps the second finger, ‘we find a new route and h2-22 stays in goodneighbor until then.’

‘the longer he stays, the more danger he, our asset, and any future synths will be in.’ carrington frowns.

‘i agree. we have agents in the process of creating new routes with your new settlements,’ desdemona nods to whisper, ‘but it’ll take too long to co-ordinate for this run.’

‘so, we clear it, you burn it,’ whisper says simply. ‘there’s really no other choice. temporary danger versus compromising your asset in goodneighbor.’ she mimes weighing two items in her hands. ‘from what i understand, we need to go to goodneighbor anyway. we can let - dr. amari, was it? - know about the route directly, since it’s quicker than a dead drop.’ she looks to deacon, who shrugs.

‘a date at malden, then back for drinks in goodneighbor. sounds like a good time, to me.’

desdemona looks between them and rolls her eyes. ‘all right. as for any intel you get from kellogg’s brain - ‘

‘we’ll keep you informed via dead drop, boss lady.’

-

desdemona dismisses them after a few other matters. agents get assigned to shadow supply lines, opening them up to future synth railroads. whisper gives them names to look up, with a message from the general herself, just in case. drummer boy approaches her after the meeting and before she and deacon can depart, directing them to the furthest room, at the end of the catacombs.

‘PAM wants to speak with you.’

PAM’s room is a small office, less cluttered than the makeshift headquarters it’s attached to. rows upon rows of filing cabinets line the room, reminding her of nick’s office back at diamond city, but where nick had a plain desk, in the center of the floor is a single terminal. PAM, however, isn’t initially visible upon entering the room, and instead whisper is startled at the sudden sound of mechanical parts buzzing. the assaultron stands in the corner near the short set of stairs, mostly stationary aside from the upper torso shifting to follow her into the room. PAM’s claw-like appendages are raised at a 90 degree angle toward her, but still surprisingly unthreatening. much different from her encounter with the gunner assaultron.

‘drummer boy said you wanted to talk to me?’

the head pivots left, right, left. whisper, deacon, whisper. ‘engaging in human-robot interface,’ PAM’s feminine, robotic voice intones. ‘agent deacon and agent whisper. greetings.’

deacon doesn’t fully enter the room, just rests his hip against the railing with his arms crossed. it strikes her that deacon doesn’t care much for PAM. there’s no hint of amusement on his face, even behind the sunglasses. and whisper likes to think she’s gotten better at reading him.

‘go on, PAM.’

the assaultron isn’t offended at the curt greeting. ‘with the lost of augusta and the uncertainty regarding the safety of other safe houses, railroad alpha has determined there is a need for a new one. you have proven efficient in securing settlements. we would like you to establish a new safe house. designation: mercer.’

‘what?’

‘repeating message: with - ‘

‘no, i don’t - that’s not what i meant. i thought i wasn’t trusted enough. and now i’m given the responsibility of creating a whole new safe house?’

PAM is silent for a moment, mechanical parts whirring. ‘you have been given clearance.’ as if she’s a pre-war agent for the DIA. ‘a building named the coastal cottage has been deemed a suitable location.’

whisper checks her map after PAM uploads the location through the connector cable. the coastal cottage is a ruin of buildings, based on the old satellite picture, near salem. another checkpoint, much like outpost zimonja. ‘okay. it won’t be right away, but i’ll do it.’

‘please ensure mercer safe house is adequately supplied and defended. a caretaker will be sent once mercer has been established. thank you, agent whisper.’

-

topside, whisper waits until they’re halfway north to malden before confronting deacon. ‘you don’t like PAM, do you?’

she feels his shoulders shrug more than she sees them. ‘i don’t not like her,’ he says, the good humor in his voice painfully forced. ‘everyone counts on her to protect the railroad alone. the predictive analytic machine. that’s what PAM stands for. it’s what she did, pre-war, back at the switchboard. that’s where we found her. but she - ‘ he pauses, gathering his thoughts. ‘some time ago, an institute synth infiltrated one of our safe houses. PAM wasn’t the one that found the spy.’

‘but you were.’

‘someone did,’ he reiterates. he’s serious. no jokes, now. ‘PAM can keep us safe, but she can’t predict human nature. i suspect that’s why carrington lashed out last night.’

‘because carrington believes PAM.’ they follow malden river further north, past a large, abandoned boathouse. almost abandoned. whisper convinces deacon to detour briefly, and they exterminate the group of giant bloodbugs nesting within the building. ‘what does PAM really think of me?’

a dead body lies in the upstairs bathroom. on it, they find a note: a family hoping to sell a stash of chems hidden upriver to buy another brahmin. a story the minutemen will have to unravel later.

‘you’re an unknown quantity.’ the last two words he says in an approximation of a robotic voice, low and nasally. ‘no one expected your arrival at hq. not even me.’

and he was trailing her. ‘but you just said she can’t predict human nature.’

deacon hushes her quick and harshly. she pulls them behind the wall of the metro entrance. around the corner, there’s rustling. plastic tapping against pavement.

‘i know you’re there.’ the hairs on the back of her neck stand up straight. deacon goes stock still. synths. gen-2s, just like the switchboard. ‘ i heard you.’ the monotone voice grows closer. judging by the amount of footsteps, there’s more than one. ‘i will find you.’

whisper braces herself, pulling deliverer from its holster. deacon brings up his rifle, back against hers, as he faces the other side of the wall. whisper brings one hand low, fingers against deacon’s thigh. she counts: on three. one tap. two taps.

halfway to three, she hears it. they both hear it, deacon’s back straightens up against hers. the wind up, then plastic synth parts cascading past the wall along with a shower of bullets. someone with a fucking minigun.

whisper puts both hands on deliverer and swings around the corner once the bullets stop. the gun has to cool down, and now’s the perfect time. she feels the cold metal of the minigun against her stomach just as she puts the barrel of deliverer against its owner’s temple.

‘god damn. whisper?’

the agent in question lowers her gun with a relieved sigh. deacon peers around the corner, coming up at her side.

‘hey, glory,’ deacon says casually, as if she and whisper didn’t almost just tear each other apart. ‘what’s up.’

glory punches deacon in the shoulder, hard. he buckles, grinning. ‘hq send you?’ at whisper’s nod, ‘that’s what we get for keeping secrets. i got my orders from griswold.’

‘well, we’re all here. might as well make it a party, right?’ whisper tries to light hearted, now that the tension has drained. no other synths have shown, so they probably just ran into a rogue patrol. conveniently next to a railroad route.

glory grunts, lowering her minigun. ‘if at all possible, can we not kill any more synths? i only killed these because i thought i saw someone run behind the building.’

‘thanks for saving our lives instead of the gen-2′s, glorious.’

glory punches him again. ‘you know what i mean, dee. i just - i dunno. i feel bad. whatever. party, right?’

‘desdemona said there were just raiders, so hopefully we just got very unlucky.’ it sounds even less convincing when she says it out loud, and neither of her companions look hopeful. ‘come on.’

[spectraspecs-writes]

Kashyyyk - Chapter 73

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 72. Chapter 74.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma thank you for reading, you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

————–

Jolee has only a single bag of belongings, which he leaves in his house, reasoning that we’ll pass back this way after the Star Map. He gives us some more of his food, and whatever he doesn’t put in his bag he leaves out for the tachs. And with that, we leave. The Czerka camp has been cleaned out overnight - the plasteel cylinders, the tarps, the supplies, all moved out overnight. Sounds like there’s more than one scout with those Czerka guys. I can’t imagine anyone else would want to come down here and break camp with the emitters down. Jolee scoffs as we walk closer to the Czerka force field. “Beautifully subtle, isn't it?” he says sarcastically, “At least, compared to other Czerka equipment dumped down here, it is. It's only been here a short while, or the Wookiees would have disabled it. They wouldn't have had an easy time of it, though.”

“It can’t be all that effective,” I comment, “All the trees on this planet, most of the animals would have evolved to climb, prey and predator.”

“Precisely,” Jolee says, “It limits us non-climbers, but the creatures of Kashyyyk are very adaptable. You'll see why when we reach your goal.” That sounds fascinating.

“You can get past it, right?”

“I can manipulate it for a moment. Let me see… how did the Czerka engineers do it…” He fiddles with the mechanism for a moment, and then the field drops. “Ahh, there we go,” he says, as he ushers us through. “Now keep moving. These are the most dangerous depths of Kashyyyk. A few surprises wait for us, I'll wager.” 

Despite it being morning and actually pretty bright out in the Upper Shadowlands, it’s a lot darker here. There aren’t any Czerka paths here. Glowing moss, sure, but the worn paths in the dirt are thin and winding, and they criss-cross like a catacomb. Some paths I can tell go further than I can see, but trees have fallen in the path. Not that that would bother the Wookiees any - they can just climb over it. So who wore these paths?

“Mandalorians,” Canderous says, like he knows what I’m thinking, “There are Mandalorians down here.”

“What makes you say that?” Jolee asks.

“What would Mandalorians be doing down here?” I ask.

Canderous addresses Jolee’s question first. “Come on, old man, you already knew they were down here,” he says, “No way you couldn’t. My people aren’t like Czerka.”

“I had no idea,” Jolee says earnestly.

“I think he’s telling the truth,” I say, looking at some refuse near the base of a tree, “Check this out, I’ve found a Mandalorian data pad.”

“Need me to translate?”

“No, thanks, Canderous, I’ve got it.” Mandalorian is an easier language than others, it has the same alphabet as Basic. Different phonemes, but the letters are the same. “They’re training, they’ve got stealth generators attached to swoop bikes.” There’s a map of the different paths, too, I transfer it into my datapad.

Canderous takes the Mandalorian datapad from me and starts to read it himself. Then he swears. “Cowards!” he says, “Not only are they using stealth fields, they’re only attacking when their target is unarmed!” He huffs and scoffs. “They ambushed a number of Wookiee camps in the dead of night, forced them to fight. It is without honor!” he exclaims angrily.

“If we can find their swoops, I can disable their stealth field,” I say, “We could ambush them.”

“Won’t work,” he says, holding his rifle at the ready, “They already know we’re here. They’re watching us.”

Bastila takes a brief moment to concentrate on the Force. Then, “I don’t sense any presence here besides our own. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he growls softly, “I know my people. You aren’t going to be able to disable their stealth field by any traditional means, Rena.”

“Have you got another plan, then?”

“Oh, I do,” he says, “But if I tell you they’ll hear it. Do you trust me?”

I nod. “Of course,” Bastila says. Of course she does. Jolee just scoffs a bit. He’s only known Canderous for a few hours, so he has no reason to trust him. Thankfully he doesn’t need a reason - the Force can tell him enough.

“There’s a map on the datapad,” I say, “If they’ve got swoop bikes they’ll have to be in a large clearing.” Canderous and I both look at our respective datapads for the map. “If they’re listening, we’ll only have time to check one site before they move.”

Jolee points at one clearing over my shoulder. “They won’t be there,” he says confidently, “Freyyr wouldn't let them rest, he makes his home there.”

“Freyyr?” I repeat, “That’s Zaalbar’s father. Chuundar sent us here to kill his own father?”

“It certainly looks that way, doesn’t it?” Jolee says cryptically. Weird old codger.

There are three other clearings on the map, one not too far from Freyyr’s camp - a pretty small one but a clearing nonetheless - and two other large ones. One has only one access path, the other has three. It would make sense for a group of warriors to choose the site less vulnerable to ambush - the single entrance - but I doubt they were expecting company when they set up shop down here. “Which one do you think, Canderous?” I ask him. 

“This one,” he indicates after a moment. He points to the one with three access paths. “Their arrogance will be their downfall.”

“Usually is,” Jolee scoffs, and he glances at me. Referencing Andor’s story, no doubt.

Canderous takes point, trudging through the woods past kshyy vines and half-broken branches. We all do our best to follow behind him, but he moves awfully quickly. It’s easier to follow the sounds he makes as he not-so-subtly trods through the foliage. At one point, Bastila stumbles and rolls her ankle, and that gets Canderous to stop. But only long enough to pick her up and tote her over his shoulder. (She both loves and hates that. Still bothered by her feelings for him but human enough that she can’t deny how much she likes his touch. I think it’s cute.) 

At a point, he stops, and Jolee and I catch up with him. There are three swoop bikes in the clearing - good instinct on Canderous’s part. He sets Bastila down against a fallen branch. “So, what’s your big plan?” I ask.

He raises his blaster rifle to his shoulder. “This.” He sets up a high powered series of shots and aims at each of the swoops, setting them all on fire. Well, that’s certainly… an effective way of deactivating the stealth field, and making sure they can’t establish a new one.

It isn’t long after that that the Mandalorians decloak. There are four of them, one behind each of us, and the commander, facing Canderous. “You have interrupted our hunt, interloper. The inhabitants of this world could do little against us, but you appear to be a threat.”

“More than a threat enough for you, coward!” Canderous shouts, and then he swears in Mandalorian.

“Another Mandalore, is it?” the commander says, “Will you draw arms against those you should serve? We'll see who lives this day!”

The commander draws a lightsaber, what the fuck? Jolee puts the other three Mandalorians in stasis with the Force. It won’t hold long, but it holds long enough for me to take the weapon off the Mandalorian behind me. Their armor resists my lightsaber to a degree, but without their resistance getting in my way I can handle it, cut through the armor eventually. Bastila sticks with Force attacks rather than her lightsaber - her ankle still hurts and that would hinder her agility and maneuverability considerably. But she can still whisk the unsuspecting Mandalorian into a Force whirlwind and spin him around and around and around before flinging him headfirst into a tree. Jolee takes a combination of our two techniques, whisking his would-be attacker into a Force whirlwind and hitting the shit out of him with his lightsaber.

And then there’s Canderous. He and the commander have thrown their weapons aside and started to fight hand-to-hand. Even when we’ve taken care of our own Mandalorians, he fights on. When Bastila tries to reach out to help him, he shouts back, “No! This is my fight!” With one square punch to the jaw, Canderous knocks the face covering off the Mandalorian’s helmet. And with another punch, blood flies out of his mouth. “Coward!” Canderous shouts, “Attacking the unarmed, hiding yourself!” He grabs the commander by the arm and slams him into a tree trunk. “Is this how you seek to gain honor? There is no honor to be gained in fighting a defenseless opponent!”

“You have grown old, Ordo!” the commander replies, “And soft! Traveling among Jedi has made you weak and contemplative. I will earn my honor how I choose! Even if it means killing you!”

Out of nowhere a bolt from a crossbow hits the back of the commander’s helmet, distracting him. Canderous takes the opportunity to pick up his rifle and use the butt of it to knock the commander to the ground. He hits his head on a large rock. And doesn’t get up again. Canderous takes a moment to catch his breath, look at the body, before turning to us. “I told you it was my fight!” he says angrily, “Who fired that shot?”

“None of us, Canderous,” Bastila says.

“That was a Wookiee weapon,” Jolee says, “The sound of our battle may have attracted another.”

“Doesn’t look like he stuck around,” I say, “I don’t sense a Wookiee nearby, not close enough to have fired that shot.”

“No, I suspect he has gone,” Jolee says, “If it was Freyyr, as I suspect, he may have thought we were slavers and left.”

“We should find him, then,” I say, then I ask Jolee, “Do you know how to get to his camp from here?”

“More or less,” he says with a shrug, “Don’t worry, I can find him.”

We take a southwest path away from the swoops. I wonder how long it will take for the forest to eat them.

[victortortor]

part 1, in which i barely get to the floating vampire jesus

It's 1476, and the country of Wallachia is on the verge of being run over by demon hordes from hell. 

Fortunately, Jiang Cheng happens to be in the right place at the right time. 

“You’re far from home,” the Speaker said, as soon as the priests ran off.

“Oh, spare me the small talk,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. It was pain to be recognized as an outsider so easily, but in the circumstances it couldn’t be helped. Only someone from not around these parts would be willing to stick their own neck out for a Speaker, of all things.

He put his bloodied whip back underneath his cloak and gestured to the other man to follow. “I just didn’t want to see you an old man like you get harassed by the Church. It’d ruin my day. I’ll take you back to your place, and I’m off.”

“Nevertheless,” he returned mildly, “I wish to know a bit about you, so that I could find some way to repay you.”

“Got any beer?”

Jiang Cheng expected him to shake his head, since Speakers didn’t seem to be the type to carry around alcohol. There were rather frugal— they had to be, as a nomadic tribe. Besides, he half expected some “alcohol affects our thoughts and memory” bullshit that would definitely come from people like him.

Yet somehow, the man smiled wanly. “I’m sure we could scrounge up something for you to drink.”

“Is this from...?”

“The southern coast,” he confirmed. “It is quite nice any time of the year there, and their wine is nothing to sneeze at.”

“Classy,” Jiang Cheng muttered. So it was expensive. “Which brings me to say, what are all of you doing in dead and dying Wallachia? Shouldn’t you have all stayed nice and safe near the Mediterranean?”

The gathered crowd of Speakers, just around ten or so, looked at him silently. Clearly, the one he just saved was their elder and was to speak for them.

“We go where there are stories to be learned, and where people need our help.” The Elder responded.

Jiang Cheng was clearly going to have to reevaluate him as well. He said that the man was old, but he wasn’t that old. His hair was still a fine mix between dark and gray, and there weren’t nearly enough wrinkles on his face. There was at least one other around his age here, so he was clearly highly respected if he was chosen.

Still though... “Gresit was a bad city to settle in,” he said irritably. “You aren’t dumb, and alright, putting the general problem of your choosing of Wallachia as a whole aside, Gresit? This is one of the last bastions against the demon horde. People are trapped behind the city walls, going crazy as the demons come buy every night and kill a few more. The tensions piling, and they’re looking for something to blame. Against you and the Church, who do you think they’ll choose? You won’t be able to help anyone, you’ll just get killed. Get out of here.”

One of the younger boys— he couldn’t be more than fifteen— piped up. “Did you kill the priests that were bothering the Elder?”

He was quickly cut off by another boy, quickly shushing him. “Shidi, hush!”

“I won’t,” the first boy said. He looked to Jiang Cheng fearlessly. “There’s a sword underneath your cloak. Did you kill them?”

What a cheeky little shit. “I didn’t,” Jiang Cheng said, and shifted his cloak so that it was covering him properly. “It’s not like I want to bring attention to myself. Otherwise, I’m going to be the one they go after.”

“I’m afraid you did enough damage to warrant that already,” the Elder said. “I must thank you again.”

The boy interrupted once more. “Can you rescue our shixiong too, then?”

“Jingyi!” The Elder said sharply.

The boy called Jingyi bit his lip, but continued nevertheless. “He ran off into the catacombs below the city and didn’t come back. Shixiong is really strong, so there’s no way he’s dead, but if he’s not back yet then he probably needs help.”

Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow as he took a quick swig from the bottle. “So you want me to go find him.”

“Yes!”

The funniest thing to Jiang Cheng was that while the Elder had admonished Jingyi for his outburst, no one was stopping him from speaking now. So their politeness had a limit, huh. He smiled with a good deal of sarcasm.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Wh… What?” As if caught by surprise, Jingyi blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t see why I should,” Jiang Cheng sneered. This kid was so fucking stupid. “I don’t give a shit whether your shixiong or something is dead or not, and you haven’t given me a reason to care. So, I’m waiting. What’s your incentive?”

Just as he thought, the boy stared back at him, then slowly turned red. “You— you want compensation?!” He sputtered for a bit, then said, “Then why did you help out the Elder?”

“Jingyi, that’s enough,” said Elder cut him off. He sounded sad. He turned to Jiang Cheng, “You’re right. You are under no obligation to help us. However, you’re still quite welcome to stay the night.”

“You should get out of Gresit before then,” Jiang Cheng said, and looked around the decrepit shack of a house. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Church decided to target this place tonight.”

The second boy, the one who had first shushed Jingyi, said quietly, “We won’t be leaving until shixiong comes back.”

“Sizhui,” the Elder sighed.

“No, I think shidi is right to at least ask,” Sizhui said firmly, and said to Jiang Cheng, “Actually, our missing shixiong is the Elder’s son.��

The Elder, hearing this confession, could only sigh.

