#fields & fences

[cellophaine]

Chapter III: RALLY

Masterlist

Pairing: Art Donaldson x F!Reader

Warnings: More flirting if you can believe it.

Author's Note: I did not run this through Grammarly so hopefully it's still digestible.

GIF Source: @/roranicuspond

The music, the chatter, the shouts of excitement reverberated throughout the big house and became a concentrated fusion of noise in your ears. You took another sip of the spiked fruit punch and grimaced at the taste. It burned all the way down, but the buzz it provided was pleasant. You watched all these strangers mingling about, chatting and dancing and playing games you weren’t privy to, no one paid attention to you. After several failed attempts at striking and maintaining a conversation, you retreated to the corner of the kitchen after escaping the common area. The array of food and drinks was within reach, and from here, you could people watch.

Midterms came with the guarantee of long hours into the nights, and went with the promise of celebration. Ashley, your roommate, was more than eager to deliver on that promise, and also the reason why you came to the party. Your other roommate, Grace, went out with her book club, leaving you the only chaperone, and confidence boost Ashley needed to talk to her crush. It took an egregious amount of convincing from Ashley for you to finally agreed. You needed to get out more, Ashley said on the way to the party, you worked so hard for midterms and it showed in the results. Your wandering mind thought of Art, a minor diversion in your study these days. You hadn’t seen him since the day he treated you to lunch, and never approached him for the few times you saw him on campus. Most of the time, he had a bag of racquet on his shoulder. You wondered if he noticed you, and if he also contemplated whether to say hi to you. You were grateful either way, since you had no doubt he would become a great distraction that you couldn’t afford.

More people poured into the kitchen, so you took that opportunity to fill your cup with a ladle of the same fruit punch, and slipped outside through the back door. The yard was big, with high wooden fence wrapped around the property. There was a pool to your left, and an open grass field with a bonfire blazing. Most people hung around the pool, so you made a beeline for the fire. You shivered as a cold breeze brushed over the skin on your exposed arms. You chose the small wooden bench after asking the few people who were already there if you could take a seat. The flame, alongside the alcohol, warmed you up from the inside out. You grimaced at a small sip, the taste of the punch somehow became more foul than the last. Bracing yourself, you took another, hoping the pleasant buzz would amp up, and wishing the time would past even quicker.

“If this isn’t the girl I’ve been looking for.”

You thought your hearing was mistaken, but it was him. You turned your head, and there Art was, standing two feet away, looking at you with a bottle of Sprite in his hand. He was wearing a Stanford hoodie and shorts, the golden waves of his hair were tousled softly in the gentle wind. You couldn’t help the complacency in your voice.

“You’ve been looking for me?”

“All the time. Ever since when I last saw you.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You’re such a stalker.”

“No. Just an admirer.”

You took another moment to appreciate the sight of him in front of you, before scooting to the other side of the bench as much as you could. You patted the empty space you’d just left, and Art immediately accepted your invitation. His knee knocking against yours as he sat down. Your thighs grazed when he settled, and you felt your cheeks warm at the contact.

“How are you?”

“So what brought you–?”

You talked at the same time, and then broke into a nervous chuckle together. Art jerked his chin at you.

“You go first.”

“Okay. Well, my roommate brought me here.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s with her crush. I’m here because she didn’t want to go alone. You?”

“Robbie invited me. He’s my hitting partner this semester. He knows some guy who lives here.”

You hummed noncommittally. You cleared your throat after a mouthful of your drink when Art asked.

“How did your midterm go?”

“It went … very well. You?”

“Uhh, maybe less well than you.”

“If you study as much as you train then I have no doubt that you did great.”

You said it without much thought. Art looked at you with a new interest.

“How did you know that?”

Your brows knitted in confusion.

“Know what?”

“That I train. Quite often.”

You stumbled over your words as you thought of an answer.

“Well, it was … I just … I’ve seen you on campus a few times, and you always have a racquet bag with you. In the few times that I saw you. In case that wasn’t clear.”

Art leaned back as if to take you in fully. The way he cocked an eyebrow coupled with the playful smile on his lips screamed mischief.

“So you’ve been stalking me.”

“Absolutely not.”

Your denial was immediate. You diverted your gaze to the fire and took a long sip from your cup to hide the embarrassment tinged in your features.

“You know, if you want to hang out more with me …”

Art leaned in, and you couldn’t resist the pull from his gaze. A light citrus scent stirred at your sense of smell, and it was soothing.

“ … all you have to do is to give me your phone number. You know, to make it easier for both of us.”

You pretended to think about his proposition, sucking air through your teeth.

“I don’t know. You haven’t proved yourself to be anything but a distraction.”

“Me? A distraction?”

“Yup. As a straight A student like myself, I can’t afford distraction.”

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the fact that it was your clumsy attempt at flirting wth Art, but you felt bolder, your lips more loose. He moved in even closer, invading your space, and you could see the flutter of his long lashes that framed his widened eyes. Everything about him made you feel like you were in a big trouble.

“Oh my god. You’re obsessed with me.”

“No, I’m so not.”

“Yes, you are. You must think about me all the time.”

Your cheeks burned and you were certain it wasn’t due to the alcohol. You felt like you were caught with a crime you were guilty of committing. Art had been more than just a passing thought. He was a frequent recurrence in your mind. You stammered for a defensive stance.

“What about you? If anything, you’re the one who’s obsessed. You’ve been asking me for my number every time we see each other.”

“Right. You can deny it all you want, but I can see it clear as day.”

“I’m not denying anything. I’m just … telling you that I don’t … think about you.”

His brows raised as if he didn’t believe you.

“Not that … often, anyway.”

He grinned, satisfied with your answer. You put a hand over your eyes.

“Can we … move past this, please?”

Art chuckled and leaned away with his hands held up, satisfied like a purring cat after a big meal. He watched as you took a swig of your empty drink.

“Do you want a refill?”

“Yeah. Not the same thing though. I’ve had enough of gasoline juice.”

His chuckle was light, rising above everything else around you even though you weren’t alone.

“I can find something decent for you.”

You moved to go with him, but Art held out a hand.

“You stay here. I’ll get it for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

You watched as he disappeared into the crowded house. You caught the smile that crept onto your face, and for once, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment. The waning crescent was an imposing presence amongst the stars in the clear sky. The fire was warm, and so was the feeling you harboured inside. You were glad that you stuck around and saw Art again, the one person who had occupied your mind more often than you’d like to admit. The easy banter and flirtatious remarks were only bonuses to what he was to you. A person who seemed to like you for who you were, and not for what you could do for him. He had been nothing but nice to you, reducing your well-constructed wall to a feeble fence that parted in half whenever he came around.

Goosebumps spread all over your skin as a gust of wind swooped by. You rubbed your arms to alleviate the cold and drew into yourself. And then you heard it, his name in a cheerful voice. Your head turned to the source as if the call was for you. Art had already walked to her with a drink and a paper bag in hands. You watched as they conversed. She was gorgeous, her light golden brown skin glowed even in the low light. She was slim and tall, almost matched Art’s height. From this distance, you couldn’t hear them, but you could see the way they laughed at something she said, their heads bowed towards each other in the movement. You felt like you were an intruder in their conversation, even though you were only watching. She touched his arm and left, leaving Art looking after her as she disappeared into the house. Something stirred in the back of your mind, but you quickly dismissed it before it even took form. You whipped your head back to the fire, pretending that you’d been looking at it as Art turned around and made his way over to you. Art held out the cup and you accepted it with a word of appreciation. He settled in next to you for the second time that night, and your heart couldn’t help but skip a beat.

“Did you miss me while I was gone?”

“You wish.”

He chuckled, and looked at the way you held yourself.

“Are you cold?”

“A little bit. But it’s fine. The fire is keeping me warm.”

An involuntary shiver broke through your body.

“You’re not a very good liar, you know that?”

Art stood up and took off his hoodie. The movement tugged the white t shirt he wore underneath upward, and you could catch a glimpse of his leaned lower torso, the faint V line leading into the band of his underwear. You quickly averted your eyes to meet his own under the messy blond locks, your cheeks burned at the quick glance.

“No, Art, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

He held out the hoodie.

“Just take it.”

It looked like he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so you took it and put it on. The sleeves covered your hands and more, the body fabric pooled around your midsection. His warmth settled over you like an embrace, igniting the excitement that brewed underneath your skin. You relaxed into the scent and the comfort of him, and sighed softly.