After taking a breath, he continued, “Sir, I’m sorry. We don’t have anything for you. But you helped out the Elder, and you’ve told us to get out of Gresit. We’re aware that the situation is unsalvageable, at least for us, the people that have been rejected by God. We can’t leave until our shixiong comes back, whether he’s alive or dead. We don’t want to leave a body here to waste away. So, please help us get him back, so we can hurry up and leave before the Church finally decides to come after us.”

He said it all plainly, but it was clear what he was to say next was hurting him. It was clear that he really wanted this shixiong of his to come back.

Jiang Cheng stared at the boy for a while. In all honesty, he didn’t like what he saw, which was why he finally sighed, rolled his eyes, and muttered, “Fucking stupid nomads and their stupid…” To the Elder he said, “Got any more of this stuff?” He raised his bottle.

“Yes,” the Elder blinked. “There should be one more bottle somewhere, I think.”

“Then that’s my payment, when I got this stupid Speaker of yours back. And since I’m going to be seeing you more than once, I suppose we ought to introduce ourselves.” Jiang Cheng fought back a grimace. He… didn’t introduce himself very often, these days. Every time he did, it was usually for not-so-pleasant reasons. “I’m Jiang Wanyin.”

Sure enough, a spark of recognition flickered in the Elder’s eyes. However, he didn’t comment on it, simply returned, “Wei Changze.”

Just a year ago, the city of Gresit hadn’t been like this.

None of Wallachia had been like this, actually. It had been prospering— or at the very least, not collapsing. It wasn’t as if everyone was walking around half dead back then, with a missing limb and a chunk of their ear missing. There weren’t corpses clogging up the streets, and clean water that didn’t taste of blood wasn’t a scarcity.

What happened to cause this sudden change was quite easy to pinpoint, but if one were actually trying to explain why it happened, it was a different story entirely.

Not that Jiang Cheng cared, really. If Wallachia went to hell, he would just get out of here. It was about time, anyway. Wallachian coin meant nothing in value outside the country now, but being broke was something he was used to. With his background, it was hard for him to scrounge money at a job. Chances are he would be kicked out of town before he even managed to find anyone willing to hire him. So leaving would just be business as usual.

But he’s digressing. Everything was alright— and then it wasn’t, because the creatures of the dark suddenly spread onto the country.

No one knew why they did. Although, Jiang Cheng had heard people profess their sins on the streets, falling to their knees and begging God to grant them mercy from the army from hell.

So yeah, general consensus seemed to be “it’s a punishment from our Lord.”

Was it obvious that he really didn’t buy into it?

Beyond that, Jiang Cheng was trained in these things. He knew how creatures of the night were. They weren’t like what they were now: massive in number and all with one goal in mind— attacking one human town after another with a clear strategy. It was obvious that something was commanding them, and replenishing their numbers.

With that in mind, his stop at Gresit was going to be a quick one— he needed the food, and restocking on supplies. But he was out as soon as he could. Gresit would fall, one way or another, and he was reluctant to be there when it happened.

But God damned fucking Speakers… they always had to get up in everyone’s business, didn’t they? And now Jiang Cheng was doing this “favor” for them, just because they didn’t have the brains to understand that Wallachia wasn’t exactly the best place to go right now.

“Fucking…” After locating the entrance to the catacombs, Jiang Cheng makes a retching noise out of disgust. “They… this little Speaker shit actually went in here for a fucking story?”

That’s what they had said, anyway.

Before he left, Wei Changze said, “Surely you heard of it while you were walking about the city? The local legend?”

“You mean the one about the soldier.” Jiang Cheng didn’t bother waiting for a response and said, “You know it’s bullshit, right?”

“You never know about these things,” Wei Changze countered. “Besides, as Speakers, we should always investigate stories. It’s our purpose. And for that, and to see if the soldier could relieve the suffering of the people here, my son went to go look for the root of the legend.”

As far as he could tell, it went something like this: there was a warrior who had secluded himself underneath the city, and could possible save the town if found.

Or something like that.

Was it obvious that that he really didn’t buy into it?

The catacombs just screamed of trouble. Judging just from the entrance, it was dark, dank, and was only suitable for those looking for danger, and Jiang Cheng walked in cautiously. He crept quietly through, looking for any signs of life…

And then the floor gave way.

“Shi—”

Someone caught him by the collar.

“Oh, a fellow human! You’re heavy!” He said, and Jiang Cheng could almost choke on the thick friendliness of his words.

“What the… ?”

“Are you here because of the legend, too?” He plopped Jiang Cheng back onto steady ground. “Be careful of the ground. I kept making holes too, haha. I didn’t actually think anyone would fall down, though. I’m Wei Wuxian, by the way.”

“And I suppose you’re the missing Speaker?” Jiang Cheng asked dryly.

“I’m missing?” He scratched his head sheepishly. “Ah… I guess it’s been a few days. Did the Elder send you to find me?”

“If you were fine, why didn’t you go back earlier?” He said irritably. “You know they’re only staying in Gresit for you. The Church could get them any moment.”

To this, Wei Wuxian looked genuinely upset. His expression fell, and he said, “You’re right. I was careless and spent too long in here.”

Jiang Cheng had nothing to say that, since it felt useless to reprimand him further, and he had never been good at consoling people. In the end, he shifted uncomfortably until Wei Wuxian adjusted his expression once more and said it bit more normally, “Alright, I’ll go back right now.”

Seeing as that was done, Jiang Cheng took a moment to look at Wei Wuxian. He was just around Jiang Cheng’s age— late twenties, possibly early thirties. There was definitely a resemblance to the Speaker Elder. Classically handsome was probably the best way to put it, but at this point he was perhaps a bit too annoyed at the situation, and the fact he had been inadvertently saved by the person who was probably supposed to be dead, to particularly care about this.

What was surprising, however, was that he could see his face so well. Now that he was a further in, the catacombs were actually very well lit.

“Did you set up these torches?”

“I did,” he  agreed. “It’s a bit difficult to see, as you know. I guess I spent so long trying to go deeper down that I lost track of time. I brought food and all, so it’s not like I needed to go back up, and it’s hard to keep tell time underground…”  

“And?” Jiang Cheng interrupted, growing tired of his long-winded explanation. “Did you find what you were looking for? That soldier in seclusion from the legends?”

Hearing the sarcasm in his voice, Wei Wuxian smiled, a thoughtful tone slipping through. As if he were gauging Jiang Cheng’s response he asked slyly, “Do you think I did?”

Jiang Cheng sneered back, “Of course not.”

He took the answer and mulled it over, then finally nodded and said, “You’re right, I didn’t find anything down there. I suppose the legend really was just a legend.”

With that, he started walking back towards the entrance in a strange pattern. “Let’s go! You should follow me, just in case. The structural soundness isn’t very good, you know. It took me a really long time to figure out where was best to step. I caused a lot of the floors below to almost cave-in the first time I tried to just walk through… Oh, I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“Jiang Wanyin. Has anyone ever told you to talk less?”

“Haha… I’m a Speaker. If I don’t speak, who will?”

“You stole my alcohol,” Wei Wuxian accused.

“You stole my time,” Jiang Cheng accused back.

Wei Changze said, “I gave it to him. You’ll simply have to make do without.”

Rejoining the Speakers was a quick affair, and Jiang Cheng got thanked multiple times by the boys, despite Wei Wuxian’s frequent protests of, “I didn’t need saving???” At the very least, it helped soothe his battered ego over the whole thing.

“But I was saving it!” Wei Wuxian directed one last frown at Jiang Cheng, then sighed. “Whatever, whatever, it doesn’t matter. Father, listen. I have… something I want to do. I need to stay in Gresit just a bit.”

“Then we will stay with you,” Wei Changze replied immediately. “We leave no one behind.”

At that, Jiang Cheng butt back in, alarmed. “You said you would all leave as soon as this Wei Wuxian of yours came back, and now you’re changing your mind?!”

Wei Wuxian said, “I think it’s best that you leave without me. You should all go to the next city and see if you can help out there, and I’ll rejoin you all sooner or later.”

“Is there something that’s caught your interest?” Wei Changze questioned, then frowned and corrected, “Someone?”

“Yes! She is very beautiful,” Wei Wuxian said. “She’s in a bit of distress, you see, and I figured I should stay and help her. At the very least, I should hear out her troubles.”

“And she cannot join our caravan?”

“The circumstances force her hand,” was the response. “However, I think if I can help her, it would also help us.”

Jiang Cheng blinked. He definitely heard all that wrong.

Wei Changze frowned even deeper, then appeared to switch the subject without warning. “A-Ying, did you find anything in the catacombs?”

The deeper the Elder’s frown grew, the wider Wei Wuxian’s smile became. “Of course not,” he said. “There wasn’t a single thing I wasn’t expecting to see under there.”

“Hold up,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “What are you talking about? Don’t you understand, if you stay any longer you’re all going to die, just like the rest of the goddamn city!”

“And that’s no good at all,” Wei Wuxian agreed, “So it’s best if we help evacuate the rest of the people.”

“Are you—” Are you really that stupid? But Jiang Cheng could answer his own question. They were Speakers, and of course they were going to be naively going on like this, believing that they could save everything.

Suddenly, he was incensed.

His voice was shaking when he said his next words, “People are gullible. They think this is God’s punishment, so they’ve put their faith in the Church, like they always do. The Church says the walls of Gresit are impenetrable, so they’ll stay no matter what. The Church wants to hunt you down, so sooner or later you’ll have the entire city at your doorstep with pitchforks and torches!”

“...”

“Do you understand what I’m saying?! If you try to help them in any way, they’ll kill you! If you stay, they’ll kill you! They don’t want your help, and they don’t deserve your help!”

“People are gullible,” Wei Changze replied, “Because they are misguided. Because they don’t understand the world around them. That’s all we try to do— explain the world through stories the people have forgotten. We speak only the truth.”

“No one cares about the truth!” What even was the truth? In the end, all that mattered was who was left standing, and they could say whatever they want— and it would be the truth!

That’s why Jiang Cheng wasn’t going to stand for any of this any longer.

“You know what? Whatever,” he hissed. “Go ahead and do whatever you want. I don’t care! I’m getting out of here!”

He was halfway to the door when Wei Wuxian said, “Aren’t you from the Jiang Clan?”

He was forced to stop where he was.

Wei Wuxian continued undaunted, “You could help us, you know.”

“... I’m not going to repeat myself.”

“Your family’s business was monster hunting,” he pressed on, undaunted. “And you were all the best of the best. If anyone could subdue an army from hell, wouldn’t it be Jiang Wanyin, the last of them?”

“Shut up!”

“Alright, alright, it’s not like I’m making you,” Wei Wuxian held up his hands placatingly, and with great sincerity he said, “But you still wear the Jiang Clan clothes underneath that cloak— what, you thought no one would notice? Dad said you knew how to use that whip pretty well on those priests, so it’s clear you’ve been trained and you’re proud of who you are.

“The Jiang Clan’s purpose was to always help the people. And you helped us. You even went to come save me, even though I think I saved you in the end. You like to scowl a lot, but you’re really not as mean as you look. And if that’s the case, I think you should help us.”

His answer was a swift slam of the door.

Wei Wuxian sighed and scratched his cheek. “Well, I tried.”

“A-Ying,” Wei Changze said, “What was it that you didn’t want him to know?”

“Don’t say it like that, you’re making it sound like I think he’s a bad person,” Wei Wuxian complained. “It’s just that I don’t think he would be very interested right now, and he might react badly.”

“So you did find someone.”

“Shixiong found someone?”

“Is it really another pretty lady? He always brings back pretty ladies.”

“This one is prettier than the rest, I promise! Also considerably more muscular.” Wei Wuxian smiled and called out the window, “Lan Zhan, are you there? You can stop hiding.”

[jarmes]

Birdcage Chapter V

Masterpost -  Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Rescued, or: the unexpected meeting in the dark

My heart thumped a thousand beats a minute as I ran from the Ogre. I bolted out of the cistern and into the unrelenting darkness of the catacombs. My eyes were useless. My ears heard the screams.

I knew that I should’ve turned back. I knew that Connors and his men were dying. But my legs, my legs wouldn’t stop running. I was afraid, more afraid than I’d ever been in my short life. I kept running until I fell into the river.

The river swept me away, dragging me deeper into the labyrinth beneath the city. I struggled to keep my head above water as water filled my lungs. A million thoughts ran through my head, thoughts of Squad V and the Ogre and my fear. I slipped beneath the surface of the rushing river and reached for salvation that would not come. I closed my eyes and accepted my fate.

Then it came, from the unrelenting darkness. A hand reaching into the river to save me. It drug me onto the shore of the river. “Now is not your time, Ernest,” a voice whispered as I passed from consciousness.

I came to sometime later, long enough later that my clothes had dried out. Someone had built a small fire for me. My grandfather's sword sat by the fire. I grabbed it and returned it to its sheath.

Suddenly, I heard groaning and footsteps coming from beyond the light of the fire. I drew my sword and prepared myself for combat. An unnerving specter walked out of the darkness.

It looked like a man but clearly was not one. Its eyes were lifeless and its mouth hung open as it walked. It wore in tattered clothing covered in blood stains. And the smell, the smell was so foul that no description could possibly do it justice.

“Who are you?” I shouted.

The creature didn’t respond. Instead, it growled and lunged at me, trying to sink its teeth into my throat. I sunk my blade into its heart. It didn’t seem to mind and continued walking towards me, teeth chattering and slobber dripping from its lips.

I pulled my sword out of its chest and split its torso in two. Instead of blood, a thick black substance poured from its wounds as the top half of its body fell to the ground. I backed up, not wanting to get the black blood on my clothes.

As I walked away, a bony hand grabbed my ankle. I glanced over my head at the creature. It was still moving, crawling towards me with its rotting arms. I raised my sword and prepared to strike. Before I could bring my sword down, an arrow flew through the darkness and struck the creature in the temple.

I looked at the source of the arrow, a bruised and bloody MacDonald holding his bow. “Zombie worms,” he muttered. “They’re disgusting monsters. They burrow into the brains of dead bodies and control them like puppeteers. Only way to get rid of them is to destroy the brain they inhabit.”

MacDonald walked over to the fire and grabbed a burning log. “Nice fire,” he said as he walked off into the darkness.

“Wait!” I said while running after him. “Did you drag me out of the river?”

He raised an eyebrow and kept walking. “It’s good that another member of the squad managed to get out of that shitshow,” he said. “How’d you survive?”

“I fell into the river and was swept away. I would’ve drowned, but someone drug me out of the river.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes! They whispered now is not your time in my ear and built that fire. I’m sure of it.”

“Sounds kinda unlikely.”

I sighed and decided to drop it. “How did you survive?” I asked.

“I was hanging in the back, so I could get good shots in,” MacDonald said. “Didn’t get any on account of the lights going out, but I was far enough away that I was able to dig a tunnel and get away before the Ogre killed me. The thing is, I dug into an old passageway and fell into the lower parts of the catacombs. I’ve been making my way back up for about two hours now, but the monsters have kept me from making any real progress.”

“Hold on,” I said. “You dug a tunnel through a stone floor and are calling me out for having an unlikely survival story.”

MacDonald ignored me and kept walking through the tunnels. “Do you think any of the others survived?” I asked.

“You enjoy hearing yourself talk, don’t you?” he said.

“Just answer the question.”

MacDonald sighed. “No, I don’t think any of the others are still alive,” he said. “Connors was thrown at a stone pillar with enough force to break it in half. Anyone who was caught by the Ogre died.”

“What if they managed to get out of the Cistern before it caught them?”

MacDonald stopped and looked at me. “You were the one holding the torch, weren’t you?” he asked.

I nodded my head. MacDonald ran his hand through his hair and rolled his eyes. “Is that what this is about?” he said. “Are you trying to relieve your guilt by pretending that you didn’t hear the screams?”

“If I hadn’t run away, if I hadn’t dropped the torch-”

“Okay, I’m nipping this in the bud right now. You fucked up and people died. Deal with it. Don’t pretend it didn’t happen, don’t throw yourself a pity party, just accept that it happened and try to be better going forward.”

“I understand,” I muttered.

“If it’s any solace, I’m pretty sure they were doomed regardless of what you did. Fighting something as strong as an Ogre in that small of a space was a death sentence. You certainly didn’t help things, but it’s not like you were the sole reason they died.”

We walked in silence for a while. Eventually, we came across a pile of rocks blocking our path, rubble from a collapsed section of the tunnels. “I guess we’ll have to go back, try and find another path to the surface,” I said.

“Hold this,” MacDonald said as he handed me the torch.

MacDonald got down on his knees and placed his hands on the rocks. A silver glow spread from his fingertips, covering the rubble. Slowly, the rocks changed shape, reforming into a stone archway we could walk through.

“That was incredible,” I said. “How did you do that?”

MacDonald pulled back the arm of his shirt, revealing a brand of the word Reforge on his forearm. I knew from a glance what the brand was. It was a Verse, a unique ability granted by the Gods. A powerful magical ability that only the greatest Knights possessed.

“My Verse allows me to reshape stone and metal by touching it,” MacDonald said. “Not the most useful ability in a fight, but it’s pretty helpful in situations like this.”

MacDonald took the torch and walked through the archway. “Wait,” I shouted as I chased after him. “If you can reshape stone, can’t you just dig a path to the surface?”

Without a word, MacDonald walked over and placed his palm on the tunnel wall. The bricks changed shape, spreading apart to create a staircase leading into the wall. Then, a flood of water burst from the staircase, rushing down the steps. MacDonald and I jumped to the side to avoid getting soaked.

“These tunnels are too interconnected for me to dig a way out without getting soaked,” MacDonald said as he resealed the staircase. “Better to take the long way around and avoid drowning.”

I glanced at the stone floor of the walkway. Most of the water spilled from the staircase was moving towards the river, as I expected. But some of it, just a small amount, trickled in a different direction, seeping down into a crack in the floor. Upon closer inspection, the water dripped down through a square-shaped outline on the floor.

I reached down and touched the square-shaped outline. I discovered that the outline was the product of a square tile in the floor. I lifted the tile to reveal a ladder leading into a small room. “What do you think this is?” I asked.

“These tunnels contain hidden bunkers, meant to be used in the event that the city comes under attack,” MacDonald said.

We crawled down the ladder into the dark room. From the light of the torch, we saw walls covered in weapons and crates full of medical supplies and military gear. MacDonald popped the lid off of one of them and began digging around.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“Something we can use to help get out of here,” he replied.

He pulled out a pair of green goggles and placed them over his eyes. He smiled. “What is that?” I asked.

“Darkvision goggles,” he said. “Expensive magical gear, gives the wearer the ability to see in the dark.”

He tossed me a pair and I put them on. “Now we don’t have to worry about carrying the torch while fighting,” I said.

MacDonald pushed the crates out of the way and found an old map showing the layout of the tunnels. “There’s a quick path to the surface nearby,” he said. “All we have to do is climb a part where the storm drain falls into the river.”

I grabbed a blue circular shield hanging from the wall. “Let’s get out of here,” I said.

MacDonald and I followed the map through the tunnels, taking side paths when necessary until we reached the meeting point. Water fell thirty feet from the end of the man-made storm drain into the natural river.

MacDonald placed his hands on the rock wall by the storm drain and used his Verse to create a series of handholds for us to climb. As we began to scale the stone wall, I heard splashing. I turned my head just in time to see a creature in the water holding a trident.

I jumped from the wall as it through the trident, blocking it with my shield. As I landed, I pulled the trident back and threw it to the side. Three blue heads, covered in scales, stared at me from the river. The creatures walked through the water and onto the shore of the river.

The three creatures looked like a mix between a man and a fish. They had large jaws full of pointed teeth, sharp claws, and webbed feet, but lacked any eyes. One of them held a trident. It pulled its arm back and threw the trident at me.

I held my shield up to protect myself. This action proved needless when MacDonald placed his hands on the ground and raised a wall of stone to protect me. “Thanks,” I shouted as I hurdled over the wall.

Drawing my sword, I struck down two of the creatures. The third was finished by an arrow provided by MacDonald. All three of the creatures faded to dust, leaving their tridents as the only remnants of their existence.

“Those were Sandcrawlers,” MacDonald said. “They’re monsters that live in rivers and lakes. They fight using weapons taken from their victims.”

“They didn’t have eyes,” I said.

“They’re attracted to loud noises and the smell of blood.”

I glanced at the waterfall. The noise created by the rushing water was much louder than the sound of our footsteps, meaning the Sandcrawlers shouldn’t have tried to attack us. Then I noticed it, a trickle of red in the pouring water. The body fell down the waterfall a few moments later.

[tothewaterhq]

ACCEPTED // DWIGHT HALE

district six → mentor →   jeremy renner fc

pronouns: he/him positive traits: witty, adaptable, easy-going negative traits: noncommittal, pessimistic, immature

tw: divorce, alcoholism, death mention, false pregnancy

describe their arena:

The tributes were raised into what felt like another catacomb. There was darkness surrounding them, walls of cracked stone. No natural light. The cornucopia was filled with weapons designed for tunnelling and was in the middle of an underground tunnel system, appearing like some kind of mine. Those believing twelve had an advantage were dead wrong. This was no ordinary underground tunnel system. The walls were alive, the rocks temperamental. One wrong move and a severe cave in could kill you. The tunnels went off in all directions and it was easy for tributes to get lost. The only lights were generator powered and flickering to add to the atmosphere. The water sources were few and far between. Some coming from old leaking pipes. A small stream ran through certain parts but the water had to be boiled and purified. Bodied of the dead were absorbed into the walls.

Above the ground was where the real battle arena lied. Designed for a gory final battle. Grass as far as the eye could see, no cover. It was littered with weapons as far as the eyes could see. Maces, knives, swords, spears. To get to it was no easy feat. Tributes would have to be chiselling away at the surface for days.

bio:

From the moment he was born Dwight Hale’s life was destined to become a roller coaster. His bright blue eyes sat above his squished nose. He had dirty blonde hair and lungs that seemed to want to terrify his mother as they decided to stop working every couple of seconds. Some might say he was born with a mischievous personality.  As an infant, growing up in district six was a blessing for Dwight. Apparently being classified as the transportation district caused him to want to get moving quickly. He started climbing out of his crib within a year. As soon as he was taught to walk, he was running. Intelligence didn’t kick in quite as soon so time after time his mother had to stop him running straight into walls or roads. Not that it every seemed to prevent him from doing it again. Often Dwight would wear bumped heads or a bleeding nose. He scuffed his knees more than any child in the district. And he was proud of it. His mother would always patch him up.

Tamora Hale, Dwight’s mother, cared for him deeply. However, there was something she cared for a little bit more. The rebellion. Tamora didn’t trust or agree with anything that capitol did. She’d been whispering in a few peoples ears the same thing. When she got wind of District Thirteen, she knew she had to get there. So, In the middle of the night, she left her five-year-old son alone to embark on the journey. She would never return. Five-year-old Dwight wasn’t sure how long future-changing journey’s took, so he figured she’d be back in three days. But as he sat there running out of fingers to count the days she’d been gone on there was the realization that she wasn’t coming back.

Soon Dwight was removed from his home by some rather heavy-handed peacekeepers attempting to corral him to one of the local orphanages. They’d have to catch him first. He kept to the streets after that, falling in with a group of older street rats who saw him as a great way to get food. He was young and cute. Also, his speed meant he was great at the grab and run. Local market vendors dubbed him ‘sneaky little midget’. The boys became his family, showering him with praise about how great he was. However, their age difference meant they were destined to get older and move on. As each of them reached the full-time work age they left, got jobs, started families. All around turned their lives around. As the penultimate original member of their little gang left, he christened Dwight leader. A notion that made Dwight’s head swell to the size that made him think he didn’t need anyone else.

One morning he decided to steal a pot of soap from the wrong stall. It was a stupid plan. How was an eleven year old supposed to carry an entire pot of boiling liquid down the street. However, Dwight had always been, act first think later. It was no surprise he was caught red handed.

The soup sellers name was Marella Smyth, though as it turned out, everyone called her Ma. There was a reason for that. She was known for taking in stray kids, usually young boys who got themselves into trouble. So naturally she was drawn to Dwight. She gave him a bed to sleep in and an endless supply of soup. Though she wasn’t totally a mother figure, she was a close as most of the boys in her care had ever had. Over the years more boys joined the house and were quickly conned ‘Ma’s boys.’  But Ma wasn’t so good as disciplining her boys. It wasn’t her place, she believed. So, they still ran wild across the district and Dwight, being the first and oldest, was the leader of their gang. Which is pretty much what they were. The group of damaged boys were a catalyst to each other and when together, caused trouble. They picked on people, stole things then ran away. Of course, Dwight was always first to flee the scene with his ‘every man for himself’ mentality. He’d learned that you had to be selfish though. That was how you survived.

Dwight had never given much thought to the games. He had too much to worry about in his own life for that. His first reapings were non-events. He and his group of friends often mocked the kids that were reaped as they died. It was poetic irony that Dwight’s name was called when he was fifteen. He’d tried to get one of his friends standing next to him to volunteer. However, it seemed that his ‘every man for himself’ policy had rubbed off on them.  

The capitol tried to sell him as ‘the poor boy from six’ and ‘the simple street urchin’ to get some sympathy.  On his mentor’s advice, he played up the angle. Which at first, he didn’t believe was an angle. It wasn’t until he’d gotten into the training room and had been reading over the survival skills that he realised he knew most of this stuff already. His years fending for himself had paid off. Yet he continued to play dumb. He scored a meagre score of three during his private training session. And when interviews came around he pretended not to know what some of the big words Caesar was using were. Okay, that wasn’t all pretend. To this day he struggled to remember ‘trepidation’.  Then the big day was upon the twenty-four unlucky souls and Dwight did what he’d always been taught to do. Survive.

The area wasn’t his favourite. The underground tunnels made it hard to see but after a while his eyes adjusted. In the cornucopia he’d gone straight for the big guns, knowing his speed would be an advantage. He managed to get his hands on a backpack and a scythe that he didn’t know how to use. Then he’d fled the scene. Ten people died in the bloodbath. The faces were projected wherever the tributes were sleeping. Which Dwight considered very dumb as it led to them being easily detected. Thankfully the network of tunnels meant that Dwight avoided all tributes for the first two days. On day three he’d done the stupid thing of attempting to chisel his way out of the underground tunnels and caused a mound of dirt and rock to cave in on himself. Not the smartest idea. He’d woken up thinking he was dead. The capitol thought that too at first. He was on his way out. However, like the cockroach he was, he survived. Realising that he could use the arena to his advantage. He managed to track down the careers, at the cornucopia, so predictable. Then during the night, he started slowly chiselling away at some rock nearby, leaving it at a very precarious position. Then, he emerged from underneath it, right in the eyesight of the careers. Three of the four that were still around  did exactly as he’d expected, they started chasing him. Then he’d delivered one last blow to the chipped wall and caused rocks and dirt to cave in on all three of them. One had apparently been dealt a blow by a falling rock that killed them instantly. The other two Dwight suffocated with a piece of cloth.

He caused a few more cave ins whilst in the tunnels. Then had focused his attention of trying to break through the layer of dirt on the surface. Dwight had figured that there was something above him considering he hadn’t been killed by a forcefield. So, he kept working. On the final day he was greeted by sunlight and a message from the capitol informing him that there was two people left. For the final battle, the capitol had replenished weapons on the surface. Dwight was already there. Knowing that he couldn’t win a fight against the boy from one, he blocked the exit. Meaning he had twenty four hours to prepare. The capitol had decided to assist the boy from one by causing some rocks to fall and give him a way out. But Dwight was waiting with a knife. He stabbed him in his neck upon his first breath of fresh air. They declared him the winner.

His days were a blur post-victory. Mostly because his vision had been royally screwed by the lack of light in the caves. He ditched his old friends and moved into the victor’s village.  He was miserable. Embarrassed about his constant need to wear sunglasses and his misery, he wasn’t the most sociable of people. Becoming rather aloof as far as the capitol was concerned. So, when it was announced that he was getting married at twenty one years old sponsors weekly were all over it. His fiancé Alma was one of the market workers daughter. She’d given him an apple once. Turned out she was one of the only people that still treated him like that naughty kid. Which he appreciated. Alma made him feel like he was good at something. It was a very public wedding. The capitol had made sure of that. People loved seeing Dwight look so smart.

The two became the hottest young couple.  However, it didn’t last. Two years into their marriage, the man who’d moved at fifty miles an hour his entire life wasn’t enjoying the slow married life. Alma wanted a child. That was something Dwight wasn’t ready for.  Frustration built up inside him and he started to get mean. Not happy with the person he’d become, Dwight’s ego decided to blame Alma for their marriage falling apart, rather publicly as well. Front page of sponsors weekly thanks to a lovely capitol reported called Nessa whom he’d made a deal with. Alma had threatened to cut his balls off. She settled for a divorce.

Nessa had done a good job at making sure he got some positive press post-divorce. She did a good job satisfying him in other areas as well. They were completely casual though, to him anyway. He didn’t realise Nessa had feelings for him until a year after he split from Alma. So, when she threatened to expose him, he started dating her. She was a piece of work. Everything that he’d falsely accused Alma of being. Dwight was twenty-seven when he felt obliged to propose to her. They kept their relationship secret until one year later. Nessa, bored of the marriage she decided to use him as a stepping stone in her career via another public divorce. Only this time, she threw every name under the sun at him and went after his money. Nessa was good at getting what she wanted.

After that Dwight closed the chapter in his life he’d labelled ‘demonic hell beast’ and focused on himself for the first time in a while. Without distractions he was able to get clean and focus on mentoring. Which he wasn’t half bad at when he put his mind to it. He was good at giving the tributes alternate strategies. After all, that was how he’d won. Though every year when one died, he did take it hard. His new persona ‘didn’t like failure.’ He quoted in the double page spread Sponsors weekly had done for him. He seemed to skip his mid-life crisis stage at thirty ( guess life decided he’d had enough of them in his twenties ) Then thirty-seven hit with a bang when Esmerelda Little was hired as the new escort for district six. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Warm and fuzzy. He heard someone behind him say ‘don’t even think about it’ It was too late for that. Dwight’s new personality was a perfect match for Esme. He did make sure that he actually liked her before marrying her this time. He was older though, mature. And it was the perfect publicity —- come to think of it, that was a red flag.

Truth was, he didn’t mean to hurt Esme. But she was a busy woman, even after they were married. He’d returned to the capitol to find Marella had passed away and she wasn’t around to support him. That on top of losing more tributes didn’t bode well for Dwight. Alcohol was there to support him…so were prostitutes.

The sponsors weekly title three months later read, ‘Dwight’s Dodgy Dealings’ and detailed his continued interactions with prostitutes and drinking. Claiming he’d cheated on Elsa with five prostitutes. That was a lie.

It was only three.

Elsa divorced him and once again took money out of his pocket. He was paying of a dozen people that knew secrets about him. His monthly mentoring funds were dwindling. Looking back, he was in no position to agree to another marriage. He needed to do something to recover his image though. It would make a sellable story. So, when a prostitute claimed to be pregnant with his baby his brain said, why not?!

Nine months later he became a four-time-divorcée. The pregnancy nothing but a work of fiction. No baby, no marriage.

Thankfully that tally has remained at four divorces. Unfortunately, his bank account is still paying the price. As is his health. As he’s vowed to not end up in another marriage his outlet for stress is alcohol once again. His light sensitivity constantly pisses him off. And pretending to be smart didn’t work out for him. Smart people are held responsible for their actions. So, the dumb act was switched back on. Sweet naïve Dwight. Tricked into four marriages, unlucky in love. … Maybe he should take a vow of celibacy.

PLAYED BY // JO

[mrneighbourlove]

Constricting Souls: Ch 8. Family Intervention

Ralnor had not seen much of Leere lately. Then again, he had not seen her the entire week. Where was she? He wondered if she left again...

A messenger hawk cawed loudly suddenly, flying into the palace very angrily, squawking at the prince.

"Who put a firecracker on your tail feathers?" Ralnor huffed at the bird as he took the message. Reading over the note’s symbol, the prince sighed heavily, a dark cloud forming over his head. "That... stupid snake..."

The note was simply two words written in blood. "Meet me." Signed from a 'Pluto'.

Ralnor wondered what was going on now for the lynel to message him of all the Hive members. So, the prince went to their usual meeting spot to wait for Hades.

At the edge of the catacombs, Sheer-Khan galloped into view, glaring down at the prince. His main was stained with red wine and he smelled of something Blue had concocted. "About time. If you had not shown in ten more minutes, you would have never seen your sister again."

"If that snake has hurt her, I'll flood the tunnels with gas and light it aflame." Ralnor growled. "What is it?"

"It's her that's the issue."

"...? What?" Ralnor gestured for Hades to be more specific, rolling his wrist. "Well, spit it out?"

"Watch your tongue Gerudo." Sheer-Khan was not in any mood to be pleasant. Usually he played in delicate conversation with the prince, but all his patience had been diminished. "She’s been nothing but trouble since arriving. The first thing they did was summon a demon from her body. It destroyed a wing of the catacombs, some sort of infection still left over. After that she seduced White, Blue, and finally Bonegrinder himself. I thought she'd leave after getting what she wanted in the temple she came for, but after entering, she refuses to leave. At this moment, she's drunk off her ass, having the sisters and friend join her. Bonegrinder insists its no issue, but he's gone soft on her. I and the rest of the hive are on overtime. Blue is behind on making her supplies. You need to go into that mess and pull your horrible sister out. Before I do by my jaw line."

"... so you're telling me that my sister has been partying with those two insects for nearly a whole week?" Ralnor could understand why Hades wanted her out of the catacombs. When Leere partied, it did not stop for days. "... take me to her. I'll bring her home."

"They’re arachnids. She's a bad influence on Bonegrinder as well."

As they walked down, they found Bonegrinder listening peacefully to the music Leere was singing. She had just finished shredding a guitar solo. "FUCK YEAH!!!"

With a grin she slammed more of Ralnor's wine down, followed by pouring the rest of the bottle of a very, very drunk Blue and White's breasts. “To my greatest fans! Give me some sugar babies~”

"... oh sweet goddesses, I think I went temporarily blind there for a moment." Ralnor felt bile rise in his throat at the sight of his sister dancing naked while enticing the sisters into more fun.

"Pretty prince? What are you doing here?" Bonegrinder asked Ralnor as Leere continued to make out with Blue and White. "He didn't think you liked to watch."

"I'm here to collect my sister due to Hades informing me of her bad influences as well as your business suffering because of it." Ralnor grumbled under his breath. "If you suffer, I suffer, I'm simply watching out for the both of us." Walking over to Leere, he threw his cloak around her shoulders. "Come home now, sis, time to go home." With that, he threw Leere over his shoulder and went in the direction of the exit.

"Hey, hey, hey, what the fuck?!" She elbowed Ralnor in the eye, being dropped to the floor. Drunkenly about to fight, she paused seeing her brother. "Oh, hey bro. W-w-what's uuuuup? I'm in the middle of a *burp* concert."

"OW! Leere, stop fidgeting!!!" Ralnor did not mean to drop her, but the blow to his head hurt. "No, you're going home." He attempted to pick her back up over his shoulder.

Leere kneed him in the stomach, apparently a master of drunk kung-fu. "Fuck off Ralnor. I'm not going back. I-I'm where I belong now."

"Ooof!" Ralnor stumbled in his steps but did not let go, clamping his arms over her legs and keeping a good grip around her waist. "You're coming home, Leere." His voice was stern. "We've all been worried about you. Do you think it's a good thing to just suddenly disappear? Mama and Papa have been worried sick! Covarog has been looking for you in the towns! You even missed Tebanam, and he was only here for a couple of days! What is wrong with you? You're coming home, and that is that!"

"Fuck OFF!" Leere used her magic to summon some hands to grab Ralnor by the ankles and trip him. As they tumbled, she got up to drink more wine. "I-I'm a curse to my friends. Fucking dying all the time. My only friends are monsters, because they can't die being linked to me. Aaaaaand guess what. It's only a matter of time before I hurt my family. And I’ll k-k-kill myself before that happens. So why don't you go back to Mama and Papa. You're j-j-j-just a prince. A p-p-pussy ass prince. You can't even take a woman half your size. Oh shit... bottles empty. Fuck it. It's your wine. I’m gonna get some more and party even harder. Biiiiiiitch."

"Damn it, Leere!" Ralnor had to fight to get the skeletal hands off of him, kicking the bones apart. "Do you think we give a shit?! We're your family, we love you! We don't give a second thought about curses!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her slightly. "Look at what all we have survived in these past few years! Hyrule was attacked, we almost lost our family, the castle in ruins, history lost, and we had to rebuild! But we had each other and pulled through! Do you think that you're the only one who's had it tough?! Get that pathetic nonsense out of your head and come home, right fucking now!!!"

Leere felt her anger rise, smashing the wine bottle in her drunk defiance. "I've had it tougher than ANY OF YOU! FUCK! YOU! RALNOR!" She pushed him back, something deep in her bleeding and hurt. She didn't even notice the tears started to well up. "You ever been raped? You ever watch birth parents been torn apart by that bastard Klinge? You ever find out that said parents wanted you to be a human sacrifice? You ever, in all your spoiled, privileged life, have to deal with the things I've had to see?" She gave a small insane chuckle to herself, bugged eyed. "So what, you were possessed briefly? Sounds like FUN! I have something I can't even describe as a demon living inside my body. I attract evil. I've lost friends to abominations of darkness and hell because they associated themselves with me. Carlos would never have died to the Beacon had I not encouraged his work. Silvia would never been devoured by the snake had I just said no to helping her exploration. And that's just two examples! You think Teb would find Shadow temples? You think your precious wife could stumble upon a cursed jewel that gives you night terrors, than makes those night terrors real!? I am a fucked up person to be around! And than, the cherry on the fucking cake! I w-w-was stupid enough to go into the temple of time. I think I saw my future.  When I die, all of you are going down shortly after! I won't allow that. I'm a fucking monster, so I'm staying with the rest of the monsters. So tell me again how tough you have it! TELL ME AGAIN YOU DUMB-hic-BASTARD!" Leere stumbled back onto a chair, rubbing her eyes to not cry. "It doesn't matter that you love me. I'm dangerous. S-s-so get the fuck out of here…"

Ralnor let Leere have her tirade. There was obvious anger in his eyes, but his expression was tired. For the first time in his life, the secondborn prince threw up his hands. He released a frustrated sigh and then shook his head.

"I'm tired of fighting you, Leere. I'm tired of you leaving and coming back." Ralnor knew how she truly felt, so now he was going to tell her exactly what she needed. "Sometimes, when you leave, we wonder if you're ever coming back. You call yourself a princess of Hyrule, but you're not. You're really just a wandering nomad, looking for answers that will never satisfy you in the first place." He scoffed. "If you want to stay with the damn monsters, then go ahead! I won't stop you. Evidently, you trust an ancient snake you met just a few days ago more than you do your own brother." He then turned to leave, but stopped and looked at Hades. "Bonegrinder got her this way, he can fix it his damn self."

Hades growled. "No. She's already messed up operations enough. Club her on the head and take her if you have to. Or I'll just kill her now."

Leere looked down at the bottle, sniffing to herself. Ralnor’s words had cut deep into her psyche. "I-I... I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not good to anyone. I mess up things here or on the surface. I pretend to be princess when it suits me. But I'm not. I'm not like Rinku. I'm not like you Ralnor. I almost got Bonegrinder trapped seeing his own family. Than I persuaded him into fucking me, drinking all his wine, and smoking his drugs to try and not feel so pained.... And than you said it yourself. You wonder if I'm dead.... Leere looked up from the bottle, almost in a haze. "I feel dead. On the inside. It gets worse every die. Did you know I was named 'Emptiness'? How funny is that? You think I'm empty on the inside?” Leere was tired. So tired of just wandering.