“All better?”

He put his arms around you, making rapid up and down motions to create friction and warming you up. Your heart jumped at the contact even though there was a layer between his hands and your skin.

“This is really nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He let you go and held up the brown paper bag he left at his feet.

“Do you want some s’mores?”

/

“Wow. I’ve never seen someone who’s this bad at making s’mores.”

Art commented after your third burned marshmallow while you frantically blew on it to put out the fire. The charred remain sagged sadly on the stick. You frowned.

“It’s still … edible.”

“Edible? It looks like a lump of coal.”

You bowed your head, defeated.

“Here.”

Art put a perfectly toasted marshmallow on a graham cracker for you.

“Take it. And please, it’s just a s’more.”

You accepted the treat, and bit into it. The gooey sweetness enveloped your tongue, and you hummed in approval. You watched as Art discarded your burned sweet into the fire.

“How are you so bad at this?”

“Well, my parents aren’t exactly the outdoor type.”

“Lucky for you, you have a master at work here.”

He taught you to put the marshmallow near the ember, not directly in the flame. Eventually, you made one without burning it to crisp. Art cheered as you showed in your stellar achievement in between the graham crackers. Your heart hammered as he leaned in and took a bite from out of your hand. He closed his eyes, a moan sounded deep in his throat.

“The sweet victory of my teaching.”

A marshmallow string dripped over his bottom lip. Your eyes glued to his movement as he swiped it off, brought the thumb to his mouth and licked it. But there was still some left on the curve of his lip. Out of instinct, your hand reached for the spot he missed and wiped it off with careful tenderness. Art held still, and his breathing seemed to follow. He gazed at you with an impossible softness in his eyes, and you felt a new fervour of heat warming your face. Neither of you said anything, nor dared to breathe too loudly. Your hand lingered on his face, and you felt an urge to run it over his jawline, to pull him close, eager to taste the sweetness of the treat from his lips.

A loud whoop shrilled in your ears, followed by the sound of water being splashed. Pulled away from the moment, you drew your hand back and cleared your throat.

“I think I’ve mastered it now.”

/

The night ended with Art walking you home. Before you left party, you found Ashley and made sure she was okay. She beamed ear to ear and told you she’d spend some more time here. You asked her to be careful and to text you if she needed anything. You parted ways, finding Art waiting for you outside on the green lawn. The walk to your apartment building was long, but the two of you filled the distance with things like classes and what you’d been up to since you last saw each other. Art told you about his upcoming match and what he’d done to prepare for it. You expressed interest in seeing him play, and Art perked up at that like a little puppy.

“I’ll let you know when the date is announced.”

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of the gate to your building.

“This is me.”

“Are you sure it’s not for another block?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. You observed him for moment, tracing the soft edge of his eyes, the way his lips flattened against themselves, shaping into a faint, endearing smile. You held out your hand.

“Give me your phone.”

“For what?”

You arched an eye brow. It took him three seconds to arrive at the same thought you had. He scrambled to take his phone out, almost dropping it to the ground. You put your number in along with your name and saved it.

“Here you go. You can move on to something else now.”

“Never.”

Art returned his phone to his pants’ pocket. A need struck you, something you’d wanted to do since he sat down next to you earlier in the night. The urge was overwhelming, your heart hammered in your chest, your skin itched to make it happen. But you didn’t want to overthink anymore. Brushing asides all cautions, you stepped closer so that you could grasp his shoulder and rose on your tiptoes. Your lips softly brushed his cheek, lingering there for a moment before pulling away. You watched as a blush quickly spread all over his neck and ears, tinting his cheeks a faint pink.

“Good night, Art.”

You entered through the waist high iron gate, and walked the distance before hearing Art saying good night. You turned around and waved at him. He held up a hand and reciprocated. Once you made it to your room, you fell onto your bed and sighed. You felt light and happy, already recounting everything that happened tonight in your head. You put a hand on your hammering heart, and only then, you realized that you were still in his hoodie. You pulled the collar up to your nose and inhaled the comforting scent of him. You smiled. It would be yours for now.

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[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 29

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📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

Season three is here!!

The sounds of dry snarling surround us as Rick kneels at the base of the fence, taking a pair of bolt cutters to the wire, snipping it open. Maggie brings her axe down on the skull of the nearest walker with Glenn's help, Dad jamming his knife into another's eyeball just a moment later. The bodies drop into the grass. Rick peels the fence back for us to squeeze through, with his sights on the treeline behind us.

My Dad makes it through first, helping Rick brace the wire apart as the rest of us follow after him, one by one.

I step into the gravelled walkway, suddenly up close and personal with the prison. My fingers tighten around the hilt of my knife, a faint sense of excitement rising from my toes to my scalp. It ain't Buckingham palace, but it sure feels like it. The yard sits just on the other side of the fence, so close yet so far, stretching on for what looks like the length of I'on even know how many soccer fields. The grass is green, green like a pasture on a milk carton. Walkers stumble around, with nothing better to do than bake in the sun. It's kinda beautiful.

"Hurry," Rick's hissing, just as T-Dog and Mouse bring up the rear; the last to slip through. "That's it."

I share a glance with Carl at my side, who's grinning cheesily under the brim of his cowboy hat.

"So cool," He says.

"Okay. That's everyone," His Dad grunts. "Close it up."

They replace the wire door. Glenn jumps in and starts knotting it back together with a spool of red wire.

As he's securing the last loop, a walker crashes into him through the fence. He jumps back just in time. It grabs a handful of nothing, reaching after us as we turn away from it, jogging down the walkway, slow but steady. All the walkers in the field are coming up to the fence to gawk at us, growl at us as we pass by. It's like we're the new guys in town. Are we gonna take all of them out? Can we?

We make our way through the open gate up ahead, gathering in the main gateway area.

The sun beats down on us, sweat slipping down my neck.

"It's perfect," Rick's smiling to himself as we come to a stop behind him. I think he's right. The dirt road we're standing on leads underneath the vehicle gate, all the way up the hill and comes to a stop at another, smaller gate which is open. It's letting the walkers wandering around in the concrete courtyard have free reign of the field. Not good. There's a guard tower on every corner of the yard, overlooking the place. We ain't never had guard towers before. I can see Rick getting all amped up, just like the rest of us. He turns, wielding his machete like a pointer in a class discussion. "If we can shut that gate, prevent more from filling the field, we can pick off these walkers."

I try to count them. But once I get past ten, I remember it don't matter. We can do anything.

"We can take this place by tonight," He gestures.

No more sleeping in the car with Dad and Mouse, wondering what that noise in the trees was. No more running.

"So, how do we shut the gate?" Herschel starts thinking. I know he don't exactly love sleeping in the cars, neither.

"I'll do it," Glenn offers, squinting against the sun. "You guys can cover me."

Maggie shakes her head. "No. It's a suicide run."

"I'm the fastest. It makes sense."

"If speed mattered, Glenn, we'd be sending Harley in," Rick scoffs, tryna be funny. "She's the fastest."

I know he's only tryna make a point, but I can't help but think there's no bother. I am the fastest. I'm the smallest, I'm the youngest, and I'm the weakest, but I'm also the fastest. They saw how I ran outta camp that night at the quarry, how ain't nobody was able to catch up with me for a good five minutes. Ever since I got those keys at Thanton Memorial, I been wanting to do more.

"Why not?" I ask honestly, even though we've been through this before. "Why can't I help?"

My Dad turns a look on me. "Harley, baby, save it. You know the hospital was different."

"Yeah, but—"

"Mind yer mouth, girl. I said it ain't happenin'."

To soften the blow a little, Glenn adds, "Maybe some other time, you can help, okay? But... not now."

"Not now," Rick agrees. I done asked them so many times to let me help out. I ain't surprised they're brushing me off again. It's what they do whenever Carl does the same thing, but I'on know why. I got two hands. I'm smart. I can help. "No. Harley, you, T, Glenn, Maggie, and Beth can post up along this fence line, draw as many as you can away from me and pop 'em when they get too close."

I suck it up. I got no business arguing with them right now. "Okay. M'sorry."

"That's alright," He placates, before dolling out more instructions to the rest of the group.

Herschel and Carl make for the tower to our left, while Carol and my Dad make for the tower to our right. That leaves Rick standing in front of the main gate, hyping himself up to make a run for the courtyard. It reminds me of the day we crossed that frozen river.

"C'mon, Harley," Glenn grabs my hand, ordering Mouse, "Stay there, boy."