"Tiny princess," Bonegrinder's voice interjected in the argument. "It is time for you to go home with your brother. You need to get some help, my porcelain doll." He fixed the cloak around her shoulders. "Sometimes, the deep, pit in one's soul feels like it can never be filled. It keeps taking and taking, bottomless. Though what you have to do, is keep faith in those around you. If not for this snake's children, he would be aimless. You must not give up, Leere... everyone will have their day in the sunlight."

"What help? What possible help?"

"... okay, for once, just listen to the old snake, Leere. Come with me. We're going to see a doctor and get you some help." Ralnor stated firmly. "Now."

She looked up to Ralnor, her head killing her. "I'm a terrible sister Ralnor. I don't... I'm not as good as Orana or Kanisa. What doctor can analyze me?"

"A psychiatrist... but first, Doctor Boveir. Now let's go, right now."

Leere nodded, shaking her head. "O-ok. Can I have my clothes. Or do you want to carry me again..."

"Go with your brother, tiny princess." Bonegrinder urged her. "He will be able to get you aid that you need, more so than you know. Put your faith in family, yes? This Anagari will be here if you need him too. You've had your fun... now you need to get better."

"Are you going to kick me again?"

"....No….”

"I don't hit women unless I have to, and I'm not going to hit you. Don't kick me again or I'll drop you on purpose this time." Ralnor hefted Leere onto his back, piggyback style. "We'll get you some new clothes. Yours smell like ass."

"Bonegrinder will come and check in on the tiny princess later, pretty prince."

"Joy."

"Do make sure she gets some proper rest."

[vanrambling]

Writing Influences Tag Game

Eeeeep, this is the first time I’ve been tagged in a writing tag game, actually the second tag game ever. I was tagged by @angrymagicgirlmarsette (at my main blog) for this and I thank her a lot!

I know she tagged me last week but I lost my wifi (it was under the couch, the cat began chasing the mouse and it got in a fight with the RAM and then it was a mess that pulled the router and the cable got cut because... Long story short, I lost the wifi and after that I made a lot of excuses) But here we are and here we go!

Rules: Give a short summary of your WIP, name 7 books, TV Shows, games, movies, comics, etc. that have influenced your story, and tag 7 people.

I will do it for my main WIP, Cannibal’s Ball, at least for now, it will work for another work another time. 

Cannibal’s Ball

London, now a flying city above the Atlantic, is home to Homer, a cynical but kind hearted Prosecutor, and to Virgil, a his best friend /pansexual/happy-go-lucky-playboy/Detective. Both of them are the problematic heirs and the “justice for hire” arm of the ruling elite of London, “The Families”, and as such, they are tasked with finding out why there is a dead body in the edge of the city where The Families control the water and oxygen treatment plants that supply the city.  

This mystery will make them leave their adoptive city and face their past while travelling to the walled Macropolis of Paris, where they will meet Cybelle, a mysterious woman that knows Homer a bit too intimately, and Vamp, a very capable lady of the night. 

In the city of Light they will come across drugs, human experiments, unusual allies, go toe to toe with the Parisian Families, face their nightmares in the catacombs and try to survive a night dancing amongst Cannibals. 

Influences!

I have to limit myself to seven right?:

Dresden Files. About a decade ago I fell in love with the urban fantasy / detective stories of the Wizard for Hire from Chicago, Harry Dresden, written by Jim Butcher, it is one of the biggest influences on my style.  

Lethal Weapon. When I was 8 or 9 years old, I got my appendix extracted. It was about to explode, I lost a weekend of my life thanks to the anaesthesia. But it was so funny because they were playing the four movies on tv, so when I woke up from the operation, the first movie was beginning, then I fell asleep before the first act. I woke up for the second act of the second movie, fell asleep, woke for the third act of the third movie and woke at the ending of the fourth one. Watching Riggs and Murtaugh go from being unlikely partners to become family in one single movie because of the drugs made me love this franchise even more and brought me to star my own work with two unlikely friends that have to survive and solve a mystery together. 

Sin City. So my love of noir and buddy-cop movies is clear, but when I saw the Valkiries in Sin City I felt inspired by them and created my own ragtag group of extraordinary, badass women that happen to be sex-workers, each for their own reason. Vamp being the first one to appear in this series I am working on. 

Get Backers. Again, two friends searching for stuff, having to fight their way to retrieve what the client asked. This two are very special to me, since they have a very close relationship like Homer and Virgil and had a very diverse cast, including a woman of color with which I fell in love, not being used to seen many brown faced people in anime.

Stardust. Both the movie and the book. I just love both of them. Specially the flying ship and the princes. I loved this setting, the characters, I did not want to make a fanfic but give them another adventure in my own universe. 

Fate/Stay Night. The original. I have a love-hate relationship with this one. I love the idea. Hate the execution. So I had to take matter into my own hands and created this universe, though it grew so much that almost got out of my hands. And here we are now, nine years later, writing what is technically a prequel to the thing that began it all, just because I wanted to do Fate/Stay Night my way, the right way. 

100 years of solitude and Pedro Paramo. I had to do this, sorry to break the rules, but this two go hand in hand. My family comes from the same town as Juan Rulfo, who is technically the first to write Magical Realism. He and Gabriel Garcia Marquez are my main latin american influences, this two come so close to...everything in my life, from fear to pride to joy, that it is imposible, as we say in Mexico, “negar la cruz de mi parroquia” (refuse the cross of my church), that is to say, I can’t deny my roots, this two are integral part of my writers DNA. 

As to why Paris, why London, that is for another day, but it has to do with a word that begins with “I” and end with “grants”. And I have not began to talk about the Hunters, the Dreams, the core working of each state city, that is unique to each region of the world. The wild lands that came as a result from the catastrophes. The antagonists. I just scratched the dystopian economy. The love interests. So much more. So much more to talk about. But that is all for today. If you wanna know more just drop me an ask

This was not as educative as  @angrymagicgirlmarsette did with their own tag, but I hope you enjoyed getting to know about my work, my influences and the world I’m working on. 

I’ll tag... @imbadatwriting, @fragrant-stars, @elixirofethereallove, @raaskolnikov and @dantedevereauxt aaand anyone who reads this, and if you don’t want the tag thats okay, and if you don’t want me to tag you again, just send me a message. 

Good writing!

[lgbtfalloutwinterholiday]

[fic] In Stasis, In Sun (Christine/Veronica)

Happy Holidays!

Here’s @heck1 ‘s submission for @dragonie.

Pairing: Veronica Santangelo/Christine Royce Summary: Written for the following prompt: “ Anything about Christine/Veronica post-game reunion <3 “ Work Count: 3,220 Rating: Safe For Work Characters: Veronica Santangelo, Christine Royce Warnings/Tags: Hurt/Comfort

Singing guts through the Sierra Madre.

Husky and dulcet. Gathers in satin folds. Noise clefts the fog as a beacon, sustaining a warning rhythm.

Foolishly, prospectors from the Mojave take the Sierra Madre to heart as a siren call.

No matter how the lone sentinel bares her teeth and shoulders her holorifle in a punishingly vivid burst of warning fire, every few months, a new fool clambers past the gate to try and pry apart the locked down inner chamber for gold. Without exception, not a single new body could penetrate the depths after the Courier devised the vault as an inescapable coffin to trap Elijah.

Christine didn’t bother to intervene beyond a cursory recorded warning supplied at the base of Vera Keyes’ statuesque hologram. Newcomers perished in the outermost streets.

Dumb as a pack of unrequited suitors. As all one-sided sexual attraction goes, few next to none are capable of gleaning that the ravishing myth of the Sierra Madre is based in concealing the amount of labor that it takes to make a mirage appear conquerable. The Sierra Madre is made soft and wet with gastrointestinal smaller intestine shining in the gaslight as his length stretches from northwest booth to southeast signpost. And like all else, even in deconstruction, the newcomer does not decay: All yardage of slick viscera becomes assimilated into the gut flora of the silent ville. Shanked and quartered by the distorted hazmat beasts that swept through the streets, antibodies constantly running on the lip of inflammation.

Between the last eviscerated fool and the next debt-riddled hopeful, clockwork stasis brings down an obliterating order upon the timeless inhabitants.

Perched on the ledge of a dilapidated balcony, Christine winds in another breath.

Exhales on a low note that sends a shiver down her spine.

Months have passed since the events that locked a dead woman’s vocal cords into her throat, but each time she renews her singing voice, she loses track of the weight in her soles. Everything from the shoulders down dissolves.

She stops again, which brings her back to her body.

Measures her breaths in.

Out.

Only her heartbeat remains, pounding thickly in her eardrums against the pressurized silence of the Sierra Madre Villa.

Slouching, she surveys the view below.

Dead whistles of a gambler’s tomb fills the air thicker than plaster dust from cheaply assembled structures. Each architectural limb of sprawling subsections broke apart in the same gaudy decay. A fumbling millionaire’s pastice of Latin-American opulence.

Without any requisite sunlight to drench the baked stone walkways and carefree arches, Christine wryly noted that the gated community could only slump as a post-fling catacomb, robbed of any energy to pay mind to the immeasurable undead wheezing across the distance.

She sinks to her knees. Scintillating colors are bursting across her vision, robbing her of sight briefly. Agitating, but nothing new.

This unannounced setback grew in frequency the longer she forced her lungs to adjust to the copper and sulfur-laced mist. With the migraine, she braced herself for the next wave of nerve damage.

Needle tips jab into the rope-thick scar that bisects her scalp. Pain receptors ring alive in calamity, based on old patterns of neural signalling more than any actual stimulus.

Phantom sensation made her jaw tense, grinding back teeth to ride out the wave of intensified body awareness. Stubble would never grow again. Scalpel and cauterization damage from the Auto-Doc damaged her scalp invisibly, even outside the rope-like keloids. This locked her in eternal symbolic pact with the Circle of Steel, an offshoot of home that would have long presumed her dead.

For good reason.

Her eyes began to sting and water. She exhales against the searing, throbbing migraine, letting herself ignore the biological ramifications of constant exposure to corrosive toxins.

“I’m bored with elegance,” vocalized Christine, shaky voiced draped in the lush tremble of Vera Keyes’ cords. Draped in the starlet’s voice, her whine turns into a velvet-boxed sulk.

An itch of rage began to snag. While Vera’s voice was an odd novelty at first, the opulence now became a cruel juxtaposition with her surroundings. Worse, it was a reminder of one more intrusion planted into her body.

Drive it deeper. Make it contort until it feels like home again.

Until her vision returns, she might as well continue to push the limits of her voice.

Start.

A mellifluous, low hum rumbles towards a howl.

Ramping up against the grain of a silky voice, Christine plucks at the edges and splits hairs over the notes, once-elegant tune blaring as ferociously as hooked fingernails sinking into a surface of soft skin.

Words fail to capture lost time.

Her borrowed voice pummels the dead air, emptying lungfuls of indignant rage.

No response follows.

Christine skirts her tongue against the back of her teeth; acrid stained rings of canned coffee. Her mouth is dry. She forces the cramped muscles in her hips to relax.

And though all her companions through this Hell have long since deserted their shackles, a slow clap begins to fill the space behind her.

Immediately, she pulls her holorifle and locks onto the target.

Two fists, one encased in a loaded pressurized mechanism, raise towards the air.

“Hold--” sputters Christine, splintering throat snagging against the smooth vocal grain, “I’ll shoot.”

A silhouette from the past held still.

Unearthed ghost, chewing nervously on a lower lip.

A pretty familiar lip.  

.

“I’ll catch,” Veronica offers, helpfully.

Christine’s eyes widened. A peppery flare in the middle of her chest burns out.

“I’ve been listening to you for the past couple. Five hours or so,” says Veronica. “Takes forever to get around without stirring up a horde. Plus, I’ve been cloaking my trail this whole time. Didn’t know if you were the only person I’d run into. Thanks for making yourself easy to find.”

There’s a  halo of exhaustion on Veronica, running deep purples in the sleepless pocks beneath her eyes, to the way that her arms won’t reach up without a noticeably elbow bent. Muscle exhaustion, complicated by the added weight of the forearm-secured mechanism that kept her life well within reach. Knees are held unnaturally stiff. Made sense. To bypass the shambling hazmats, any person would have to crouch and tread silently for well past any healthy amount of time.

Veronica continues, “I really like what you did with the vents. Great home renovation. Really keeps me from seeing this place with rose-tinted glasses.”

Christine takes note of the wispy quality to the intruder’s words. The rolling masses of red fog takes the harshest toll in the beginning. On top of lung damage, there was the added complication of the neurotoxins cooked into the Big MT emissions. Part of brain function was tempted to shut down automatic breathing altogether; surviving took very conscious efforts to force the body to intake and exhale. Without a respirator, Veronica was clearly struggling to get full oxygen capacity.

Lowering her rifle, Christine tries not to betray any emotion.

Hard luck. There was always a twist to the right of her mouth, a sour grimace.

“Why the fuck,” she says softly; hoarse enough that it almost passed for her own, prior to the transplant, “Why would you slip in here? Did you come here to find Elijah?”

“And do what?” Freed of the obligation to raise her hands like a dolt, Veronica rubs at her red-rimmed eyes. “I only got his last recorded message from the Courier months after she’d left this place. And even then, I had to play bodyguard to a manchild ghoul for a couple of weeks before I could get the rest of the coordinates for the bunker. Courier didn’t want to tell me. Father Elijah, he--”

Grief steals over, and Veronica begins to cough in quick succession. Wheezing, she shudders, a thin line of spittle running from the edge of her mouth to the dip in her cowl.

“--Unless he eats gold, you know, he died of starvation,” she finishes, absentmindedly brushing away the line trailing across her lip. A rueful look crops up, pleading for the topic to move on.

“Then you’re here because. Let me guess. You are. A born-again masochist,” says Christine, drier than a bone.

“Thought I wasn’t, ‘til I saw you again. Dunno, maybe it has something going for it. Listen to you. Like some old-world starlet,” says Veronica. “I’d try to wink, but I think I’d just end up closing both eyes. I’m in a lot of pain.” She’s grinning. She looks beat up to shit.

Shouldering up her weapon, Christine beckons.

“Over this way. I have a stash of stimpacks and rations. Let’s catch up somewhere safer.”

---

Marching through the dilapidated hotel, Veronica drinks in the sight of ruined splendor. During the entire trek over, she avidly drank the babbling water of Christine’s new voice as she recounted all of the calamitous events, from their separation to the present. Each pain filled stretch of time was recounted with chilling detachment. Time had supplied Christine with more than enough self-reflection and bitter closure to know better than to attach fixation on top of the burden that PTSD already shouldered onto her daily routine.

The premier suite was the safest place of rest and operations. In a strange fit of pragmatic sentiment, on her way to the final confrontation with Elijah, the Courier had taken Vera’s bones to the square’s fountain and arranged them in a final nod to the woman whose legacy laid the groundwork for the Sierra Madre. As close of a burial as there could be in a sealed world, remnants placed below a flickering hologram that would forever loop her angled chin; the come-hither sharpness of a quizzically plucked brow.

Immediately, Veronica spotted the scarlet taffeta dress folded over the chair. Even in her sickly state, her eyes narrow in a lock-down.

“I’m wearing that,” she says, seemingly revived by a burst of manic energy.

Food and meds out of mind, Veronica peels off her hooded garment. All earth toned and layered, made for camouflage and inconspicuity; shapeless, in other words.

Hands traveling to the hem of the dress, Veronica pulls it over her head without ceremony, wriggling it as much as she can.

Without meaning to, Christine audibly smirks. Watching the dishevelled uncombed bob of brunette hair submerge into rich scarlett satin, then re-emerge like bobbing for air, was a hell of a sight. A lot of twisting ensued. Whoever Vera Keyes was, she must have been built like an amazon. The posters were no exaggeration; judging from the dress alone, and the amount that puddled around Veronica’s shins like a poorly conceived trail of fabric, the starlet could have inhabited a good six feet or more in luxuriant height and stature, posing atop glossy high heels.  

“Hey,” Veronica calls out, “Get this zipper in the back.” “Mm. No,” came the reply, as Christine fusses open a stimpack and two curling packets of RadAway. “Arm out first.”

Obliging with a whine, Veronica complies with the order to allow Christine to administer the kit and remove irradiation. Then, Christine reaches over places her fingertips on the sides of the open zipper maw.

Veronica’s back muscles tense up, anticipatory. Christine steadily draws up the zipper over Veronica’s tawny shoulder blades, fingertips brushing carefully to stay on the fabric. She knew Veronica hated cold hands. The corsetry hung off her ribs like a loose cage.

“This is a bust,” murmurs Christine,

“No, it’s not. I’d need two extra busts just to reach halfway.” Veronica pulls both her arms into the top of the garment, folding them across her chest to exaggerate the cavernous space. Even with her scrawny elbows sticking out to each end, the corset barely held tension into some odd facsimile of the intended structure.

Against her trauma-hardened stoicism, Christine burst out laughing. Already, this felt like the warmth of their old give and take, a natural beat that grew pride between the both of them. In better times. But even now, after eons.

“That’s-- Don’t move, you’ll trip.” she pleads.

“Now you can give me some food,” says Veronica, primly, before letting the gown fall to the floor in a noisy mass of ruffles, and stepping neatly out of it.

After redressing in her regular clothes, she went with her guide to the extensive food locker outfitted in Vera’s personal room. Between the two of them, they split a pack of artisanal salami and wax-sealed cheese. Other odd luxuries included freeze dried fruits, dessicated pistachios, and electrolyte infused mineral water.

Stifling a belch, Veronica ventures a new topic.

“Alright. So one percent of the time, this place isn’t hell on earth. But the other ninety-nine percent of the time, you’re singing to ghosts?”

Crumpling a piece of wax paper between forefinger and thumb, Christine replies, “Don’t judge. I only do that on occasion. Kills the time after the latest prospector refuses to take a warning, runs into the fog, and bites the dust.”

This was an opening made for Veronica to climb in with another one-liner.

Not to sit there and look genuinely anxious.

“This is bad.”

Christine was about to speak, but was cut off.

“--I get it, I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through.” The plain sincerity in Veronica’s voice could push stress forward like nothing else. “And I know your job is done, and it would be Armageddon 2.0 if anyone could really split open this place and engineer the fog for mass death across the Mojave and, odds aside, the rest of civilization.”

Armageddon. Now they were getting well and truly old world.

“Everyone who comes in is too dumb to know how to release the fog without dying. Father Elijah was the only one who came close, and he’s gone. This sounds awful, maybe, probably, but I think there’s no point in playing sentinel for rich ghosts if you’d just going to die in a few years of neurotoxin exposure regardless.”

Christine scowled, retorting, “Sure, and there’s no point in promoting anti-murder laws if people are just going to murder anyway, right?”

“I don’t-- That--” A frustrated high huff. “I’m not here to play government philosophy with you. I can’t tell you what to do with your hard fought freedom. I don’t even know if I’m making any sense.”

“Why did you risk your life to come here?”

“We used to be something.”

Christine’s expression was unreadable.

Veronica kept going. “I know time and calamity changes that. We aren’t going to be the same people after what we’ve been through. But if I’ve gotten anything from splitting from the Brotherhood to see more of the world, it’s that no one has time to be a machinery cog for a dying cause. This isn’t what we’re made for.”

She balled up a wrapper and opened her palm, where it slowly flattens back into the original shape. “This doctor I travel with. He said something that keeps me up, in a bad way. He was telling me. There wouldn’t be a point, evolutionarily, in having a consciousness if you couldn’t pursue higher ends than the circumstances you were forced into.”

Christine shifted uncomfortably. “Hypocrite. Thought you said that we weren’t going to play government philosophy.”

“I mean, I’m allowed to do that because I have a life. That’s all you’ve done for the last year by monitoring this hell cave.” Veronica closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Hey. Christine. If nothing feels good to you anymore, then I won’t bother you. If you want to pummel your voice, your liver, your lungs for a bunch of dim prospectors who’ll never crack up the safe that killed off Father Elijah, of all people, maybe it does something for you I’ll never understand.”

She scoots forward, closing the distance between them.

“But I’m here. I came here to see you again. I don’t know that love can happen the way we are now, but you’re the only person I know who could help me guard so much more of the world out there. That’s your mission, right? Keeping the world safe?”