He leads me over to the fence line with the others, where he takes up a position next to me.

"You got your gun?" He checks, as Maggie and Beth start hollering at the walkers behind him.

"Hey, over here!"

"Hey! Hey, come here!"

Nodding, I unholster my small pistol as he holds out his palm to me.

Routinely, I pluck out my hearing aids and hand them over, the silence enveloping me. He stuffs them in his pocket.

'Okay,' He signs, 'Start shooting.'

I click the safety of my pistol off. As I line my sights up with the closest walker on the other side of the fence, I see Rick slipping past the main gate and into the field. If that were me in there, I'd be dodging and weaving 'em just like in a soccer game.

Focus, Harley, I scold myself, pulling the trigger. The lady-walker's cheek explodes onto her shoulder.

When I pull the trigger again, her entire head explodes, limp body collapsing like a sack of sand.

Rick continues making his way up the hill, hauling ass with a slight jog. The walkers around him are dropping like flies. Every chance he almost gets to shoot one down, somebody else does it for him. A crossbow bolt pierces their forehead, a bullet from one of the towers rips through their face, or they're turning their heads, lured the opposite direction as they catch wind of us folk at the fence.

They're pilin' up quickly, now. Quicker than we can shoot 'em down.

It's time to holster my gun, brandishing Merle's knife, instead. Rearing back, I stick the blade into the knee of a walker sidled up to the fence. It wobbles a little, its leg twisting, folding in half under the dead weight. Crouching down, I stab its leaky eye.

Warm, curdled blood spurts up my arm, and it's fucking disgusting, but I pull the blade out and carry on.

Taking down the next walker, I glance up to try and spot Rick. Where is he? Is he alright?

There he is. He's almost there; almost at the gate.

Right then, the ground in front of him is shot to pieces, the pebbles flying all over the place like he's stepped on a mine.

He skids to a stop, looking up at Dad and Carol's tower in scolding. Carol gives a little shrug as she reloads. Whoopsies.

Shaking it off, he finally approaches the gate. He takes the wire in his hands, kicking one of the walkers in the stomach and sending it onto its ass as he drags it closed, hooking some metal clips onto it. Once it's secured, he makes a dash for the closest tower.

He disappears behind the metal door. Thirty seconds later, he appears at the top, waving down to us.

'He made it,' Glenn signs to me, his hands bloodied.

'Are you okay?'

His expression softens. 'I'm okay. Let's finish them off.'

'Let's do it.'

With Rick outta the way, it's easy pickings; shooting ducks in a barrel.

The walkers keep dropping, one by one, sometimes two by two, until there's only one of the bastards left standing.

Everyone holds their fire for a moment, as if we're asking each other, Who wants the honors?

We watch Rick lift his rifle, peering down the scope. It could only be him. We all know that. It takes him only half a second to shoot a bullet into its head, and then its legs give out and it's the last to slump into the grass, leaving the field completely still. We did it.

Glenn hands me back my hearing aids, and the first thing I hear is Carol exclaiming, "Fantastic!"

"Nice work, chicken," Dad praises as they step out of the tower, ruffling my cropped hair.

"I killed five, Daddy," I brag a little bit, sheathing my blade as we make for the main gate. "That's, like, half of ten!"

"I know, I saw. I's thinkin' to myself, 'Is that Jackie Chan Junior down there, or what?'"

"Who the Hell's that?"

Glenn just laughs. "Never mind."

"Are you okay?" Carol asks Lori.

"I haven't felt this good in weeks," She sighs as we enter the field.

Holy shit. I know I said we did, but we actually took the place. We did it. All in the matter of an hour, we went from wasting away on a random highway to having an entire prison yard to ourselves. I chase after Carl as he runs ahead, squealing and holding my arms out, like I want the wind to hug me back. This is more than just cool. This is incredible! It feels like we got the whole world again!

"Oh," Carol laughs from behind us, "We haven't had this much space since we left the farm!"

T-Dog cups his mouth and calls out, "Wuh-hooooooo!"

I copy him, screaming, Wuh-hooooooo!, as I run myself around in circles. "We did it!"

"She's gonna drive herself dizzy," Maggie laughs, "Messin' about like that."

"Let her," Dad says as they walk past me, a hint of a smile in his voice.

"We did it!"

"Mmm," Glenn hums, sucking the meat offa the little bone in his hand. "Just like Mom used to make."

He throws it into the fire, knocking a piece of wood over and sending a flurry of embers floating up into the stars.

It's safe to say I ended up tiring myself out this afternoon. It's strange to be worn out, but not from fighting for my life or because I haven't eaten in days. I'm just a kid who's had too much fun. Sitting next to Carl on an old blanket, I peel off a bit of stringy meat with my teeth and chew it as I gaze out at Rick's small figure in the distance, pacing the courtyard fence line. I ain't sure he had any dinner.

This is it, though. This is the place he was talking about for all them months. It turned out to be real. I wish I could say I never doubted him, but there were some nights I thought we'd be on the run forever. I thought he was just spouting nonsense. There weren't no place for us to live like we wanted to, somewhere for us to call home. The work ain't done yet. We still have to get inside the prison. But with the warm night air sitting around us, and the sky twinkling over our heads, I'm happy to stay like this for just one night, even if Rick ain't. He's been at that fence for what feels like hours. He's like that dog again, sniffing out a bone he can't quite reach, not just yet. I wish he'd rest.

"Tomorrow, we'll put all the bodies together." T-Dog muses, absentmindedly petting Mouse.

I stop watching Rick and remember to swallow my mouthful, going in for another bite.

"Wanna keep them away from the water," He continues. "If we can dig a canal under the fence, we'll have plenty of fresh water."

"The soil is good," Herschel adds. In the light of the fire, I can make out the pinkish burn the sun has left on his face. It reminds me of my own sunburn, but it only stings a little. "We could plant some seed. Grow some tomatoes, soybeans, cucumbers."

"Eugh," Carl mumbles. "Tomatoes..."

Herschel's gaze drifts over to the fence line, then. He seems to remember Rick. "That's his third time around."

Everyone spares the man a glance, but only a glance.

"If there were any part of it compromised, he'd have found it by now."

"This'll be a good place to have the baby," Beth chirps, changing the subject. Rick's always a tricky one. "It's safe."

"The prison or the yard?" Lori jokes, idly cupping her belly. "At this rate, the baby might come tonight."

Wiping the grease from my lips, I muse, "Back in Sharpsburg, my Daddy said ya might let me name the baby."

"Oh, yeah? What would you pick?"

I give a bit of a shrug, taking another bite, 'cause I ain't given it much thought. "Sum' like... Bob."

Glenn humors me, "And if it's a girl?"

"Uhh... Bob...-ette?"

"Sure." T-Dog deadpans, shaking his head and chuckling. "If you want it to hate you for the rest of its life."

I throw my bone into the fire as Lori says, "We'll see."

That's adult language for, Not in a million years.

"Harley?" Carol asks me from across the group. "How's your Dad feeling about being in a place like this?"

I know what she means. A prison.

"I ain't asked him, yet."

She treads carefully when she asks, "It wasn't... It wasn't this prison, right?"

"Nah. He went to Arrendale State Prison." Nobody ever knows where that is, so I add, "It's kinda near Tennessee, I guess."

"Well, at least, there's that," Says T-Dog. "Imagine the world ending, only for you to end up in the same prison again. Woof."

I stick around for a couple more minutes, finishing off some more of the barn owl meat and baked beans, but after a while, I let everyone know I'm gonna go talk to my Dad for a bit. I know if I don't bring him some food, he'll end up going hungry for the night.

"We'll save your spot for you," Glenn tells me, instead of getting up to escort me like he usually does. It's safe here.

Grabbing a bowl of food, I stand from the blanket and cross the field, stepping up to the overturned bus.

I look up. "Uh... Dad?"

His face appears as he leans over the side, meeting my gaze through the dark. "Oh. Hey, babe."

There's a small problem. "How am I gonna get up there?"

"Well, ya climb."

"Oh. Thanks," I mumble, rolling my eyes at that remarkably unhelpful tidbit. I step onto the tyre, grabbing some sort of pipe on the undercarriage, and try to get a good foothold on another piece of metal, but it's too hard. I pull away. "Ugh. Dad. Help."

"I'm only playin'." He chuckles, setting his crossbow aside and laying on his belly. "C'mon. I gotcha."

Reaching down for me, he effortlessly catches me as I jump for his hand, pulling me up next to him.

"There ya go."

"Could'a done that in the first place," I point out, taking a seat by his side. "I brought'cha some dinner."

Bathed in the moonlight, his brow crumples as he frowns, eventually taking the bowl from me. "You ate?"

"Yeah. Makin' sure you get some, too, 'fore T-Dog eats it all."

"Thank you, baby."

"Ya welcome," I shrug, swinging my feet back and forth. "Carol's wonderin' if you're okay, bein' back in a prison and all."

Spooning some food into his mouth, he garbles, "Lady's almost as brown-nosed as Dale was."

"Well... I'm wonderin', too."

Something about my quiet admission gets him to actually answer this time. Swallowing his mouthful, the bump in his throat bobs up and down before he sucks in a big breath and lets it all out again. "I'm fine," He says, "'Sides, we ain't actually inside, yet."

I guess not. "But we will be."

"I said I'm fine, baby." He insists, biting down on a big piece of meat so he can pretend he can't say anything else.

My Dad ain't never talked much about his four and a half years in Arrendale State Prison, but I do know that when he came back, he slept on the porch for nearly a whole month afterwards because he couldn't stand being in his own bedroom. There were a lot of things that were better than they were before he left us. Like how he appreciated every meal, even if it was just a cheese sandwich. How most mornings, I'd wake up to him stroking my hair and just looking at me. But there were a lot of things that were worse. Enough to matter.

I overheard him telling Merle once that the guards used to beat on him extra, because they knew he wouldn't fight back. He had me to get home to. He couldn't afford to fuck up and add more months or years to his sentence. They all used to beat on him.

I don't want Dad to think I see him as a pussy or nothin', so I tell him, "I know. I's just makin' sure."

"I can tell ya what, though," He scoffs, slinging the bone over the fence, "I ain't gon' be sleepin' in no fuckin' cell again."

"I'm sure they got proper bedrooms somewhere in there, right? Like, for the guards?"

Holding back some bitterness, he tells me, "No, chicken. They don't."

"Oh. Well, we can just sleep outside or somethin', then."

"Ain't you been nagging everyone about wantin' a real bed to sleep in?"

Yeah. "But—"

"Well, you're sleepin' inside, then." He decides. "I want'chu to have that."

I want him to have that too, but I ain't gonna win that argument. So, I just agree. "Okay, Daddy. Fine."

"Jesus. We're already hashin' out terms," He jokes, "And we ain't even made it inside the courtyard, yet."

"We're positive thinkers!"

"You definitely are, ya silly monkey." He picks up his crossbow and slings it on, standing up. "C'mon. Let's head back, now."

"Okay. But only 'cause I miss the fire."

He climbs down first and helps me down afterward, catching me and setting me on the grass. We make the walk back together.

"Bethy," Herschel's saying as we approach, "Sing Paddy Reilly for me. I haven't heard that one, I think, since your mother was alive."

Maggie gives him a tense look. "Daddy, not that one. Please."

"Well, uh... How about Partin' Glass?"

My Dad and I sit down on the blanket as Beth shyly protests, "Nobody wants to hear."

"Why not?" Glenn asks, putting on a small smile.

There's no real reason not to, so she gives in. "Okay. Daryl, do you know that one?"

"Yeah." Maggie chirps, some of the sadness that was weighing her face down disappearing. "You can play us through it."

"I can try," He corrects her, before he gets back up and heads over to the cars near the gate, grabbing his guitar from the backseat.

As I notice Carol sending me a questioning look, I feel myself trying not to glare at her. "Don't ask him about it."

Understanding, she nods to herself.

When my Dad returns, he settles the guitar in his lap, looking at Beth.

She only hesitates for a moment or two before she opens her mouth, and the words that come out are some of the prettiest I ever heard. Slowly, my Dad adds a few strokes of the strings here and there, before he starts to get a real feel for it and pieces something real lovely and quaint together, something I think most people wouldn't think he'd ever be able to make, but he's just as gentle with the chords as an artist would be with his canvas and paints. She sings softly about spending her days in good company, memories she can't recall.

T-Dog lays with his arm resting under his head, gazing up at the stars as the melody flows over him.

Lori and Carl sway side to side, Maggie fondly watching her sister as she holds Glenn's hand.

She joins in singing at the passing of the next lyric, and it's obvious they prolly used to do this a lot when they were my age.

Herschel looks into the fire, a picture of peace.

It even lures Rick over from the fence line after a minute or so. He sneaks in while nobody has the opportunity to make a comment about how long he's been over there, sitting next to me and Carl. I pass him some leftovers, too, before he can weasel his way out of it.

"Thanks, honey," He hesitates to say as he takes the bowl, despite himself.

"Good night and joy," The girls duet, "Be with you all. Good night and joy... Be with you all."

Dad strums a chord one last time, finishing the song off.

"Beautiful," Herschel decides.

He sets the guitar on the ground, sending me a fleeting smile.

"Better all turn in," Rick clears his throat, reminding me of where we are. "I'll take first watch. We got a big day tomorrow."

Glenn frowns, "What do you mean?"

"Look, I know getting to this point has been a lotta work," He sighs, looking from one person to the next, studying the exhaustion on their faces. "This was a great win, but we've gotta push just a little bit more. Most of the walkers are dressed as guards and prisoners. It looks like this place fell pretty early. It could mean the supplies are intact. They'd have an infirmary. A kitchen. Commissary."

T-Dog jumps in, asking, "An armory?"

"There'll be one nearby," Dad guesses. "Can't risk havin' it inside, 'case a riot breaks out and some John Doe thinks he's Rambo."

"Makes sense."

"This place could be a gold mine," Rick exclaims.

I can tell he ain't got nobody on the hook with this idea, except maybe Dad, and me. Sure, I'm tired. I'm only eight but I could sleep for the rest of my life. That don't mean I ain't eager as all Hell to see what else this place has for us. Hell, I'd do it tonight.

Herschel is the first to speak up. "We're dangerously low on ammo. We wouldn't even make a dent."

"That's why we have to go in there," He says like it's obvious. "Hand to hand."

Alright. He really weren't kiddin', then. Tomorrow is a big day. Even bigger than this one.

"After all we been through... We can handle it."

Early the next morning, I notice slight movement from across the fire as I'm poking at a tin of leftover beans with a stick.

Carl lifts his head from the blanket, blinking away sleep like a dazed frog. It looks like a coyote came along during the night and got into a brawl with his hair, but I know it's just 'cause he had a good night's rest under the stars, feeling safe. There's nothing like it.

Clicking my fingers at him, I draw his attention.

'Want some breakfast?,' I sign, knowing my hair prolly looks just as messy, even if it's barely longer than his.

Yawning, he stands from the blanket and comes to sit next to me in the grass.

'You kicked me again,' I tell him while we wait for the beans to warm up, the smell of smoke and fresh dirt on the breeze.

'I did?,' He frowns.

'Yeah. In your sleep. I think you broke a bone.'

'That sucks. Put in your—.' He gestures to his ear.

Keeping a little scepticism, I dig into my backpack and fit my hearing aids in.

"What is it?"

"Drama queen," He enjoys saying very loudly into my left ear.

Startled, I smack him away. Ugh. Walked right into that one. "Seriously? You ain't gettin' a single bean, anymore."

He just giggles to himself, sitting back on his palms. He thinks he's a real comedian.

Apparently, by this time tomorrow, we'll all be sat up in one of them cell blocks together, living the life. Looking at the buildings now, I take notice of the giant letters painted onto the sides of the cement walls, the shambling masses of walkers on the ground, unaware of the birds on the fence watching them with stalking eyes, waiting for one to succumb to its weight. I can only imagine what's on the inside.

I'm reminded of Carl when he suddenly contemplates aloud, "Man. I hope it won't be like the CDC."

Turning to look at him, my heart gives a little kick. The CDC? What's he mean?

"Or the farm," He adds, but I'm sure it's not an afterthought.

"It won't be," I say almost forcefully, offended he'd even think that way. "Don't say that, Carl."

"Sorry," He mutters regretfully as he sits upright, resting his elbows on his knees. "You're right. Forget I said that."

I know I should prolly take a page outta my Dad's book at this moment. Whenever there's uncertainty ahead of us, or somethin' awful has happened, he don't spout some empty promise. There might come a day where he's made himself a liar. Instead, he says something like, We'll try our best, or, There's nothin' more we can do. I always find the insignificance comforting. I know as sure as I do that the sun's gonna come up tomorrow, he's telling the truth. You can't be let down when you're dreaming in the dirt to begin with.