Just the rise and fall of their breaths together. Filling the small room, where Vera’s dying message still shrouded the wall facing across from them.

Veronica continues, “Between the two of us, we can push west and try to reach the other Brotherhood of Steel members. It isn’t too late to push the case for opening up knowledge. And look, if they’re already sharing out their technology, great. Mission accomplished. But if they’re as stingy and bullheaded as our bunker, then they must be thinning out in their ranks, too. They could use our skills. We could influence them to keep this stupid, beautiful world pumping along for a few more decades.”

She looks ready to keep that tirade launching, but Christine cut her off shortly.

“Nothing here changes,” she says, in her borrowed voice. “A perfect stasis since the Courier left. I’m so tired of upheavals. Going from place to place to extinguish genocidal maniacs. Getting more of me ripped up along the way whenever my body is convenient, or forgotten. Since my lobotomy, I can’t even read or write. I used to be a scribe, Vee. I used to know what I sounded like.”

Veronica seemed to wilt. Spontaneously, without smiling, Christine brushed aside a few locks of Veronica’s bangs out of her eyes.

“You really need a haircut.”

“You’re not coming back with me,” Veronica says, sounding like tinfoil crumpling.

“As long as I sleep in this ventilated space, there’s barely progression on the neurotoxin’s effects. RadAway helps. I’ll live longer than you think. The supplies in this place were meant to last for a lifetime. Several of them.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you that bad again,” says Veronica.

“Me neither.” Christine stood up, picking up discarded packaging to toss out. A bizarre gesture to think about, now that there was another flesh-and-blood human being to reference for some standard of normalcy. Putting objects in wastebaskets seemed a little nonsensical without a furnace disposal system. The least it could do for now was to occupy her hands and glances, away from Veronica’s expression.

“What does your good life look like?” asks Christine, distantly, as Veronica bites back a sob.

“It hasn’t changed since the last time we spoke.” Years ago. “I can’t stand by and watch inefficiency. It’s actually physically intolerable. That’s probably why I was such a good apprentice for Father Elijah. We could-- I could, engineer so many better possibilities for the world to use.”

“Vee, come here.”

When they kissed, Christine’s cheeks took an imprint of the tears running down Veronica’s face.

“You will move on,” Christine says, simply. “You always do. I liked that about you the most. I was really crappy at that. Still am.”

Veronica swallowed painfully, as though the pain rose like fumes and crackled her words from transmitting clearly. “You’re one of the best things about my life.”

“Stay the night,” says Christine.

“There is no night!” sob-laughs Veronica.

Christine studies Veronica’s face intently, brushing a knuckle down the side of her face slowly.

“Then there’s just the sun. This place was built around the sun. And since you arrived, I can finally see that the Sierra Madre looks right, for once.”

[ahyslpodcast-scoop-blog]

Ep 46- 13 Best Haunted Houses

The 13 Best Haunted Houses in the US in no particular order

Okay, so it’s October. I know you want to get down and dirty in a haunted house, so these are the 13 best Haunted Houses to get freaky in. By freaky I mean very scared and anxious. 

Netherworld- Stone Mountain, Georgia

70,000 square feet of horror. The 2019 themes are “Night of the Gorgon” and “Cold Blooded”. Netherworld has both indoor and outdoor haunted houses, four escape rooms, and fucking laser tag.

It’s famous for the elaborate set designs and props. The set designs and props are so fucking amazing that Zombieland was filmed inside of it and Halloween 2 (Rob Zombie) rented the props from it.

Cast members bungee jump, slide into you and scare the shit out of you. It’s nuts!

Field Of Screams - Mountville, Pennsylvania

Field of screams has MULTIPLE attractions. From haunted hayrides to terrifying mazes, it’s fucking scary!!

“Journey through the dark cornfields, where terrifying creatures live and horrific acts occur. Witness atrocities found only in your worst nightmares and experience the thrill of the walking dead. Experience terror like no other in a journey through the Frightmare Asylum where demented patients lie in wait for their next victim. Hear clown's giggling snarls echo through the halls as you try to escape the madness. Walk through the Den of Darkness, a haunted house that was abandoned many years ago but was never fully vacated by the twisted souls that inhabited it. They remain to terrorize guests and leave them screaming for the door. Even more fear awaits as you trek through the Nocturnal Wasteland desolate forest where few survivors remain. Nocturnal Wasteland provides the most extreme haunted experience as you come face to face with its disturbing inhabitants deep in the middle of the dark woods.” taken from their website

Asylum 49- Tooele, Utah

We talked about this in a previous episode. You know what’s better than a haunted house? A haunted house inside of a haunted asylum. You get touched, separated, and straight up fucked in this haunted house.

Eastern State Penitentiary: Terror Behind The Walls- Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

What’s better than a haunted asylum? A mother fucking abandoned haunted prison. 6 (yes SIX) haunted attractions inside the walls of the Eastern State Penitentiary. From Zombies to mad scientists to classic scares, “Terror Behind The Walls” rips you away from your party and fucks the Halloween right out of you

The 13th Gate- Baton Rouge, LA

13 sections. 40,000 square feet. The 13th gate is designed with blockbuster-level tech so it’s CRAZY. The goal of the 13th gate is to blur the lines of reality so you really feel like you are experiencing a real event. Whether it’s walking into a room covered in insects and snakes, or trapped in a cave, they created each scene to capture you. The acting is top notch, so it really does a great job at mind fucking you.  

Dent Schoolhouse- Cincinnati, Ohio

As you walk in, you hear the tale of a murderous janitor named Charlie, who killed students in the 1940s and 1950s and dumped their bodies in the basement of the schoolhouse. As you walk through the haunted house, you walk through the fucked up mind of the killer Charlie. You see crazy teachers, bodies,  gore, and some catacombs. The really cool part about this haunted house is they have “lights off” nights so all you have is a glow stick to guide you through the house

Haunts into christmas (changes everything to spooky Christmas shit)

Headless Horseman Hayrides and Haunted Houses- Ulster Park, New York

This is a whole fucking Halloween amusement park. There’s restaurants, gift shops, hayrides, corn mazes, 8 haunted houses, and escape rooms. It’s awesome!! This is on 65 acres of haunted land

The haunted houses are famous for their set design, makeup, unique props, and overall spook factor.

Erebus - Pontiac, Michigan

Four story haunt. From their website, “Dr. Colber, a mad scientist obsessed with time travel actually figured out how to make it work! But in doing this, every time he got one of his subjects into another time period, that time period itself looked at them as a virus and wiped them out! Obsessed with trying to make this work, he sent more and more of his employees into the time machine until he ran out of time, money, and subjects… Which brought him to a brilliant idea! Disguise his time machine as a haunted house! Now, he has an endless supply of human guinea pigs to use in his experiment, and better yet… they unknowingly fund the program.”

Erebus has physical obstacles you have to work through (swamps, ball bits, closing walls, etc to escape. It’s not for the faint of heart

Nightmare New England- Litchfield, New Hampshire

80 aces. 6 haunted houses. Rides. Food. Another club. Another club.

Nightmare on 13th- Salt Lake City, Utah

It’s so fucking fun, y’all. 36,000 square feet of pure horror. They change it completely every year, and make it even scarier. Cory and I went through a few times and it’s NUTS. 

The Beast- Kansas City, Missouri

From their website “The Beast Haunted House is one of the greatest haunted attractions in the nation and keeps adding to keep visitors on their toes and scared out of their wits. This immersive nightmare is an open format where visitors lose their way around lurking threats of voodoo, a live alligator, werewolves, phantoms, and monsters. Traverse through a medieval time warp that goes to a time when it was an eye for an eye, the Beast within the man. There are 4 floors where the Beast is clawing to get the next victim before escaping by jumping out a 2-story window or slide 4-stories down. “

Hell’s Gate- Lockport, Illinois

From haunted.com “This dark adventure shuttles you deep into the forest where you must find your way through the torch-lit haunted woods, across the Cemetery of Lost Souls, up the hill and through the gate, to find the front door of the 1920’s Victorian Mansion, Moorstone Manor. Once in the house, you may feel that you have escaped the horde of zombies from the cemetery and forest, but your challenge has just begun. The house itself is alive with darkness and The Twins are searching for new hosts for their demon kind. You will need to find the secret passages in each room to escape the ever-pressing Darkness and make your way to the attic. After reaching the top of the house, you must ride the slide into the basement, find your way through a zombie-infested laboratory and attempt your escape through the Dragon Caves. The Gate itself is hidden in the caves below the house and from it the Darkness enters our world. Guarded by three dragons, the caves are vast and difficult to navigate. However, if you make it through the entire house and you can find the Key to HellsGate... Your ticket is free! This is not just a haunted house, it’s an adventure!”

Mckamey Manor- San Diego, California 

This is the most famous “Survival” Haunted House. You start off by getting abducted and taken to the McKamey Manor in San Diego, Ca. Then you get tortured.  People are covered in spiders, bees, snakes, cockroaches, blood, etc. They are slapped, cut, tied up, gagged, waterboarded, etc. There is no safeword. You have to beg the actor to let you go. They can hold you up to 10 hours and each experience is tailored to the person’s fears. Only a few people are even allowed per day and the waitlist is CRAZY (24,000 people). Want to go? Here are the requirements.

You have to meet multiple requirements before entering

 21 and above, or 18-20 with parents approval.

Completed "Sports Physical" and  Doctor's letter stating you are physically and  mentally cleared.

Pass a background check provided by MM.

Be screened via FB facetime or phone.

Proof of medical insurance.

Sign a detailed 40-page waiver.

Pass a portable drug test on the day of the show.

Have fun!

[jo-shanerome18]

Appia Antica & Saint Cecilia’s Basilica

16/05/2018: Today Shane and the boys intended to walk down Via Apia Antica or if possible, hiring a bike, the better option. The road was built during 312 B.C. and is lined with mausoleums and tombs of ancient Rome's dead as they were not permitted to be buried within the walls of the city. The Appia Antica was Rome's first gateway to the east connecting Rome with Capua, and eventually to Brindisi on Italy's south eastern coast where Roman ships would set sail for Egypt and Greece. During this time Jo and Cecilia planned to revisit the Trastevere district and visit Saint Cecilia's Basilica. The boys left a bit after eight, headed past the Coliseum to Circus Maximus, turned left into Viale delle Terme di Caracalla, and past the ruins of the Baths of Caracalla. The road from the chariot fields was three wide lanes wide and quite busy. As much as the central road was busy and clear of traffic, the two outside roads provided safer access and local traffic only, both lined with cars parked with a little more consideration than in the middle of the city.

Hippies

At the end of Viale delle Terme di Caracalla, the road hit a major intersection, but they kept on straight ahead, keeping to the right hand side of a fork in the road. They ended up along Via di Porta San Sebastiano, had they have veered to the left they would have been in Via di Porta Latina, two ancient roads that bound Parco degli Scipioni, a park created by the joining of the first century AD columbarium of Pomponius Hylas and the tomb of the famous Scipioni family. The tomb was constructed around 280 B.C. by Lucius Cornelius Scipio Barbatus, great grandfather of Scipio Africanus, the great general who defeated Hannibal and his elephants at the Battle of Zama eighty years later.

Sepolcro delgi Scipioni

A few hundred metres further on we finally passed through the Arch of Drusus and Porta San Sebastiano. We were effectively outside of the walls of Rome.

The so-called Arch of Drusus was an ancient arch that was utilised when Caracalla built the Aqua Antoniniana to supply water to his baths.

After passing through the gates they encountered a very busy cross road and from this point on, Via Appia Antica was also very busy. Walking along the side of the road, there was occasionally no room for pedestrians and also a bit hairy, but as the road got further along it widened out to where they could avoid the traffic, eventually reaching the bike shop that Shane and Isaac hired a couple of bikes from a few years earlier. Nothing had changed so they headed in and hired three bikes and a lock so they could look around as well.

Affitto Biciclette Rent-a-Bike on Appia Antica

With a licence holding the security on the bikes and five euro each per hour, the lady behind the counter handed over a good map of the road with recommended sites, advising that access to the catacombs of San Callisto and entire area  were closed as it was Wednesday. Not only had they missed out on the catacombs but if they could battle the hill at the entrance, it was a safe passage avoiding more of the hairy parts of the main road. The gates were locked so they rode along the hairy part.

While the boys did their thing with the bikes, the girls made plans to go back to the Travestere district to  check out Saint Cecilia Basilica. As Cec's back was still playing up from the fall at Trevi Fountain, they planned to take a taxi rather than attempt the three and a half kilometre walk. Upon finding a taxi at the rank across from the apartment, the driver told them it would cost them fifteen euro. Cecilia's response was priceless. "What! To drive us three kilometres! You've got to be kidding mate!" She then said "Come on Joey, we will walk and find someone else. We're not getting ripped off by this bastard." Jo wondered if the taxi driver knew he just copped an Aussie spray.

After entering their destination for walking  into the phone, Google Maps had them walking toward the Basilica. By the time that they found more taxis, there was still two kilometres to go. They kept walking though as those taxi drivers still wanted fifteen euro for the remaining distance. Their walk took them past the Forum, hooked a left around Altare della Patria (colloquially known as the Wedding Cake) and the small unobtrusive ruins of Comune di Roma alongside and eventually across the Tiber again.

One of the few remaining examples of how most Romans used to live. This Capitoline insula dates to around the year 110. Effectively a block of flats. Shops (tabernae) were on the ground floor with a few floors of apartments above. The shops are now nine metres below street level. Unlike these days the cheapest rents were the top floors as when a fire broke out, the top floor tenants were the ones more than likely getting burnt.

Just after passing the catacombs of San Callista on Apia Antica, the boys struck the catacombs of San Sebastiano with not many people around, so they headed in and asked about tickets. The English tour started in fifteen minutes for eleven euro each so after paying up they waited, taking interest in the displays in the foyer and the inside of the basilica.

Basilica di San Sebastiano

Located between the second and third mile of the Appian Way, the current basilica was built during the seventeenth century on top of whatever was left of Emperor Constantine's Basilica Apostolorum built some thirteen centuries earlier. Basilica Apostolorum was built in honour of apostles Peter and Paul. Below Constantine's Basilica was ad catacumbas, the Christian catacombs that utilised the pozzolana quarry that the Romans had dug for their concrete. The three levels of catacombs held thousands of tombs ranging from the simple burial niche, and there were plenty of those, to Arcosoli and Cubicoli. The bodies were interred in the niches, wrapped in a shroud and covered with quicklime in order to promote the decomposition process and disinfect the tomb. The niche was then sealed.

When it was the boys turn, an American or Canadian guide escorted them to the inside of the Basilica an told of the history of the church and the story of Saint Sebastian. No tall stories here. No sticking his head under his arm and going home like Saint Miniato.

The guide also warned before heading into the catacombs that they were quite welcome to take photographs everywhere except in the catacombs. He explained that the church had no issues with taking pictures but the Vatican owned the catacombs and taking photos was strictly forbidden. Only one thing to do, hang around the back of the group. They were taken beneath the basilica via a steep set of steps within the foyer area and were immediately negotiating narrow cavities with side passages that were full of small empty tombs. Apparently, according to our guide, Romans were rather small people.

Underground tombs all empty

They kept moving through the narrow corridors, all along behind the group and snapping away. As they reached the underground burial area of San Sebastiano himself, they had another guide right up their clacker escorting a private German group, with the agility of Erwin Rommel. "No photos" came the continual yell as people around them had the same idea. Timed correctly, they still managed get a few more, but not of the excellent family ones which were directly below the basilica floor. The brick piers of the floor were founded on the rock that the crypts were carved into.

Originally a Roman soldier during the late third century, San Sebastiano got himself into some hot water with Emperor Diocletian for persistently converting the pagans to Christians. Now Diocletian, stabiliser of Rome and Christian persecutor, thought he would sort Sebastiano out by making him target practice for his archers, ordering him to be tied to a stake or tree, depending on which painting you believe and filling him with arrows to the point where he apparently resembled a sea urchin. The archers, thinking he was dead, left the scene allowing Irene of Rome to drag him away and nurse him back to health so Diocletian could have another go. This time San Sebastiano was beaten to death and thrown into the sewers, only to be removed and buried in the catacombs below Rome. The double martyr and gay icon was eventually reburied beneath the Basilica.

One of the characters that San Sebastiano converted, a woman named Zoe, had apparently been a mute for a few years and as soon as she converted to Christianity, her speech returned to her. A bit like Brian jumping on top of the hermit. The hermit hadn't said a word for eighteen years until Brian came along. A miracle.  

After exiting the bowels of the basilica via a staircase back into the nave, the relationship between the memorial to San Sebastiano and his burial site became more apparent. They were directly above and below each other.

Tomb of San Sebastian below the Basilica

Memorial to San "I'm not dead yet" Sebastiano straight above. An arrow to the guts

The next stop was a quick one at the Mausoleum of Cecilia Metella, a large masonry structure with an imposing cylindrical tomb as its centre piece. Built between 30BC and 20BC, the mausoleum holds, or used to hold the remains of Cecilia Metella, the daughter of Roman Consul,  Quintus Caecilius Metellus Creticus, and daughter-in-law of quaestor, Marcus Licinius Crassus who served under Julius Caesar. The family must have been well off for such a memorial. It only cost five Euro to get in but there wasn't much there. Still interesting though. The ticket seller told them that the ticket also allowed entry into a villa complex further down the road which was much more interesting.

The Mausoleum of Cecilia Metella

CAECILI-AE

Q·CRETICI·F  

METELLAE·CRASSI

After the ride up the hill to get to the mausoleum dad needed a rest, his muscles were jelly. History dictated that an oasis was just over the hill, at just over the three mile mark, so riding a short distance to the Appia Antica Caffe, they managed to put their feet up and have a feed and a beer (and a couple of Crème Broulee's for Thomas). Heading off after the rest, they took on the bumpy surface (at times very bumpy) of Via Appia Antica.

Via Appia Antica. A bit bumpy but this was the smooth bit

The next stop was beyond the fifth mile and prompted by a sign on the roadside and an interesting building behind the trees. An inkling of interest took everyone down a gravel lane and to the recently acquired Santa Maria Nova complex which once belonged to the Olivetan monks and the latest addition to the Parco Archeologico dell'Appia Antica albeit acquired over ten years ago and linked via Appia Antica to the Villa dei Quintili which fronted via Appia Nuova. The farmhouse was renovated during the eighteen hundreds and complimented the medieval watchtower. We couldn't get around the building again as the place was under another reno while we were there. Nearby excavated ruins included a bathhouse with very degraded but still impressive mosaic floors depicting a gladiator with net and trident doing who knows what since the rest was missing and a few circus horses. A walk through the paddocks then led to the Villa dei Quintili, an ancient Roman villa which included an extensive thermal system fed by its own aqueduct as well as a hippodrome from the fourth century.

Checking out the mosaics of the hot rooms near Santa Maria Nova

A long walk was then ahead as meandering from rock pile to ruin and ruin back to rock pile seemed to be the go. A quick look into the tanks or such halfway along what was once the northern portico and then onto the main complex. This was an extensive build, remnants still very high and expansive, easily accessed via well placed ramps and walkways. Signs and explanations of the workings of the joint alluded to the opulence that permeated through the place in its heyday.  

The Villa was once a substantial complex, one that was one of the most lavish of the large Roman residences. Originally built by a couple of consuls of Greek origin, the complex was expanded upon once Emperor Commodus took over and made the villa imperial property. He liked the place so much that he had Sesto Quintilio Condiano and Sesto Quintilio Valerio Massimo murdered to make the deal possible. Villa dei Quintili consisted of main rooms, two large termes of the caldarium and the frigidarium. Large windows and marble everywhere. All overlooking the fields and Roman countryside.