I don't think I can bring myself to say them things right now, not after everything we did to get here.

Besides, I'm in the dirt no matter what I say.

"None of that matters." I try and convince him. "Everything's gonna be like we hoped. This is our second chance."

"Third chance," He corrects. "Technically."

"Whatever. Even better. Third time's the charm, ya know."

He turns a suspicious look on me, like I've just done something bizarre. "You're being, like... positive."

"I'm a positive thinker," I tell him, just like I told my Dad last night.

"Since when?"

"Um... Since yesterday. I think."

That makes him giggle. "Okay. But, you need to say something negative. It's weird when you don't."

Obliging, I drawl, "You's a sour-faced scaredy cat, Carl, and I'on like the way you think. Makes me wanna punch yer lights out."

He can't help but let out a snort-laugh. "Thanks."

"Ya welcome." I watch him as he gazes out at the prison buildings for a moment, before I ask, "You believe me, right?"

He glances at me. "Do you believe you?"

I was kinda hoping he would answer first. "Well... Yeah."

"I do, too, then." He says, much to my relief. "Even if you did sound like my Dad just now."

"Who the Hell's burnin' beans this early in the morning?"

Our heads whip in the direction of my Dad's voice. He's sitting up, rubbing at the pink indentations of grass on his neck. Oh, right. The beans. Grabbing the stick, I poke the tin outta the way of the smouldering ash and blow the thin smoke away from it.

It clears, revealing the perfectly saucy, not-burnt beans. The smell draws Mouse from his slumber.

"Uh. Nobody," I quip. "Want some?"

"Nah, babe," He groans, scratching the dog behind his ears. "You have 'em."

"What about me? Do I get some?" Carl asks as I grab a spoon. "I'm sorry I scared you before."

I don't hesitate to pick up a second one, handing it to him. "I'on care. Here."

"Thanks."

Dad frowns at him. "You scared her?"

"Oh, uh. Yeah." The boy admits, sensing he might be in trouble. "I kinda shouted in her ear. It was dumb."

"Ease up on that shit a little," He chides. "And don't let me catch you doin' it."

"Sorry, Daryl."

"I'on care," I reassure Carl again, spooning beans into my mouth. My Dad's just protective. Sometimes, it can feel like I'm less of a daughter and more of a pet, but he's always been like that. Especially after I lost my hearing, and especially when he's stressed.

After everybody else has woken up and the beans are long gone, Rick announces, "Let's do this, then."

The courtyard is just as much a massacre as the field was.

The birds perched onto the fence fly off as soon as the first blood is spilled.

I drive Merle's knife into the walker's rubbery kneecap, twisting it around the bone, feeling some sorta crack, and finishing it off with a stab to the brain when it falls against the fence. Pulling the blade out from between the pink mush and browned skull, I watch them who's inside the courtyard make their way across it in a tight formation, lashing out at any walkers that get too close.

When they make it to the undercover area, all five of them skid to a stop.

They back themselves up against the wall, hiding from the sea of walkers just around the corner.

As they linger there, a couple sets of body armour stumble out from behind a dumpster. Wait, not armour. Walkers wearing armour. The only way to tell are the fingers poking out from under the sleeves, their arms raising as Dad tries shooting a visor.

The bolt ricochets off the plastic, landing somewhere in the piles of trash.

"Hey! Walkers!" Beth shouts, rattling the fence. "Over here! C'mon!"

"Over here!"

"Hey, ugly!" I shout at the walker closest to me, luring it in and stabbing it in the soft part of its knee.

When it falls over, Carl deals the finishing blow with his lead pipe.

"Thanks," I lilt, breathless.

The group realizes they ain't gettin' through that armour. In good old, Hand to hand, fashion, as Rick called it, they start charging at them. My Dad wrestles one up against the wall, grabbing its helmet and ripping it off, rearing back, bludgeoning it into the walker's face until it turns to mush, drops to the ground. Glenn slashes another's neck in two, kicking it away from him in a spray of blood.

When the opportunity strikes, Rick runs for the far gate, pulling it shut and securing it with more clips.

Maggie struggles to keep a big brute offa her, before she drives her knife up its nose.

The walker's blood freckles her face as it falls.

She's completely beaming. "See that?!"

Glenn and T only have a few seconds to be impressed, turning to hack down the next walker that approaches them.

Then, finally, the courtyard falls still.

Letting out a sigh, I sheathe my knife and grip onto the fence, watching the group talk amongst themselves in the wake of all the bodies. They point to a few of them, shake their heads some. I expect them to reconvene with us, but instead, they walk off.

"What's going on?" Lori wonders, as Rick and my Dad very carefully open the door to one of the cell blocks.

After a tense moment, they all creep inside, weapons drawn.

"They would only go in there if they thought it was safe," Herschel reassures us all. "We just have to trust them, and wait."

Carol glances at me and Carl. "You kids okay?"

"Don't worry about me," The boy says, while I just give a simple nod.

The next time the big, red door opens, Maggie appears and jogs over to us, pulling the clips off our gate.

"C'mon, y'all." She drags it open, that beautiful smile still plastered on her sweaty face. "Let's go get our things."

Her Dad asks, "You cleared it?"

She's already halfway down the hill, grinning at us over her shoulder. "We sure did!"

Wearing my backpack and clutching my soccer ball to my stomach, I follow everyone into the cellblock.

The dark, damp-smelling corridor stretches on for a while, lazily opening up to a huge, even damper-smelling room. I come to a stop with everyone else on the concrete platform, peering up at the sickeningly tall ceiling. Bands of sunlight drain in through the barred windows all the way at the top, too far outta reach for me to catch a glimpse of any of the greenery I know is on the other side.

"Nice, right?" Maggie smiles, right before a dead walker body falls from the second storey railing. Eugh.

It lands with a splat, T-Dog taking its ankles into his hands to drag it away.

Definitely no Buckingham Palace, alright, but like I said — Compared to being on the road, it might as well be. 

We continue on into the cell hall, taking it all in as Rick plods down the rusty stairs. "So. What do you think?"

"Home sweet home," Glenn muses.

"Home sweet home," He agrees, stepping onto ground level.

"I love it," I exclaim.

He laughs, his face covered in grime and sweat, but happy; very happy. "I knew you would."

Lori wonders aloud, "It's secure?"

"This cell block is."

Still eager to find out more, I ask him, "What about the rest of the prison, Rick?"

"We'll find the cafeteria and the infirmary in a few hours," He nods, hands on his hips. "Gotta clear the bodies from here, first."

Okay. "Can I choose a cell?"

"Sure, go ahead. S'all yours."

A girly sigh. "We're sleeping in cells—...?"

Behind me, Beth sounds disappointed with the idea, but I don't mind. When ya think about it, a cell is just a bedroom with a funny door. I step into the first one I come across that don't got any walker bodies laying up in it, and sit down on the bare mattress, bouncing on it a little. A smile creeps onto my face. A bed. A real bed. Mouse jumps up next to me, seeming just as pleased with this discovery.

"We did it, Mouse," I mutter happily, setting my things down on the bedside tray. "It's home sweet home."

"Knock, knock," Beth sing-songs, as Carl peeps out from behind her. "Wanna bunk together?"

Nodding straight away, I gasp, "Together-together? All three of us?"

Mouse stares at me with that sweet, empty-brained look of his.

"The four of us, I mean?"

"It'll be like a sleepover." She smiles, placing her blankets on the bed. "One of us will have to take the floor, though."

"I can do it," Carl offers, tryna play the gentleman. Gross. Before Beth can protest, he's scurrying away to grab another mattress.

"You want the top bunk or the bottom bunk, Harley?"

"I want the top bunk," I decide, pulling my blanket outta my backpack and climbing the ladder. Crawling onto the cold mattress, I splay the blanket out and give the limp pillow a few punches and a hearty shake, in an effort to fluff it out a little bit. "Perfect."

Underneath me, Beth exclaims to herself as she sits down, "It's actually— It's actually comfortable."

"Got one," Carl announces as he walks back in, stumbling around with a mattress in his grasp.

"Can you even see around that thing?" I tease.

"Yep," Without much care, he dumps the thing on the ground, proudly dusting his hands off on his hips. "There."