Looking across the once arcaded courtyard toward the frigidarium (cold baths) and tepidarium (warm baths)

It was time to return as the walk back would take time. All roads not only led to Rome but in this instance back past Appia Antica Caffe for more well deserved refreshments. A second beer pulled everyone up and it was then decided to take the apparent safe way back, down Via di Cecilia Matella and  through to the nearby country road which, by the way, was never found. There was so much traffic on Via Appia Pignatella that it was difficult to cross and quite dangerous. The road was narrow with plenty of cars, but it was the wrong road as access to the bush was back at the intersection where another couple on bikes were stopped and looking around. Riding past them, up and over the mound that obscured the correct route would have turned into a dirt track, passing more ruins, cisterns and mausoleums as well as plenty of sheep and onto Via della Caffarella for a safe if not inclined journey back. But there was no turning back and the busy Via Appia Pignatella was the quickest way back. Some prayers and hope that the passing traffic, many sounding their horns, would manage to keep a safe distance when passing. After a nervy ten to fifteen minute ride, Via Appia Antica reappeared and a few minutes later the bike shop also reappeared. After a chat to the lady and obtaining more handy advice, a few Euro for bike hire was handed over a ticket on the 118 back to the Coliseum was purchased. The bus stop was located just across from the shop and after twenty minutes the bus appeared. The walk back to the apartment was keenly avoided.

Locking up again for a beer

Heading back towards Porta San Sebastiano and the Aurelian Walls

Back at, and not long after arriving in Trasevere, Jo and Cec found a nice little restaurant, Trattoria Da Teo, that was full of locals and wine only came by the litre. Pizza for Cec and gnocchi for Jo. After lunch they wandered on to Saint Cecilia Basilica but it was closed. They took plenty of photos and checked out the local area before cabbing it back to the apartment.

Cec at Cecilias

After a brief recovery period we all retreated to the restaurant downstairs for a meal, a few refreshments and more recovery.

Homa making us a few drinks

Tomorrow Pompei and Herculaneum.

[thattahoeecojournalist]

Saint Bellamarre Catacombs

Title: Saint Bellamare Catacombs Word Count: 2,130 Project/Pairing: Saint Bellamare RP (The Very First Sebastian/ Raphael) Genres: Horror, Adventure Warnings: Horror, Cussing Notes: This short story takes place in the underground of Bellamarre. Older than anyone can remember, never mapped out before. The boys take on the challenge of exploring the catacombs with unexpected results.

Originally I had written this as a birthday present for Luke. This is how it all got started; fleshing out who they are, and what they’re like as people. If Luke minds, I can post art of them as well. Enjoy this first installment of short stories :)

“Fucking christ what time is it?” I kept shaking Raph without answer until he grabbed my arm and peered at my watch, bleary eyed.     “It’s about 8:15” I answered only after he sat up. The sun had just set about a half hour ago. He stretched and groaned smacking his lips in a satisfied manner. “You were asleep for three hours”, he rubbed his eye and scratched at his tuft of red chest hair. “A good nap is supposed to be twenty to forty minutes, you realize?” His eyes finally focused on mine, squinting a little in the light of my lamp.      “And mine was longer right? So it’s twelve times better” He said, reaching over onto the floor and picking up the shirt he threw there mere hours ago. He put it to his nose then put it on. “Why am I awake again?” I clenched my teeth and kept myself from saying something along the lines of ‘I need a human meat shield and you’re the only expendable option I thought of’.      “We’re gonna see if the barrels in the catacombs contain supplies” He leapt out of bed at that.     “Oh for god’s sake, Raph” I muttered, turning my gaze to the closest object on the wall. “Remember when I promised to not read until four in the morning in exchange for you not doing that” I heard him fiddle with his jean’s zipper followed by a belt.      “And you read until three in the morning so I wore blankets to bed. What’s fair is fair” he replied grabbing his bag. The bell tower rang its usual tune to tell the students that curfew is now in effect.       Without hesitation Raph flung the door open into oncoming student traffic. He shoved through annoyed first years like an unapologetic salmon swimming upriver. I followed close behind with my backpack slung over a shoulder and muttering a quick sorry to anyone either of us bump into.      Luckily within a few corridors, the students dispersed leaving us to ourselves. Raph squared his shoulders and barreled through new corridors without thought or worry. I also didn’t want to tell him that he made me feel safe. Standing nearly a head taller than I am, he offered an imposing figure that I could never achieve.      “So are we goin’ for a few bevs after we steal whatever’s down there?” he said turning down a final hallway to a dead end.      “You go ahead. I’d rather get some sleep” I replied holding up a lamp for Raph to see where he was going. The tall windows were too far away to offer any useful moonlight. With a swift motion he flipped over the rug to reveal an oaken trapdoor.      “If you took a nap, you wouldn’t need sleep” he said, motioning for the lamp. I handed it over as he lifted the door revealing an impenetrable darkness. The lamp offered nothing to light the ladder and beyond. “Ladies first” He said smiling and making a grandiose motion toward the ladder. I frowned at him and closed my eyes as I gripped the ladder rungs tightly on my way down.      A pit of fear grew in my gut with each step downward. I opened my eyes to see if I had any further to go. It didn’t matter if my eyes were open or closed. It was the same level of darkness either way.      I certainly didn’t feel better as my foot landed in something soft and squishy. I yanked it back out and clung to the ladder.      “This lamp’s heavy. Can you shove off so I can get down there?” Raph said from somewhere above me.     “I can’t see anything, Raph. Hand it down here” He bent down and gave it to me. I leaned out from the ladder and tried getting a lay of the land. We were indeed at the bottom.      I looked down to see what I stepped in. What a mistake. Several rats had died at the bottom of the ladder in in a peculiar pile. Or something threw them here. I shook my head and leapt over the small pile onto solid tiles.     “Watch your step” I warned. He stepped down onto the rats and simply walked to my side. My stomach did flips as terrible squishing noises emerged from under his feet.      “Bit nasty isn’t it” he said, searching through his bag. He took out a giant wrench and slung it over his shoulder. I looked at him agape. “Did you think I’d come here unprepared?” he said.      “Well no but….where’d you get that?”     “Metalworking. The supply room’s easy to jimmy” he said slinging his backpack over his other shoulder. “Let’s grab what we can and get out of here before I need to use it” he said almost gravely as he looked around in the dim area that my lamp fails to illuminate.      I looked around too. We were in a corridor that reached out for who knows how long. Stone archways reached overhead dripping with water and mold. The only semblance of direction we could gather is that the two trenches on either side of the tiled pathways had water currents flowing forward.      I steeled myself and pushed forward, lamp extended, careful not to look at what I’m stepping in. A series of empty barrels where other students scavenged started appearing in nearby hallways. The further we went, the more they appeared, with a few objects at the bottom of them.      We made sure only to scavenge the ones on the main pathway, there’s no telling what twists and turns these dark corridors would take us. We walked about a mile. It felt like twelve.      Something kept pushing us. Perhaps it was that we found more useful things the further we went. Raph pocketed all the matches we found. I dug through rotten food to retrieve unreadable scrolls and potion ingredients.      Maybe it’s that I got more and more curious as we walked further and further. Raph must’ve been curious as well because he didn’t start complaining until we were nearly two miles down the road.      “My shoulder is starting to hurt something fierce. And my feet hurt like a bitch” he started to mention. “Can we go back now?”      “One more barrel and I promise” I said. I hoped that it’d be worth all the effort. I reached in and retrieved newt eyes, frog legs, and one really heavy book. “Here, hold this” I handed him the lamp and flipped over the book. Latin. All of it.      “Can we just bag it please? Let’s go” he complained again. I sighed and shoved it into my bag. He was a good sport about coming so I might as well go along with what he wants.      “I’ll even buy you a drink when we get back” I said as we started back where we came from.     “It better be a good drink. None of those watered down cocktails” he said, shifting the wrench from one shoulder to the other.     “Whatever drink you want that’s under twelve bu-“ I stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t see it clearly but we couldn’t possibly have made it back already. I walked faster and my light reached a wall in front of us. It looked the same as the dead end we entered near. With one very worrying difference.      “Where’s the ladder gone” Raph said, walking in front of me. He swiped at the air with his arm. “It’s just not here anymore” He stomped around looking at the ceiling. I just stood there with my arm out, frozen. “There’s not even a hole”       “Raph, did we make a turn somewhere?” I managed to say out loud. “Are we lost?” He whirled around and looked at me, a flash of fear in his eyes.      “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure we just went straight” he said. I turned around in a slow circle, going toward each possible direction.      “Let’s go back and retrace our steps” I finally said, “Maybe we just got turned around when we were scavenging” Raph let out a sigh of relief.      “Yeah, ok. Let’s do that” We began to walk back the way we came with Raph taking the lead this time. Our footsteps echoed in the empty chambers as we made our way back to the ladder.      We didn’t speak. I was too busy concentrating on not stepping on the amount of dead squishy things.     “Oh no….oh fuck. Shit” Raph began to swear more and more and sped up. I jogged to keep up and finally saw what he spoke of. Another dead end. “That’s impossible. We were just through here” He took his wrench off his shoulder and began to pound on the wall. With every slam, he cursed and bits of concrete flew everywhere.      “Raph, stop. You’re only wasting your energy” I said coming up behind him. He threw a look at me that made me shiver.     “Then how bout you do something. Get us the fuck out of here” he said. I turned around and looked down the hallway. He kept pounding.      “Raph…stop. Give the light here” I said, my blood audibly rushing in my ears. I held it up and my heart rate kicked into high gear. The place we just came from. The wall. It’s right there. It’s barely out of my light radius but it’s definitely right there. “Raph….do you see this?” He walked up next to me.       “Oh my….god” he barely whispered. “The walls are getting closer” We spun around. The wall was definitely a few yards away. Now our noses nearly touched it. Raph spun around again. “Sebastian, the other wall’s about fifteen feet away” I put the lamp down.      “Keep your eye on this one, I’ll look at the other one” I said sitting down on the floor and rummaging through my bag.     “What’re you doing?” he shouted keeping his eyes trained on a wall. I flipped open the book, keeping my back to a wall. My Latin is rusty but I can puzzle through a few paragraphs.       “Trying to see if there’s some sort of ritual I could do to get us out of here” I replied, scanning the pages frantically.      “The sides are getting closer too, Seb”, he said, looking at all the walls as quickly as he could. “I can’t look at them all by myself” I finally flipped open to a page that had two circles and a line of text separating them. I scanned through the instructions and looked up. Rat bodies were stacked up against the wall behind me as though they’d been pushed. The side walls had overtaken the water currents and contributed their own piles.      I began picking them up and arranged them in a semi-neat circle around Raph and myself.      “We don’t have time. Hurry up” he shouted.     “I’m doing my best, it takes a bit of time to arrange an alchemical circle” I said, looking up at what he meant. The walls around us offered about a ten foot by ten foot square. We were really running out of time.      I finished the circle and began etching into the tiles with one of the many bones that were strewn about. I probably set the world record for the most hastily drawn circle of all time. I put the book in the center and brought the lamp closer. Raph stood over me and kept his wrench up above his head. Scraping noises started to grate on my ears and I looked up quickly.      The walls pushed up against us until the rat piles nearly spilled onto my circle. The edges of Raph’s wrench were propped against both walls. “Seb, do it now!” I snapped out of my fear trance and looked down at the page, finding the sentence we needed. I read the sentence word for word as the wrench groaned under the pressure. I finished the ritual and the lamp went out. I shut my eyes and hoped.     Nothing happened. Then my ears could faintly pick up cricket noises. “Raph, are you ok?” Raph gasped deeply and put his hands on his knees.      “Jesus fuckin Christ, Seb” he wheezed. He’s fine probably. I looked down to see my book and lamp were in the middle of a crude circle on the trapdoor we had used to enter the catacombs. It looked to be drawn on with someone’s fingernails. “I’m not going down there again”      “Agreed” I picked up my things from the hatch. My blood still raced in my ears and I wanted more than anything to erase what happened from my mind.      “I’m gonna need a stiff drink or four” he said. For once, it sounds like a splendid idea.      “I think I’ll join you”

[negans-network]

Pull My Hair Part 5 - Introspection and Conversations

Summary: For @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash and her 2nd Negan Writing Challenge, this is for the hair-pulling kink prompt introducing OFC Susan.

Word Count: 6429 (Sorry, I got carried away)

Warnings: Foul language, Sexual References, Slight Gore, Depressing Thoughts

Author: @genevievedarcygranger

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay and lack of smut! I always over-do everything and I’m fully fleshing this out even though it’s a smut prompt. 

As Dwight and Susan travelled further into the factory, Susan’s escape plan started to be fully formed. Sure, she had her doubts because it felt like she was wandering a catacomb, but Susan was smart and good with directions. That was one of her best skills when she was out in the world trying to survive, because she only got lost twice, and once was when she was ill and the other was when she was starting to go crazy. For the Sanctuary, she could make a mental-map easily enough.

Besides, Susan was very interested in what all this community could offer. This building used to be a factory, and as she passed by some rooms she saw that there was a locker room offering showers. This must have been a chemical or industrious factory to offer that. There were several closed doors marked with numbers, and Susan thought briefly of the red 6 on her own bedroom door. She doubted that these rooms were for the common workers, they probably belonged to the Saviors as part of their perks for the job. It was quiet for the most part, the place smelling of cleaning supplies, a pleasant smell compared to the usual rot and smell of bodies Susan was used to on the outside.

 Further in they travelled, and Susan started to lag behind, her heels hindering her progress. She was forced to walk slower or risk tumbling down with a sprained ankle. Dwight didn’t notice, and Susan didn’t say anything, not wanted to come off as a whiner. Thankfully, so far, she hasn’t tripped, though she was starting to miss her old, reliable boots more and more each time she heard her loud heels click-clack on the tiled floor. Her heavy backpack was also slowing her down, but Susan was used to carrying this much normally, so she wasn’t about to complain about that either.

Eventually Dwight slowed down his pace and stopped in front of a door. He looked back at Susan, and waited with a bored look on her face for her to catch up to him. Once she was close enough, Dwight explained, “This is my room, you can just wait outside right here.”

 Susan nodded her understanding, and Dwight slipped inside his room. He left the door open, though, and Susan hovered at the threshold. She knew it wouldn’t exactly be wise for her to be in Dwight’s room; and just like earlier where he gave her respectful space by waiting outside her room, she was going to be pay him the same courtesy. Still, she was going to look around his room.

 It was interesting, everything he had compiled in there. The room was cozy, with a full-sized bed and cabinets, there was even a fridge. Susan’s beliefs that the Saviors stole furniture from a Rooms-To-Go was starting to solidify in her mind. This furniture wasn’t the cheap kind one could buy from a Walmart or Target and assemble on their own. She noted with interest the mounted bass fish on his wall, something she didn’t think Dwight – or anyone with taste really – would decorate a room with. But she supposed that in the apocalypse, one couldn’t exactly be picky. Dwight had a TV with a VCR, and Susan couldn’t remember the last time she used one of those – probably in elementary school to watch Bill Nye for their science lesson. Out of everything in the room, though, one of the most surprising items had to be the chess board with hand-carved pieces. It was quaint, and Susan was beginning to think that Dwight had hidden talents. He was someone she should watch out for.

While Susan swept her gaze curiously around his room, Dwight had stuck his beer in the fridge and shoved his bag of pretzels in the back of one of his cabinets behind an unopened jar of peanut butter. Once he finished with that, he looked back at Susan, catching her guilty start for looking around his room. He didn’t comment, though, having expected her to snoop. “Let’s go.”

Wordlessly, Susan nodded, but just as she pulled away from the doorframe, she heard a scrape and the definite sound of heavy footfalls from boots. The sound echoed down the hallways, so the origin was hard to tell what direction exactly it was coming from. Dwight’s eyes widened and he frantically pushed Susan out of the door way and slammed his door shut behind him as he stepped out. “Just stay right here, and don’t say anything.”

 Bewildered, Susan watched as Dwight collected himself again. Part of her was shocked because that was the first-time Dwight had laid his hands on her. He did it quickly, not too rough, but Susan was under the impression that touching a wife was a definite no-no. If anything, Susan expected him to drag her inside his bedroom to hide; but again, if they were found that way, people might get the wrong ideas. Dwight was taking a risk just being around her, even if it was under Negan’s orders. She had so many questions, but he told her not to speak. Susan had no idea of what exactly to expect. So, when the origin of the noise finally rounded the corner, Susan could do little else but gasp in both shock and horror.

Four men were dragging an unconscious man, bloody and obviously beaten, brown hair greasy and long. He wore a filthy sweatshirt with matching pants, the color once gray but now brown with grime and – orange from paint? The four men each had him by one of his limbs, but despite that his knees and part of his body still scraped the floor, leaving a trail of blood. The man wasn’t dead or surely, they would have stabbed him through the brain by now. No, no, why go through all the trouble unless he was the prisoner. Susan suddenly realized that this was Daryl, and he must have been brutally punished for trying to escape. Even though, it seemed like they made it deliberately easy for him to escape. It was a test.

As the men passed, Susan avoided eye-contact with all of them in favor of looking at Dwight in question. Dwight in turn avoided eye-contact with her, his gaze riveted on the prisoner Daryl, his look flat. He didn’t seem surprised at the treatment at all, and Susan could almost swear that Dwight looked … sympathetic? Pitying? “Let’s go, Susan.”

Surprisingly, Dwight started after the men, and with no other choice Susan was forced to follow, stepping carefully around the fresh red blood trail they carelessly left in their wake. Her heels and Dwight’s own footsteps joined the scraping sound and the clatter of their boots. None of the men were speaking, huffing and puffing. They reached a door with a crude piece of paper attached. Susan tried to read the paper – ‘Dipshit Training Center’ – but then they ripped open the door and tossed the man inside. Susan coughed, the smell of feces, vomit, and urine over-powering her once the door was open, but the men, gagging too, quickly (thankfully) shut the door, pushing the button on the handle to lock it afterwards.

That seemed to be that, and three men dispersed. One of the men, a black guy, stayed. “What are you doing with the new wife, Dwight?”

A little annoyed that he asked Dwight rather than herself, Susan spoke up, “He’s taking me to the laundry. And my name is Susan.”

The man had the audacity to look Susan up and down, uninterested, before turning back to Dwight. “She didn’t need to see this,” he continued to talk about her like she wasn’t there.

“But I do,” Dwight argued, stepping toe to toe with the man. “He’s my prisoner, Gary. Negan gave him to me to break.” Despite Gary being taller, Dwight tilted his chin, unintimidated.

 “Negan may have assigned you to the prisoner, but we were the ones to beat the shit out of him – under Negan’s commands. Negan planned his escape Dwight. Clearly you aren’t watching him closely, because you didn’t notice he was missing.” There was biting silence as the two men exchanged glares. Gary’s voice dripped dangerously lower as he continued, “You aren’t breaking him well enough for Negan’s tastes. Take it up with Negan if you have a problem, but I’m following orders.” With that, Gary muscled past Dwight, following after the other men.

At a loss, Susan watched as Dwight took a deep breath in. He glowered at Gary’s retreating figure and then the cell door for moment, before walking away quickly. “Stay right there,” Dwight called back over his shoulder before he disappeared into a nearby room. Susan awkwardly stood there for a moment, nervously eyeing the door. There were going to break that man, but why? What could possibly be the reason for his punishment?

Glancing to see if Dwight was coming back, Susan took a step toward the cell door, holding her breath out of fear just as much as to avoid inhaling the rank smell. She carefully pressed an ear to the door, listening closely. Nothing could be heard at first. Then there was a blast of obnoxious music.  

“We’re on Easy Street,

And it feels so sweet,

‘Cause the world is 'but a treat,

When you’re on Easy Street.”

 Immediately, Susan yanked herself away from the door as if it burned her, and she nearly collapsed into Dwight. He just gave her a dirty look before he double-checked to see if the door was locked. “I thought I told you to stay right there.”

“You did, but you didn’t say I couldn’t touch anything,” Susan countered, trying to calm her racing heart, “I didn’t go anywhere, D. I did just as you asked.”

 “No, you didn’t. I told you not to say anything,” Dwight was outright glaring at her now before he rapidly walked away from her.

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble, and I wanted to be treated with respect. I may be some trophy wife, but that still makes me human. I’m not a thing to flaunt and objectify for the male gaze,” She spouted the feminist manifesto she hadn’t had to use since college in order to keep the frat boys off her ass like the pesky flies they were. Hitching up her backpack and smoothing down her dress, Susan carefully followed on her wobbly heels, not able to go as fast as she wanted without fear of snapping an ankle every time she wavered for a moment, off-balanced. She tossed one glance back toward the door, catching the too-upbeat lyrics as they rounded a corner, leaving.

“Yeah, we got a front row seat,

Oh, to a life that can’t be beat,

Right here on Easy Street.”

Dwight only snorted at her rant, but otherwise didn’t argue with her further. He was back to giving her the silent treatment instead, ignoring how she was once again falling behind. Maybe, Susan’s words expressing her concern about not getting him into trouble really touched him in some way. He made it hard to tell, though.

They lapsed into silence, but Susan found that unlike before, she couldn’t stand it. She had too many burning questions bubbling up inside her throat, begging to come out. So, she asked one. “What did he do to be treated that way?”

Turning to look at her, Dwight’s scarred face and green eyes didn’t reveal anything that he was feeling. Again, Susan was struck by how hard he was to read sometimes whereas other times she could clearly see the invisible weight of – something – of the world he carried on his scrawny shoulders. He surprised Susan when he started to explain, “He was part of a group. They killed a lot of us. So we killed two of theirs – an example. It was originally just supposed to be one, but Daryl, the prisoner, he acted out. Negan warned them not to, but he did it anyway. So, Negan killed another. But he admired Daryl’s anger, so much he decided he would become a Savior. But Daryl is stubborn. We have to break him first.”

Thinking it over, Susan now found another reason she didn’t stay in communities. Group dynamics with other groups never went well as there is a constant competition for supplies, a battle for territory. It’s like the animal kingdom again. “And Daryl’s group?”

 “They collect supplies for us now, and in exchange we offer protection.”

“You mean in exchange you don’t kill them all,” Susan clarified, going straight to the point, the truth, the heart of the matter whatever it was – part of her was baffled about why she was asking. Sure, her curiosity was rampant, but why should she even care so much when she isn’t involved?

 “No, Negan believes life is precious, a valuable resource. It’s a commodity. We do protect them.” Dwight looks surprised by his own words, and he touches the side of his face that’s burned before he yanks his hand away.

Of course, Susan caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. Though Tanya and Frankie told her that Dwight was threatened with death, it seems like death wasn’t Negan’s first choice anyway since Dwight was branded. Unless, Negan was going to execute him through fire rather than through Lucille. Instead of choosing to comment on the burn, Susan pushed, “Like the mafia offers protection?”

But Dwight only shook his head at her. “No. I’m serious. People are a resource.” It’s like he’s quoting Negan directly, reciting some kind of community motto, but Susan is still unsure about the matter. However, she drops it, not wanting to argue with him any further before he gets really mad at her. They continue to walk, now in silence.

Soon Dwight was pushing open a door that led to the outside, and Susan had to squint into the sun, blinking rapidly so her eyes would adjust to the light. As she stepped outside, the heavy door slamming behind her, Susan’s skin warmed up and she remembered what it was like to be out here again. Instinctively, she tensed up, catching the smell of rot that signaled the Dead, and when she caught sight of them wandering the perimeter outside the fence, she only marginally relaxed. She caught another smell – soap – and spotted what the Sanctuary considered its laundry service.

There were several workers washing clothes and sheets in storage tubs, filled to the brim with water and soap. They had actual washboards and brushes, and behind them a few more workers were hanging the freshly washed clothes on laundry lines with clothes pins. The more laundry they hanged, the less of the Dead that were visible. Despite Dwight stepping outside with Susan, the workers kept their heads down and continued washing. The scrape of their brushes and the splashing of water couldn’t drown out the never-ending groans of the Dead just beyond the fence, though.

It seemed like an oppressing job, if only for the reminder that while the Sanctuary was exactly that – a sanctuary from the Dead – they were still trapped here, working endlessly. Again, though, Susan had to remind herself that it was better to be a prisoner here, in some sense at least (not like Daryl, though), than to be surviving out there. Out there, there was no assurance for anything, food or life itself. Out there, one was only biding time before death would come. Still, Susan knew that she would be going out there again soon. Nothing could change her mind about that. She’d rather take her chances and die out there no matter what because… because… Susan tried to remember her reasoning.

Because inside, in a community, connections to people would be formed and her allegiances would shift and instead of dying on her own terms she’d throw her life away in an instant trying to save someone else who would only die later. Being part of a community was pointless. They were all going to die anyway. Why die for these people? None of them meant anything. Not the workers, not the Saviors, not the prisoner, not Dwight, not even Negan.

Negan.

Inevitably, Susan’s mind turned to him. What could compel this man to create the Sanctuary and bring in these people? Sure, he lived like a king, complete with a harem and everything, but why bother support others? Susan couldn’t see the appeal of owing anyone anything, be it providing service or protection. On top of that, why would he shoulder the protection of other communities? Here, he would know and grow close to some of these people, care about them. But other people? They could be monsters. Like Daryl’s group that killed many of the Saviors. Why bother protecting them when they could get revenge? Seems like they had enough power to subjugate them. Negan was a mystery.

“Susan,” Dwight’s voice broke into her reverie. Susan blinked and looked at him, eyebrows raised in question. Dwight stared at her hard in return. “It’s okay. They can’t get to you.”

At first, Susan was confused, wondering if Dwight was saying something meaningful, saying that no one will matter to her. Then she realized that he was talking about the Dead, reassuring her that she was safe. It was sweet of him, but Susan could handle herself. “Yeah,” she numbly replied, at a loss for anything else to say. It’s not like she could explain what she was thinking. She herself barely understood it as it was.

“Well, we’re here. Give them the laundry, and then we’ll go.” Dwight impatiently shifted from foot to foot, motioning towards the workers. He looked over to the fence, scanning it. Susan looked too, and noticed that there was a woman walking the inside. The woman was short and dark skinned, the ends of her curly hair bleached blonde. She looked tough despite her stature, even without the pistol strapped to her thigh. Susan couldn’t tell if that Savior woman was there to keep the threats out or to keep the workers in.

Pulling herself away from that train of thought, Susan looked back at Dwight. “Which one of them should I talk to? They’re all busy, D.”

With a heavy sigh, Dwight looked away from the woman and headed over to the workers. Again, Susan was forced to follow him. “Gordon,” Dwight barked, and a miserable but otherwise healthy looking man snapped to his feet, still holding a soapy shirt in his hand. “You’re going to wash something for Susan,” Dwight began to order Gordon.

“But after its washed and everything,” Susan cut in and took over, “I want it to be put into the clothes circulation or something. I don’t want it anymore.” As an afterthought, Susan added, “Bad memories.” She didn’t know why she bothered to explain that. It was cryptic and eerie, especially since she wanted Gordon to wash a pair of panties. Besides, everyone has bad memories now in this new world.

But Gordon and Dwight only looked at her expectantly, neither one asking for a further explanation, thankfully. “Give it to him, then, Susan.” Dwight, again impatient and imperious, commanded her this time.

Realizing her mistake, Susan quickly shrugged off her backpack and rummaged through it for the panties. Once she found them, she blushed, wishing she asked Dwight for a female worker. Still, this was who she got stuck with. She quickly shoved the panties at Gordon, and it startled Gordon so much that he dropped the shirt back in the water with a wet plop as he forced to accept the panties.

The water sloshed on Dwight’s jeans, and in retaliation, he snapped at Gordon, “Jesus, be more careful next time!” Gordon flinched away, not saying anything, not apologizing. With that kind of reaction, Susan was expecting Dwight to strike Gordon, but he didn’t. Dwight looked like he was about to say something else, but the distant sound of a woman’s voice called for him instead. “You wait over here, Susan. Don’t help him,” Dwight told her before he moved away to go towards the woman guarding the fence.

Distantly, Susan heard as the woman asked Dwight to cover a shift only for Dwight to ask why she was minding the fence more than the workers. The woman was starting to say something about a weak point in the fence – not enough of the Dead ones to cover the area. Then Gordon unexpectedly spoke to Susan, “You should have never come here.”

Forced to look into his sad eyes, Susan couldn’t find her voice. His statement was just ominous enough to leave her uncomfortable, but it was more than that. Gordon looked like he had his soul sucked out.

“Here, there,” Susan found herself speaking without really thinking about her words, “Makes no difference. Dead outside or dead inside. Dead is dead.” Before Gordon could say anything else to her, Susan moved away deliberately signaling that this conversation – if it could be called that – was over.

She was upset with herself. Despite her words, despite everything that she’s seen here, Susan didn’t think she believed what she said anymore. Now, she had lived in many communities, but this one had the best protection, the best supplies. The people seemed miserable, but Susan believed they were spoiled. In every community, there would be those on top that hogged a few good supplies for themselves, but still anything was better than out there alone. Susan only preferred it out there because she hated people, because…

Because she wanted to die alone, not a burden or a reason to grieve for anyone else. Being part of communities temporarily would only keep her temporarily sane, temporarily alive. But now, this place was different. It forced too much introspection from her whereas with others she was put to mind-numbing labor, and when she was alone she was too busy trying to survive. So much for a vacation.

Just then, Dwight came back. “Are we finished now?”

Looking up at Dwight, Susan nodded, zipping up her backpack and slinging it back on. She didn’t bother to ask about the Savior woman on guard just like she didn’t bother to tell him about what Gordon said either. Just by looking at the broken, soulless worker, Susan could tell he wasn’t long for this world. Early after the end of the world, when people started looking like that and talking like that, they found death somehow. And it was true, they found death, actively sought it. Death didn’t have to go looking for them, they made it easy.

Without further preamble, Dwight headed back inside, and Susan hitched up her backpack and followed after, keeping her head down. She didn’t look back at Gordon or anything else.

As they made their way back out to the main factory floor, Susan concentrated, testing to see if she remembered the way. The further in they got, the more she was reassured that she could navigate successfully. They came to Daryl’s cell, that same song still playing, and it teased Susan with its lyrics.

“It’s our moment in the sun,

And it’s only just begun.

It’s time to have a little fun.”

She walked a little faster, hoping that the beat wouldn’t get stuck in her head, actively trying to not think about the prisoner passed out in his cell. Dwight caught up to her after he checked to see if the door was still locked and Daryl was still there, unconscious. They passed by Dwight’s bedroom, and didn’t say a word about that either. They skirted around Daryl’s blood trails, Dwight muttering something about getting some workers to clean this up. Susan didn’t comment on it. She knew they were nearing the factory floor as the noise level gradually started to increase.

Now it was a matter of seeing if she knew the way back to the parlor where her bedroom was. When she got back, she had plans to sort through her supplies and dine on Jolly Ranchers alone. She didn’t want to deal with the other wives. But she’d also rather not be left alone with her thoughts.

Instantly, though, her plans were foiled because as she and Dwight stepped out onto the main floor they both looked up and saw Negan casually resting his elbows against the railing, overseeing everything. Instantly, Negan saw them both, and Susan was magnetically drawn to him, unable to look away. She was somewhat aware that Dwight was shuffling around behind her, but her feet were leading her to Negan. He was smiling at her again, a beacon of happiness compared to all the misery of everyone else and Susan was attracted like a moth to a flame. Negan was quite the attractive figure after all, just so entrancing, just…beautiful.

Before she knew it, she was beside Negan on the landing, and she had nearly made it into his open arms when her heels stumbled on the uneven floor. Clumsily, she ended up collapsing against his chest.

“Damn, Susan, I know I’m fucking irresistible, but you don’t have to throw yourself at me.” Negan joked, making sure she was steady on her feet before he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

He had one hand buried in her hair, wrapped around the back of her neck. The other arm was slung over the top of her backpack. Susan, happily crushed against his warm chest, nestled her cheek against the soft fabric of his white shirt, thankful that he let his black leather jacket flop open. She could smell the same soap from outside on his shirt, and she forced herself to forget Gordon’s stupid, dismal face and foreboding words. “I missed you,” Susan admitted, and she was surprised at herself for meaning it. She chalked it up to being left alone to her morbid thoughts too much. And, partially, she was missing sex right now, too. That was something that kept her mind too occupied to think depressing things.

Almost as if he knew what she was thinking, Negan chuckled. “You miss my big, fat, fucking swinging dick is all, Susan.” Again, he kissed her, though this time he pressed the kiss to the crown of her hair. “Don’t worry, I miss your crazy, fucking pussy, too. You won’t have to wait that long before I’m buried balls fucking deep inside you again.” He squeezed her to him tighter. “I’m guessing Dwighty boy once again cannot fucking provide for a woman’s needs.”

Unsure of where Negan was heading with that comment, Susan shifted around until she was pressed against his side, both of them now facing a sullen Dwight who stared at his boots. In that moment, he looked like a child in the principal’s office, waiting for his parents to be called. Susan’s heart spasmed, and once again she surprised herself. Out of all the things she had seen today, between Daryl’s bloody body and Gordon’s hopelessness, as of now she really only felt sorry for Dwight. “He was just showing me around, helping me get some things,” Susan explained to Negan, looking up at him. “Look, I got the heels you wanted.” She stuck out one foot to show one of that black, tall heels off to Negan.

Again, Negan chuckled at her. “Yeah, I could see you got the shoes since you can barely walk fucking straight in them.” He bent down and whispered hotly in her ear, “Don’t worry, Susan. After I’m finished with you, it won’t matter if you’re wearing fucking heels or not. You’ll still not be able to walk fucking straight.” Straightening back up, pretending that he hadn’t just whispered that to her, he somewhat innocently asked Susan, “So what other goodies did you get down there? Something for me too, I hope?”

Susan blushed, remembering the yellow negligee, but then she instantly remembered all the other suspicious items she had gathered. “Um,” she nervously laughed, avoiding the eyes of both men, hoping she was coming off as coy, “yes.”

It seemed to work because Negan smiled, accepting her short answer to be out of embarrassment due to present company – namely Dwight. “Well, Dwighty boy, thank you for watching over my Susan today. She didn’t give you any trouble, did she?” Negan’s arm clamped down on Susan tighter, still managing to apply a lot of pressure despite her backpack acting as a barrier.

“No, sir, she didn’t. It was no problem,” Dwight dutifully answered Negan, though his gaze was still directed at the floor. The more Susan studied his visage, the more his face reminded her of Gordon’s; and she didn’t like that.

Satisfied with Dwight’s answer, not seeming to notice the man’s downtrodden demeanor, Negan nodded. “Fucking good. I’d hate to punish her,” he teased Susan, but Susan only looked away, red-faced and too shy to openly flirt back.

“Well, on to other fucking business matters, Dwighty boy.” Negan loosened his hold around Susan, and she took that as an unspoken signal for her to step away while they talked. So, she did. She didn’t go far, just back to the railing, overlooking the factory floor much in the same manner as Negan did earlier. Negan continued speaking to Dwight. “Daryl, he is going ape-shit.”

Nodding shortly, Dwight confirmed, “Yup.”

“And you? You are hustling,” Negan blithely continued, leaning back on his heels.

 “It’s working.” Dwight’s tone seemed a little desperate to Susan’s ears, as if he was forcing himself to believe a lie.

 “It’s working slow,” Negan amended Dwight’s statement pointedly, “but, hey man, some people are harder to break than others.”

 “Yeah, he’s close.” Dwight was still maintaining that desperate tone.

 “Yeah, he is,” Negan said, and when Susan side-eyed the two she could tell that that was all Dwight needed to hear for him to relax.

 Negan bit his lip before he spoke again. “Since you’re doing such an awesome job, you want to have a little blast from the past with you-know-who?”

Susan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise – Negan didn’t strike her as the type to share unless he had an orgy in mind. She didn’t have to look at Dwight to know that his brow must be furrowed in question, too. Was Negan testing Dwight’s loyalty?

Soon, though, Negan chuckled again, and both Dwight (and Susan who didn’t even register that she had tensed up) relaxed once again. Well, as much as anyone can really relax in Negan’s presence. “I’m kidding, man,” Negan reassured Dwight, “lighten up.” He wet his lips, and then surprised both Dwight and Susan once more. “Pick whoever you want, as long as she says yes.”

Susan couldn’t help but turn around now at this point. Did that offer include her? Negan looked back at her, and again it was like he read her mind because he then answered her question. “Except for Susan here. Susan and I haven’t gotten to know each other fucking well enough before I let another man make an impression on her like that.” He reached out and combed his ungloved fingers through her hair, and Susan leaned into his touch, his words soothing her.

“Hell, I think Susan would be too much for you anyway, Dwight,” Negan bragged. “She’s my dominant girl. Michaela, she’s flexible. Frankie has magic fucking fingers, as you would figure. Tanya is adventurous, open to pretty much anything, even anal, filthy girl that she is. Amber is sweet and innocent, good for cuddling, does whatever you tell her to. Sherry, well, you know how Sherry is,” Negan bluffed about Sherry, and Susan knew just from that that he and Sherry haven’t done anything.

“But Susan here?” Negan whistled lowly. “Damn is she a little spitfire when she fucks, and I fucking love it.” For emphasis, Negan tugged a little on the ends of her hair and immediately Susan’s mouth fell open on its own accord. She didn’t make a sound, but her eyes were rolling back, nearly watering. Susan clenched her thighs together under her dress, a slave to his touch, and she didn’t even care if Dwight was here to witness it. This was just the kind of contact she had been craving.

“You know what?” Negan began as he watched Susan’s cock-hardening reaction. “Maybe I will let you take a fucking roll around in the fucking hay with Susan here. She’s insatiable enough. But only if you let me watch. I gotta teach you about what she likes, right, so that you can satisfy her ra-fucking-pacious needs. Or maybe you’d prefer a firsthand demonstration, Dwighty boy, before I let you have her. Gotta get her all wet and shaking and needy and just fucking ready for you, after all.” While he spoke, Negan gently tilted Susan’s head back, and Susan was surprised to find that his words were getting her wet just as much as the hair-pulling was.

“Well, it’s like I said, you have to be agreeing to it Dwight, and Susan here has to be just as fucking amiable. Seems she’s wet and willing enough now, but what do you say, Dwighty boy?” Negan shot a dark look at Dwight in question, and he tugged just hard enough on Susan’s hair for her to release a low moan.

Dwight, on the other hand, bearing witness to the interesting interaction between Susan and Negan, looked petrified. He had blanched white, not exactly out of horror or disgust, but just something else. The man remained mute, not giving Negan an answer.

Of course, Negan was having none of that. He released Susan, and coolly turned back around to face Dwight fully. “Oh, crap.” Negan rubbed his hand through his stubble before he asked, “Are you okay down there?” His eyes flicked down to Dwight’s crotch and he pointed his gloved index finger at it, too. “Your penis?” He needlessly clarified his question, “I mean, that guy, he uh…” Negan snapped his jaw shut with an audible click of his teeth as he teased seriously, “clomped on it. Or is it…” He made a whistling noise like a deflating rocket falling out of the sky, his finger mimicking the movement, “down for the count?” He laughed again, obviously having fun at Dwight’s expense.

Meanwhile, Susan was using this as an opportunity to recover. Catching her breath, she willed herself to calm down, knowing that Negan would satisfy her needs later. Part of her wondered, though, what it would be like to have Dwight as well as Negan. Immediately, she shook that thought out of her head. That had to be all for show, just another way to dig under Dwight’s skin and get her all hot and bothered in the process. While her arousal simmered down, Susan dimly registered that what Negan was saying, while the teasing a little cruel for Dwight to endure, was funny, and she had to stifle her giggles.

Finally, Dwight spoke up for himself. “I’m fine, but I’m gonna pass.” he didn’t sound too bothered by Negan’s teasing. He was keeping his voice purposely light and level, attempting to be agreeable. “Man, I’m cool.”

Suspicious, Negan tilted his head at Dwight, gnawing at his bottom lip. “Huh,” he uttered as he released it, “Are you cool, though, Dwight?” He stepped closer to the subordinate. “I mean, I just said that it was happy hour at the Pussy Bar and Dwight eats for free.” Jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Susan, he continued in that same dangerous voice, “Susan over here was wetting her panties at the thought of being double-teamed by us, and you’re telling me no? Is that cool to deny either of us like that?”