Rick saunters up to the door then, leaning against it as he smirks at us. "What are you guys doin'?"

"This is our cell," I chirp.

He shakes his head. "You kids are ridiculous. Don't you want your own space?"

"Nope," All three of us answer at the same time.

"Let me know how long that lasts," He drawls, looking the cell up and down.

Hopping down from my bunk, I follow him outta the room and climb up the stairs, finding my Dad at the top. He's got two mattresses laying on the floor of the perch, his blanket splayed out across the both of them, crossbow leaning against the wall.

"You find a cell, yet, chicken?" He groans as he reclines on the makeshift bed, tryna get comfortable.

I kneel down beside him. "Yeah, I'm sharin' with Beth and Carl."

"All three of ya?" He quirks a brow. "How's that workin'?"

"Carl's on the floor," I try not to laugh. "It's a bit like the CDC, ain't it? When we first got there?"

"The CDC? Ain't like there's air-conditioning or hot water in this joint," He scoffs. "I ain't so sure."

"There ain't no bombs, neither, so I'll take it." I move to lay down next to him. We both stare up at the ceiling, even though there's nothin' up there, except for a few mishappen stains and scratches, like constellations. "Carl says it's like the CDC, too."

"Did he?"

"And the farm," I add, knocking my boots together. "But not 'cause of the air-con. 'Cause of... everythin' else."

S'true. I lied to Carl, when I pretended everything was gonna be fine. I might got a dirty mouth, but I try not to make a habit of dirtying it with anythin' other than a few swear words, especially not a lie. Third time's the charm. I'on even know what that means.

He turns his head to look at me, frowning the slightest bit through his hair. "You was so excited just yesterday?"

"I know. I still am," I admit, "But—..."

He waits a while for me to continue, but I just end up shrugging. The words are anchored down somewhere, won't come out.

Dad must get my meaning, though. "Harley, there's a whole world out there. If this don't work out, there'll be somewhere else."

"But I like it here."

"I know ya do. You can keep likin' it, too," He pinches my arm, "If ya stop thinkin' about what might happen to it."

"What is gonna happen to it?"

That's a question nobody ever has the answer to, but everybody's always asking it. "I don't know, baby. Maybe nothin'."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

I like that idea. Nothin' happening, ever, except for the sun rising and setting. "That's a lotta time to grow soybeans."

"Huh?"

"Soybeans," I repeat, smiling. "Herschel said last night he wants to grow some. Tomatoes and cucumbers, too."

"There ya go, then. Just think about them."

"Nah. I'll just get hungry."

My Dad sighs for a moment, studying the ceiling, before he props himself up on his elbows. "I'mma get some fresh air for a bit."

"What?"

"Ya heard," He dismisses me, mumbling something to himself as he scoots off the mattress, something about suffocating.

He's only been in here all of five minutes. I watch him pull on his leather vest, grabbing his crossbow and slinging it over his shoulder, very obviously trying not to look at any of the walls around us for too long. I ain't sure how he's gonna make it through the night in here, if he can't even make it through an hour of housewarming, but there's nothing I can do besides keep my mouth shut.

As he plods down the squeaky staircase, somebody else climbs up it, bumping his shoulder.

"You alright, man?" Glenn frowns, hesitating on the next stair up. "Where you going?"

"Outside," He pointedly replies, not looking back.

"Well, I can see that."

"I'm just gonna trail 'round the perimeter for a while."

We listen to his heavy footsteps retreat, retreat, retreat, and then the loud clanging of the metal gate.

After sharing a sympathetic look with me, Glenn continues on without a word, leaving me to get up and retreat back into my cell.

End notes.

I'm so excited for this season! I set aside some time to plan it all out in my notes and I had a lot of fun doing it. It reminded me of the times I was brainstorming for season one.

I hope you enjoyed this introduction to the new season!

Kindly let me know what you thought! See you next time :)

[crappymixtape]

touch me, babe

REQUEST → 500 follower celebration, @steveharringtonscarkeys • personal prompt: 🧡 with stevie boy :) a couple details consist of; i'm a ginger w/ curly hair, am really into 70's music and play electric guitar! | ( 3.1k – sprinkles of fluff, mostly smut, friends to lovers, steve x reader )

T O U C H M E, B A B E 🎶 i can't get my head around you, billie marten

Come on, come on, come on. Now touch me, babe. What was that promise that you made? Why won't you tell me what she said?

Scratchy, electric riffs buzzed through the thick, stormy summer air. Catching on the too-hot breeze that blew in through Steve’s open window. Carrying like they always did out your open garage door and tangling up with your voice as it wrapped around each note.

Steve thought Jim Morrison didn’t have shit on you.

Swinging a leg out over the window ledge he leaned back against the wood frame and let the sound wash over him. Plucked guitar strings, static rubbing against the lyrics, tractors pulling discs through the field over the fence and the constant hum of his pool filter. Clouds stretched across the wide, darkening expanse of the Indiana sky, towering high overhead and threatening rain.

A sliver of warm light fell out onto the street from the fringe lamp he knew was sitting next to your amp on the floor. He could picture your fingers pressing and sliding up and down the fret board. Cherry red guitar held tight against your body. Messy, strawberry curls falling loose from the tie you’d twisted them up into.

A car sped past and cut through the beam of gold, making it flicker against the pavement, and Steve felt the tiny embers in his chest catch fire as you reached the chorus.

Now, I’m going to love you ‘til the heavens stop the rain. I'm going to love you ‘til the stars fall from the sky, for you and I.

He pictured your lips pressed against the mic, body swaying along with the music, the long sweep of your lashes fanning out across your cheeks as you closed your eyes during the parts you really felt. The parts you loved to sing most.

Come on, come on, come on. Now touch me, babe. What was that promise that you made? Why won't you tell me what she said?

Steve bit the inside of his cheek between his teeth.

Debating.

The embers in his chest licking at his ribs.

What are you waiting for?

Pushing himself off the ledge he ducked back into his room and ran down the stairs taking them by twos. The dirty Blazers on his feet slapping against the concrete as he jogged out the door onto his walkway and across the street.

To you.

Now, I’m going to love you ‘til the heavens stop the rain. I'm going to love you ‘til the stars fall from the sky, for you and I.

The chorus flung you out into the ether like it always did. Consumed you. Each word sung as if you were performing for a crowd of thousands and not in your messy garage.

Your fingers had a mind of their own as they danced along the strings of your guitar, hitting each chord effortlessly and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips as the song reached its crescendo. Your favorite part. Building and swelling and pushing at the edges until you hit the last note.

Stronger than dirt.

Stepping back from the mic you shook loose curls out of your face and leaned down to toss the stereo chord out of your way when a sharp sound pulled your gaze up.

“Steve?”

Hair swept messy and stuck across his forehead in the humidity, he had that stupid smile on his face. The one that made everything go hazy and he was clapping.

“Shut up,” you teased, grinning, all play and no heat, and he smirked right back.

“What? You make Morrison sound like shit.”

Your mouth dropped open, mock offense as you pulled your guitar up over your head and set it on the stand.

“Steven, that’s blasphemy.”

“Not if it’s true,” he shrugged his shoulders, stepping into the garage where the breeze couldn’t reach and the air shifted. Pressed into him. Charged. Electric like your cherry red guitar.

“What’re you doing anyway,” you said, more a statement than a question, looked over at him through the ginger curls that kept falling down into your face and the grin on his lips fell a little. The way your eyes met his caught him off guard and all of a sudden he was a little unsure.

What was he doing?

Clearing his throat he carded a hand through his hair and shrugged again, “Dunno. Heard you playing and thought I’d come over.”

“Oh,” you said softly, smiling a little at the way his nerves peeked through. All bravado and confidence and King Steve swept away by time and experience and, if he was being honest, you.

His eyes widened a bit at your reply and he quickly thumbed over his shoulder, “Uh–I could go if–”

“–no, stay,” you cut him off, took a step forward and grabbed his hand.

Steve looked down at where your palms were suddenly pressed together and then you felt the air shift too. The heat of summer, the faded scent of Steve’s cologne, fresh laundry and spearmint and boy and you bit your lip between your teeth.

Your best friend. The one who told you, you were better than Jim Morrison. The one who’d come listen to you play even if it was pouring down rain, even if your garage was as hot as an oven, even if you didn’t feel like playing and maybe it was the heat or maybe it was the way Steve was looking at you, but you wanted – no needed – him to stay.