“I haven’t finished the job,” Dwight explained his reasoning in a quiet sort of voice. At first, he had avoided Negan’s gaze, but now he lifted his chin and looked at his superior dead-on. “I,” He stuttered a bit. “I haven’t earned it yet. Right?” He still sought Negan’s approval.

Bewildered, Negan shook his head. “The hell you talking about? You earn what you take.”

Just then Dwight’s walkie-talkie crackled and clicked as a woman’s voice interrupted them. “We have an orange situation.”

Dwight lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth to answer, but Negan quickly snatched it out of his grasp. “Gimme that.” He gave Dwight a dirty look, obviously showing that this conversation wasn’t completely dismissed yet. “Arat,” he addressed the woman on the walkie-talkie, “what do you got? Grab-and-go?”

Arat answered promptly, “Yeah, he could’ve only gone three ways: the moth, the angel, or the hard way.”

The walkie-talkie was passed back to Dwight and he quickly replied, “It’s D. I’ll meet you at the gate.” He strapped the walkie-talkie back to his belt, but Negan wasn’t finished with him yet.

“I mean,” Negan started, “I want my shit back, but that is grunt work. Why don’t you have Fat Joey go and do it? God knows he needs the exercise.” Susan shot Negan a look at that. Though her interaction with Fat Joey earlier had been brief, she thought he was too sweet to be bullied like that. Negan, not noticing the look on her face, continued to address Dwight, “You? You don’t have to do it, Dwight.” Negan sounded genuinely confused by Dwight’s actions.

Dwight’s response was only all the more confusing. “I’d like to do it,” he assured Negan.

In response, Negan chuckled, the sound short but real. From where he had been leaning back on his heels, he shifted forward, clamping his hand on the back of Dwight’s neck. Gently, he bumped his forehead against Dwight’s for a moment, tilting down towards the shorter, smaller man. Negan had closed his eyes, took a breath, Dwight unconsciously mimicking the movement. Negan’s nose had crowded out Dwight’s. From where he held Dwight in place, Negan’s fingers flexed, combing through his stringy, blond hair a bit at the ends. All the while, Negan was smiling softly.

The moment was so intimate, Susan felt like a voyeur seeing it happen. Then, Negan pulled away. “Good boy,” he told Dwight proudly, and to reassert his masculinity, he clapped Dwight hard on the shoulder twice, sniffing. Dwight just stood there and took it. And Susan just watched, enraptured with it all.

And in that moment, she wished she was Dwight and that Negan would call her a good girl. More than that, though, Susan unconsciously found herself admiring Negan for more than his sexual prowess. She was in trouble. 

[bellringermal]

So in your headcanon, how did Gehrman lose his leg?

Oh boy. Let me translate a (quite long) bit from my fanfiction :3 enjoy.

“Is your family from Yharnam?”“Yes, we lived on the canals. My father was a warehouse owner and rented it to merchants in search of a safe place to store their goods as they waited for the dam’s reopening. If the stock was especially valuable, we hired extra guards to ward off thieves, but most of the time my father and I  were enough. He taught me well.”“And how did you end up working for Master Willem?”“As you see, Byrgenwerth is rather isolated and the village at the edge of the woods barely has the resources necessary to sustain itself. Supplies need to be carried here through the woods but, given the frequent attacks of wolves and bandits, it’s a job not many couriers like to take. My father and I were among the few who thought it was worth taking the risk and therefore Willem hired us multiple times. I was sixteen when I came here for the first time. - He said, a nostalgic smile on his lips - It was pouring and the approaching thunder roars presaged the coming of a terrible storm. Try to imagine a boy who has just trekked throughout the forest making his way into the college’s main hall with soaked clothes and boots caked with mud. The students looked at me as if I were a castaway who just returned to civilization after months at sea. As for me, I was entranced. I had never seen so many books in my life. Actually, I could barely read at the time, yet the very idea that there was so much to learn struck me like a revelation. Given the impending storm, Willem offered me to spend the night here. I was not in a position to refuse and Edmund was already dragging me to the kitchen anyways.”“He’s so thoughtful, I can totally see that happen.”“Yeah, Eddie’s a good man.”“I’m sure he is. And so… you never left?”  Maria asked. By now they had reached the end of the corridor and the chattering of the students was once again loud enough to cover their words.Gehrman straightened his jacket - My father wanted me back at the warehouse, but was also aware that he would never be able to pay for my education, so when Willem offered me a job and free access to the library, he knew I would not find anything better. Byrgenwerth attracted more and more students and Willem wanted them to feel safe even if secluded in such an isolated place. Dores and Edmund needed help in their duties as groundskeepers and Willem’s intention was for me to become their assistant and help them keeping out wild animals and intruders. Church fanatics who accused Willem of heresy were more common back then than you may think. Yet, my father remained hesitant. He needed me, I was his only child. It was then that Willem doubled his initial salary offer. I never understood why he wanted me here, but my perplexity is shared by many of the students Willem personally selected to become his pupils. Dores likes to say that Master Willem can… ‘sense’ people’s potential. -“Well, you’re a formidable hunter now. You’ve come a long way, that’s for sure. Perhaps he can really see the future. Somehow.” Commented Maria, clearly admired. “I’m sure you’ll do great things.”Gehrman prayed that the darkness hid his blushing cheeks.“Gehrman, are you alright?”“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. It was an uphill struggle, you see. But I’m satisfied. And proud. Of all of you.” he sighed. “But as for you in particular… You… you look lovely tonight, Lady Maria.” he added abruptly, his voice made squeaky by his nervousness.Hearing that sudden change of topic made her chuckle in return “What? Are you insinuating that this silly dress makes me look prettier than when I’m covered in Beast blood and guts?”Gehrman let out a low laugh and Maria congratulated herself for breaking the ice with such great skill. “Touchè. Honestly, I can’t fathom a situation in which you would not be at ease.”“You say so because you never had to wear a corset. I’m slowly dying in here even though my education has brainwashed me to the point that I now accept this torture as something all women must go through.”The man rubbed the back of his head nervously ruffling his dark hair streaked with gray “We all have to die a little bit inside to present ourselves to others.” he said gravely, as if those words were addressed more to himself than Maria. “And bite the bullet when the clothes we wear made old wounds burn.”Maria hesitated, shifting her gaze on the prosthetic leg on which Gehrman always avoided to rest his weight too much. He hastened to hide it with the coat’s long flap “Oh do not worry about me, I am sure that it is not more painful than your corset.”“You know it is.” She said more harshly than she intended to. But the harshness was all for herself. “I should stop complaining, I pretend not to sound like a spoiled girl but everything that comes out of my mouth is exactly what a Cainhurster would say.”“Well, you know what they say: you can’t choose your family…”“How did it happen?”“What?”“Your leg. How did you…? Damn, I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have asked. Pretend I said nothing.”“It’s okay. It’s just… not a pleasant story to hear. And even a less pleasant one to tell.”“You don’t have to. Please, forget I asked.” she shook her head, avoiding his quizzical gaze.“Perhaps I-” Gehrman’s face slowly lighted up “Perhaps I should tell someone about it. Well, beside Dores and Edmund of course. They were there, they saw it all. It was only a few years after I moved to Byrgenwerth, when the scholars discovered the entrance to the Old Labyrinth. They knew of its existence of course, but accessing it had been impossible for quite some time because of the seals placed on the doors. Edmund dedicated his youth to the study of Pthumerian rituals, he was the one who understood how to appease one of the Chalices that the students had found during the excavations in the Pthumerian graveyard right outside of the college’s gates. Ever wondered why Byrgenwerth was built here in the first place? That’s your answer. Willem knew the catacombs were right under our noses.”“I am not superstitious, but I now get why those angry mobs you told me about would pose a threat to the students.“

“Exactly. They said we were profaning hallowed ground. Which was… and still is, kinda true. But Pthumerians were supposed to be long gone. At least, the ‘true’ ones, those from the legends passed on through the Age of Dark up to present day. We did not expect to find anything alive down there, even though the horrible offerings required to satiate the Chalice should’ve warned us. Made us predict that slavering, hungry things were waiting for us. Looking back at that day now, it all seems so obvious… it wasn’t so back then.”“How old were you?”“Eighteen? Nineteen? I can’t remember. Still feels like a life ago. The ancient doors finally opened and we ventured into corridors where no man had set foot before. The scholars were estathic. For them, it was a dream came true. To me, it was just work. I did not understand all the implications of Master Willem’s research at the time, I still don’t. But what I know that it takes some guts to dwell in studies like theirs. It takes stubbornness and self-sacrifice. I admire them now as much as I admired those unfortunate students back then.” Gehrman stopped, the gaze of his gray-blue eyes lowered in discomfort. “It happened so quickly we could barely react to it. The echoing halls were filled with the sound of screams as some students who separated themselves from the main group got mauled in a matter of seconds. We never found their bodies. The beasts dragged them away in their den to feast and I would’ve met the same fate if Edmund didn’t drill the beast’s head with rifle shots. And even with so many bullets in its flesh, that monster did not let go of me.”“Because those were not quicksilver bullets..” Maria muttered under her breath.“Of course they weren’t. We knew nothing of Beasts. That was the First Hunt, and we were the hunted. I tried to wriggle free, to react, but the pain was too much, the darkness too thick, the horror too great. All around it was chaos, the remaining students tried to ran away, some of them fell from the narrow bridges, cracking their skulls on impact, others got caught in traps or snatched by creatures even more vicious than the one that assaulted me. Blood splattered everywhere as coffins sprang open and the dead rose from their sleep wielding sacrificial knives and thrust them in the hearts of the scholars. The last things I remember before passing out were the cold cobblestone littered by chewed carcasses sliding beneath me…blood soaking my trousers… the beast’s fangs cracking my bones as the creature dragged me awa-” Gehrman startled when Maria’s hand gently touched his arm.“You’re pale. I think you should sit down for a little while.”He bit his lower lip, cursing himself for having shown her such weakness. “I am fine. It’s just… a bad memory, that’s it. So, as I was saying-”“No need to continue on. I got it. Thank you for sharing this story with me.”“I do appreciate your concern, but I can assure you that I am not going to faint just because-”“Gehrman, please.” Maria’s grasp on his arm was tighter now. It almost hurted. She slowly lifted her eyes, meeting those of the First Hunter. Hers was the gaze of someone who’s giving an order, not a simple advice. “ Please, sit down. I know you still have nightmares to this day because of what happened. Ludwig told me so. Don’t brush it away as if it’s nothing.”

[sixseasonsofodestawithatardis]

A/N: Sorry it’s taken so long for me to update my Odesta fanfiction I was worried about writing this chapter and lost motivation to finish however I’ve found it now, Plus I was also busy with A-levels and voluntary work so updates may not be as often as they used to be. Also Feel free to leave me prompts or requests or idea’s for oneshots as I’m more than happy to write them! :)  You can also read the story on Wattpad here 

Warnings: mentions of violence and dead bodies 

Odesta One Destiny chapter twelve: The first night 

I walked back with Katrina to our dining area still angry at my interview, I was angry at them the Capitol for making me... Us having to put up this charade for them! We were going to say goodbye to Mags and Chabham, We wouldn't be seeing them in the morning or for the rest of the games to be exact, our stylists will be carting us off and they'll be making decisions for us in their headquarters trying to keep us alive...

We were right. They were in the dining area with the polished mahogany table, Even Ashling was there sitting beside Mags having a glass of champagne! Probably celebrating our deaths early or something like that. Chabham was sitting next to the two head stylists Trish and Tallum - Just seeing the sight of the two of them and Ashling made me want to vomit. I gulped it down and looked at them.

They turned their heads towards us, Mags got up and came over to the both of us

"I thought you guys would've headed to bed you guys have a tough time ahead of you." She said hugging me, I hugged her back hoping it would calm me down to have some sort of familiarity before my games, She reminded me of my mum at times with the way she cares for people but then at times she reminds me of my Gran... It's probably the gray hair, or the fact she smells like home, of salt... Of the sea.

After that we were hugged by the stylists and our escort... Which felt overwhelming, it didn't occur to me that they actually cared for me or katrina, or maybe they didn't and actually just wanted a claim to fame for when we died.

Just as I was about to leave I was called "Finnick!." I looked up to see Mags looking at me sympathetically " Keep up your act okay" I nodded understanding what she meant, and with that I went to bed exhausted trying to keep my mind off of what could possibly hurt me tomorrow....

Trish came in just after dusk to wake me up, I was awake anyway I had a restless night waking up every hour on the hour with sweat pouring down my back and tears rolling down my cheeks , We had to get up early to get to the arena even though our games didn't officially start till 10. Trish made me eat something for breakfast and although I had something to eat ( some eggs and toast) I didn't enjoy it, it made my stomach churn and it tasted rancid!

Soon we were both in the hovercraft, where a tracker was injected into my arm, the pinprick of the needle stung for a few minutes and my arm felt a little numb...

We soon reached the catacombs where we would be checked to make sure we had no advantages such as our mentor's giving us weapons, my braclet made it through, the knots were so tightly wound in the token that they knew I wouldn't be able to use it in any way.

I didn't like the catacombs they were too dark and narrow, I felt constricted especially as I was used to fresh air and bright light, I only felt more trapped and alone.

I was then led to a room which was had black tiles on the wall and silver one on the floor, to my far left in the corner of the room was a transparent circular cylinder which I knew would take me up to the arena, in the centre were to red seats with cushions and to the right of those two seats was a silver rack that had my suit (covered in this plastic protector) which I had to wear in the arena hanging on it.

About five minutes after sitting down in one of the seats Trish came in and beckoned me to the silver rack and unzipped the protector revealing what me and twenty three other kids would be wearing. A pair of dark blue thermal trousers along with a dark blue lycra jumper and a green cotton shirt with a pair of sandals which were a cream colour.

"So warm days and cold nights." said Trish taking the clothes off the hanger and rack. "So you might be facing a desert area." She said handing the clothes to me and motioning for me to get changed whilst she waited outside...

I sat on the sofa adjacent to Trish the material; Although soft and thin felt clingy, which was making my skin itch, it felt like I had a thousand ants crawling all over me... We sat in silence till a voice rang out throughout the catacombs that we had sixty seconds to enter the cylinders which were sliding open.

I got up, I could feel the sweat already forming on my forehead, Before I could amble to the cylinder Trish hugged me tightly and wished me luck, In normal circumstances I would have brushed her off but it felt comforting as if she really didn't want me to die.

I then ambled onto the circular disk which the transparent cylinder encapsulated, I was silent as the countdown to my ascent continued I tried to remember what Mags told me, it wasnt difficult in fact her advice was echoing in my head the problem was I needed a distraction till I got into the arena otherwise I wouldn't be sure I'd be able to move...

Soon I was being raised into the arena the door to it slid open to harsh sunlight that I had to cover my eyes I felt tense the sixty second countdown hadn't started yet, but I noticed that Katrina was 3 podiums away from me and Leilee was next to a boy from District 9, he was scrawny and looked gaunt.

Once the girl from District twelve was raised into the arena the 60 second countdown began to boom over us I quickly looked around,

The Cornucopia was full of golden sand I could tell it was artificial as normal sand was more yellowish, there was what looked like a forest or something similar on the outside but you still had to run from the sand, In the middle was a range of things from what I could see were weapons - No tridents, a few backpacks and other supplies!

Although I expected it the fact I had no trident put me at a slight disadvantage as I'm more skilled at using it, yeah I'm good with a knife but it won't be enough to defend myself... What could I go for? The Backpack! I wouldn't risk grabbing a knife as the careers usually go for the weapons first plus I wanted to go in and out and get as much distance away from them as I could and going towards the weapons would only slow me down. I quickly look for some rope which was only slightly behind another backpack but I could get it.

"Zero!" Boomed the voice of Claudius Templesmith, we ran like ants, some looked confused whilst others had purpose- I ran towards the backpack- jumping over the dead body of a boy from district 8- which was impaled by a spear, and whilst running slung it on my shoulder and then grabbed a piece of rope which was just ahead of me.

In the corner of my eye I could see the silhouette of Katrina heading North west into the clearing of the forest area - Narrowly avoiding a girl from district 5. whilst I kept straight on remembering that I had to find water first!

I kept running the forestry becoming a blur of green and brown as I kept sprinting keeping out for any signs of a reservoir or lake...

I was starting to slow down, hopefully I had put enough space between me and the other tributes, I was in what was soon becoming thick forestry with the grass reaching up to your knees and the vines winding up and down every tree similar to that of a serpent, I was growing tired of the colour green it was all I could see apart from the brown from the rough bark on the numerous trees and crunchy leaves, however; I also knew I had to keep an eye out for water and had to keep moving.

Whilst looking for a source of water I did keep that area in mind for shelter as it could be well hidden for the leaves would provide camouflage and the vines could be used to make traps and if I find a big enough lake near the clearing I could fish for food.

The fact that I had slowed down made the arena look less like a blur now and my muscles were burning from running so much so after about ten minutes of walking I hid behind a tree and looked at the backpack.

I quickly unzipped it and looked through the contents: varied lengths of rope, matches, a (empty) canister to hold water with some graham crackers and a pair of glasses which had dark lenses - I have no idea how they'd be useful maybe to block out sunlight?

Once I had looked through it and eaten one of the crackers I put everything back and kept moving...

The ground was beginning to feel a little more moist between my feet and the air felt more humid I felt like those were possible signs that a source of water was near and I hoped it would appear soon as my lips were dry and my mouth was sticky as the saliva in my mouth was over heating,

The arena was still the same with the overtly green leaves on the floor, and the tall trees with their dark brown bark.

I kept walking and walking until I saw something in the left hand corner of my eye - A bunch of gray rocks were surrounding something circular which sort of reminded me of a pond or a small lake so I went to have a look.

I was right encircled in the mass of gray rock was a small reservoir of water to the side of the rocky circle upon further inspection was a stream of water which was further hidden in more forestry making it almost invisible!

Before anyone could find me I gulped the water thirstily straight from the reservoir, it felt cool on my lips and had a crisp taste to it I was grateful when it went down my throat as it cooled it down, I felt my mouth feel less sticky and I felt hydrated.

I then filled my cannister up to the top and contemplated what to do next:

Should I look for Leilee or Katrina? Should I look for food? Should I try to make a spear out of a bit of a branch or should I get some suitable shelter?

Each of these seemed like suitable options but I figured instead of going back to the area I thought was suitable earlier on to stay near the source of water so I could keep myself hydrated in case I was too hot during the night, so I got hold of some of the leaves and twisted some vines to make a hammock because although I could sleep on the floor I could easily be seen by others even in pitch black darkness so I decided to use the longer lengths of rope in my backpack as a way to hoist the canopy to a medium height tree.

Once I had the rope and the hammock I decided to try to climb a tree of medium height the bark was rough under my grip as I started to find foot holes to push myself further up the body of bark.

I tried to move my leg up to what seemed a secure park of the tree but once my foot connected all I heard was a quick snap and I fell rather quickly to the bottom of the forest floor,

I hit my head on the leaves although they were moist from the humidity that didn't soften the hardness of the fall in which I landed on the top of my left shoulder before anything else.

luckily it was only a short distance any higher and I could've died! I had to be more careful so I decided to use the the canopy to hoist myself up instead as I didn't want to fall anymore and attract any unneeded attention plus if I got into a fight with anyone I didn't want to be injured especially as I don't have a trident or even a spear yet...

Once I hoisted myself up - by tying the hammock around myself and the tree and using my backpack as some support on my back and pulling upward- to the biggest one of the branches I tied the hammock to the trunk of the tree as that was where my head would be and to the bottom of the bigger branch and although there wasn't a dip as to that of a normal hammock it would do to allow me to rest especially after my fall - the hoisting made the muscles in my arms and legs burn intensely but my left shoulder was burning more than any other area of my body hopefully it wasn't bruised.

With that I put the backpack down to where my head would lay as the arena was starting to get darker by the minute, but unlike District Four there were no brightly lit stars shining alongside the moonlight making a pang of homesickness hit my stomach and winding me like when a current crashes onto the shore.

I held back the tears as I tried to false myself to sleep until I heard the faint screech of a girl...