“Please stay?” you asked again, quieter this time and Steve swallowed thick. Jaw ticking as he pressed his teeth together. Worked to muster up the courage to finally just do what he knew you both wanted and took a step closer, pressed the toes of his dirty, beat up old Blazers into your black Chucks.

“Okay,” he half-whispered, lashes sweeping across his cheeks as he blinked heavy and took you in.

Strawberry blonde and freckles. Sweet like cherries and soft like rain. Curls that framed your face so perfectly he was set to fail the moment he laid eyes on you and his brows furrowed together the longer he looked, almost as if in pain, and he shook his head in disbelief.

”So fuckin’ pretty,” he couldn’t help it now, felt like he was being pulled into your orbit, lifted a hand to your cheek and let out a small sigh. “Can I–can I kiss you?” it was shy, tentative and unsure and it made the heat in your chest glow and flicker to life.

Even if you wanted to say something back you couldn’t and instead let your fingers tangle into the fabric of his shirt, pulled him down into you and pressed your lips to his.

It was a soft thing, tentative and searching and new and you could feel him smile against you. Like letting loose a held breath. Like plunging into the pool in the heat of summer. Lost and tumbling through time and space until he slowly pulled away, big brown eyes taking you in. But his smile faded the longer he looked and the little pinch reappeared between his brows. Like he was trying to work through it all and he bit at the inside of his cheek, kicking himself for stopping.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked quietly, out of character and far from smug, a silly question with even sillier timing and you felt your cheeks flush as you laughed softly.

“You never asked,” you answered simply and he gave you a lopsided smile.

“I wanted to, for the record,” he insisted and it made you laugh again, louder this time and you took his face in his hands.

“And my answer still would’ve been yes, for the record,” your tone was teasing, but as your eyes searched his, he knew you were far from it and it made him grin like an idiot.

“Yeah? Can’t say no to this face, huh?”

“Oh my god,” you laughed through a groan and sighed, “You can be smug all you want, Harrington, but you have horrible timing.”

That made him chuckle, but it was a sheepish thing and his cheeks were hot as he cleared his throat, a sorry mumbled into the air between you and it made you press your hand back to his chest.

“S’okay,” you murmured back, the tease in your tone fizzling out at the way Steve’s hand was pressed into your hip. The way his breath warmed over your cheek. They way his cologne made you feel hazy and when he lifted a hand to slip his fingers through your curls it made your breath catch your throat.

He held your head in his hand and blinked heavy, looked at you through the long sweep of his lashes and leaned down again all slow, but this time when he kissed you it was full of heat. Curiosity giving way to something more urgent, something needy and you felt yourself giving in.

He held tight to your waist, pressed his fingers into you and pulled you in close, your hips bumping together as he walked you back against the wall of the garage. Stumbling over your stereo chord, Steve’s hand squeezed at you, kept you steady and you both couldn’t help laughing a little.

“Would’ve played Morrison sooner if I’d known you’d like it that much,” your tone teasing again and Steve chuckled, a low rumble that made your stomach flip over.

“Yeah, well–” pulling back he looked down at you, smile lopsided, all boy, lips pink and breaths falling a little faster, “–don’t know til you try it I guess.”

He was so fucking pretty. Even in the stuffy, thick air that had settled in the garage. Especially with the way his hair was stuck messy across his forehead. Skin dewy, tanned and dotted in new freckles and moles, washed in gold from the sun. His eyes glittered dark in the dim light from your lamp, whiskey and amber and warm honey, and the absence of his mouth on you struck you sharply.

“Steve…” came out, an almost a whine, pleading and his eyes closed. Let your voice settle in his chest. The way you said his name. Pouring into his ears and filling him up until it spilled over at the edges. He was done for.

Leaning into you again he pressed his lips to the shell of your ear, “Tell me.”

A clap of thunder overhead made the windows in the garage shake, lightning slicing the sky in two and it began to rain. Slow at first then faster still, dropping heavy on the roof overhead and drowning out your reply, so you took his hand instead and ran it down your body.

Over the swell of your chest, the dip of your waist, the plush of your thighs, slower and slower until you stopped. Settled it between your legs and looked up at him, needy and wanting, and he swore softly under his breath. Swallowed thick. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat at what you were silently telling him, his tongue running along his bottom lip in a rare show of nerves.

“Please,” you asked and he let out a strangled sound, did as you asked and dipped back down to press kisses along your jaw. Open mouthed and teeth feather light when he reached your neck and it burned the way he felt on you, pulling pretty sounds from your throat and making the ache in his jeans unbearable.

The hand he had at the seam of your legs moved up with ease to the button on your shorts, popped it open and pulled the zipper down. Slowly running his fingers along the lace trim on your panties he felt each of the tiny embroidered flowers there. Pinks and lilacs and buttercup yellows. Soft and sweet. The pad of his thumb bumping over them as he slipped his hand down lower and lower until he could feel just how much you needed him and he groaned at how wet you were, an almost pained sound, and his eyes squeezed shut.

“Christ, baby.”

Baby.

“You okay?” he asked through gritted teeth and you could barely hear him over the rain on the metal roof, so you looped an arm over his shoulder to pull him down into you.

“M’okay,” you murmured into his ear and he loosed the breath he’d been holding, the feeling of it warming over the exposed skin on your shoulder.

Bringing his lips back to your neck he dragged them along your collarbone, the swell of your breasts sucked pretty little marks on your skin and pulled your panties aside. Fingers slipping in your slick there he drew slow, lazy circles over your clit and god it made your breath catch in your throat.

“Sh-shit,” you hissed, keening high, frustrated little sounds falling from your lips as you pressed up onto your toes to reach him better, your legs starting to tremble and he tutted.

“No, no no,” and pulling his hand away you made a noise of protest, but then he was wrapping his hands behind your thighs and lifting you from the ground, “Shh, I got you, baby.”

Walking you across the garage he set you atop the work bench, lifted a hand to push strawberry curls out of your eyes as the rain fell impossibly harder above you. Rubbing like static against your ear drums and when you finally looked up Steve was kneeling between your legs. Looping his fingers into the belt loops on your shorts and lifting his brows in question.

“Lemme take care of you, hm?” he asked over the rain, “Can I do that, baby?”

And all you wanted then was the feeling of him between your legs again. Yes, yes, yes, spilled from your mouth and he tugged at your shorts, eased them down along with your panties over your knees and off onto the floor. Hooked his hands big and wide behind the crook of your legs and pulled you closer to the edge of the table.

Mouth pink and kiss bitten he licked over his bottom lip, anticipating how you’d taste, and slowly spread your legs open. Trailed his fingers back through your folds and pulled away. Swallowed hard at how they glistened with you in the low lamplight and looked up at you, pupils blown wide. All amber and warm honey.

“Oh baby. Baby. Gonna make you feel good, honey,” he babbled, kneeled forward and pulled you even closer so that the tip of his nose brushed against your tummy. Pressed kisses to your thighs, held tight to your leg and brought his hand back to your pussy. Spread your lips with his fingers and ran his tongue flat and wide through you and the pretty moan it pulled from you made his heart stutter.

“More, need you,” you were begging now, wiggling your hips on the table and he didn’t make you ask again, dipped back down into you and lapped at you with his tongue, made you see stars. Licking and sucking like a man starved and when you bucked up against his face he pressed kisses against you.

“What d’you want, princess, tell me.”

“Your fingers, Steve, please.”

And as he took his hand away from your cunt you nearly cried, but then he was sucking on his fingers. Wrapping his lips around them and making the coil in your stomach wind even tighter as you watched him drag them from his mouth with a pop and it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe as he pressed his fingers back up against your entrance and slowly slipped them into you. The middle one first, in and out, in and out, warming you up before adding the second one and god the stretch you felt was so fucking perfect.

“Yes, oh shi–” you sucked in a breath as he set the pace, slow and heated, “–just like that.”

His fingers were so much longer than yours, pressing into the spot you couldn’t reach on your own, and when he put his mouth back on you it pulled a filthy moan from your lips. It was almost too much. His tongue flicking at your clit while his hand worked you up, wound you tight, tugged you closer and closer until your breaths grew shallow and you tangled your fingers into his hair.

When you pulled at the ends he hummed, the feeling vibrating against you as he picked up the pace and filled the garage with the sound of his fingers working into you.

Huh, huh, huh, you weren’t capable of words, instead letting out a sob with each thrust.

“S-so close, oh my god,” you were gasping, “Faster, Steve.”

And he took his mouth away from you, replaced it with his thumb on your clit, slipped it in messy circles as his fingers fucked you faster.

“C’mon, baby, come for me. So good for me,” words of praise fell from his lips, warm like honey and saccharine sweet and you finally felt the coil in your stomach snap.

“Oh shi-shit, oh fuck,” you gasped for breath, back arching perfectly with Steve’s fingers still deep inside you and he’d never seen anything so pretty in all his life. As he slowed he eased you down, gently pulled his hand away from you and let you fall forward into his arms, legs shaky from the effort.

“Doin’ okay?” he asked, softly teasing and grinning into your neck where he’d pressed his face to kiss at the skin there.

“Shut up,” you laughed, still breathless, pinching at his sides and it pulled a laugh from him too.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, still nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“Mmhm,” you murmured, exhaustion slowly wrapping around your body.

“Think you’re perfect,” he said, pulling away just enough to catch your sleepy gaze and it made your heart skip a beat. Made your lips tug up into a small little smile. Made you shake your head and mumble in protest, but he tutted them away, “M’serious.”

“You also think I’m better than Morrison and everyone knows that’s shit,” you teased and he squeezed at you, pressing kisses to the top of your head, your ear, your cheek.

“Well then I’m shit,” he confessed, softening, kissing at your lips all sweet and holding you tight to his chest, “But I don’t care. Long as I have you.”

And god, did he have you.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist

[oliverreedmasterass]

Oakland SCWT Recap:

My cousin said the instrumental music they play at the start of the show made him feel like he was waiting in line to go on a Disneyland ride and he’s so right

After The Falling Sky Josh was like “I hope we passed the audition” (nice Beatles nod there dude)

Josh introduced Lover, Leaver by saying “We’re gonna do a harder one now, just pure sex” and then Jake tore into the opening notes

Sam and Josh had their dawgs OUT for basically the whole show

Sam kept trying to tune his bass while playing his solo on Lover, Leaver and Jake and Josh were off to the side of the stage, pointing and low key laughing at him

I think Josh might have been held up backstage when he left during the Lover, Leaver jam session because he was singing along while offstage

Danny was having a field day spinning his drum sticks around, standing up behind his kit, and sticking his tongue out

Jake for the most part stayed off the catwalk…I think he’s still scarred from the amp

Josh stopped mid-monologue to tell a fan in the pit that he loved them, and he grabbed a necklace from someone and put it on in the middle of a song

Jake did the Rockin Robin riff and we got Rhapsody in Blue from Sam and Danny before Light My Love!! They also did their finger wiggle thing at each other when Danny came back on stage for the encore

Jake also played a bit of Norwegian Wood before Meeting The Master and I almost died

Danny’s solo went HARD and everyone chanted “DANNY! DANNY! DANNY!” When he finished, he pretended to shoot an arrow over to the b stage where Sam and Josh were applauding him. Josh mentioned that was the first time they got the timing right on that one

Sam and Josh chugged tequila on the b stage

Josh introduced Jake as a rock n’ roll Sherpa again before The Archer

Jake was literally on fire playing the guitar. Oh, and the stage caught on fire again - a stage hand had to come out with a fire extinguisher

Also god with that long tail on his coat, he was leaning a little bit too close to those flames during The Archer…I was so stressed out

Josh needed someone to carry his train behind him when he re-entered the stage for Sacred the Thread

Jake got really into his solo during Farewell For Now and had to book it back to Josh at center stage to sing the harmonies

Danny was singing along and mimicking Josh for holding out the last line of Farewell For Now

Someone in the pit had a sign that said Resurrect Oliver Fucking Reed and I love them

I’m pretty sure Sam and Josh pretended to either fence or play badminton or something on stage after their last song, and Danny did a pretty impressive golf swing. Jake tried to chuck a pick into the stands on the right side, waved, and then took off

That’s all I can remember right now but GOD they put on a hell of a show!!!

[monsieuroverlord]

NYX #1 Thoughts:

It was alright, very Kamala/Ms. Marvel and Sophie-focused. It was a decent set up of the premise, and I'll keep an eye on it.

Spoilers:

The Krakoan is Julian Keller/Hellion as everyone called it. Just in case anyone missed the leaks on Twitter.

Him and the rest of Cuckoos are apparently working with Empath, and the current implication is that he may be amping up and/or twisting their post-Krakoa emotions.

Anole, we didn't see much of, other than he's a bartender now.

Not only is David teaching, but he's also a tenure-track professor.

As someone who works for an American university, I'd be so curious to see how that happened. I mean, at least for the department I work for (very research-heavy stem field), its a LOT to negotiate tenure-track, even with years of experience and a Ph.D. Its like a 3-4 day marathon of presentations, wining-and-dining, meetings after meetings, tours, and a red-eye flight back home. You basically gotta meet everyone in our department and not only show that you know what you're talking about, but also that you won't be an asshole to the established professors (I know this, because I'm the one assisting in organizing everything and making sure the right faculty shows up on time to give a lab tour to the applicant, lol)

I think in some areas, you can get away with an M.S. degree for tenure, but in most cases, its Ph.D.

And that doesn't even mean you are guaranteed to get tenure. There's a whole other review process for that.

Anyway, Sophie is right to call it out here. It does kinda feel like a hand-out. I wonder if that will come into play later?

I'd like to see David's point of view first, though. Maybe there's a secret plot where some of the faculty are evil and its an anti-mutant trap to lure him into a false sense of security. But he's too smart for that and plays them. I don't know.

Or maybe he got his P.h.D. That'd be dope.

I don't trust David's new boyfriend. He hasn't said much yet, but I don't trust him.

This issue is heavily focused on Kamala's point of view, and strongly features Sophie as well. It makes sense, as Kamala is the "newer mutant" in a sense, and serves well to introduce the reader to the setting and potentional storylines to follow.

Sophie and Kamala also have a budding friendship, and I think it's very cute.

I think the next issue at least is supposed to shift to Laura's point of view.

We also don't see too much of Laura, and she didn't appear to be in the college class? Maybe she joins later, or is a guest speaker, I don't know. OR maybe she's going undercover?!?!

We did get this pretty image on the opening page:

Laura only runs into Kamala while she's investigating a mutant terrorist attack.

I love her new look so much. It's very fashionable and actually makes her look distinct from Logan while she's still clearly a Wolverine. Props to the designer.

And now Marvel needs to free Akihiro from Hellverine psuedo-death-ressurection and give him a unique outfit and/or codename too. Thank you.

Laura really only says this though:

I don't know how I feel about her characterization here. I mean, its not the worst thing, but it lacks context for me.

I mean, what is Laura doing? Where is Gabby? Is Akihiro still dead and she's surly with grief? (because Hellverine hasn't finished yet and we don't know how that will end) Does she feel like she has to pick up the pieces and play hero because Logan fucked off to the Canadian Wilderness again?

I have many questions about my girl and her general well-being.

In general, I'm currently on the fence about her characterization. It could go either way.

I suppose we'll have to wait until next issue ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In summary, it was a decent set-up. I read the X-Men Monday interview, so there was nothing that surprised me. Art is very good.

Also, this is me being a grumpy old bastard, but I hate the QR code pages they're doing now. Just print the damn page. I tried the scanner on both my phone and tablet, and it kept redirecting me to a broken link and I get a "500 Internal Error" message. I have no idea what that page is about. I personally don't like this concept of secret QR code pages and is irritating.

For digital reading, its more okay, but I also buy physical copies. I don't want to have to whip out my phone and/or tablet just for a gimmick to get the full issue. And who knows if the website eventually goes defunt years from now and then the QR codes are rendered useless. Then what?

[v1ralkn1ght]

Minecraft Log Chapter 3: Finally completed a house for once in my life

Let's start this log off with me finally showing off that house from Chapter 1, now that it's finished! No more rain for me, and just in time because surprise, I lied, this is still me complaining about Apotheosis.

Oh, no, the consequences of my actions.

See, even vanilla MC has a scaling difficulty in mob spawns as you stay in one place. Lot of Youtubers don't really get a chance to show this in any way, because it'd make them look bad if they hadn't dealt with the problem ahead of time, but it exists. And of course, our Favorite Mod of Destruction amps this up with its boss mob spawning. The lightning that summons them was only like once a night, with them despawning real damn fast early on, but now I get about three or four in rapid succession and if it's a zombie (and it usually is) it can see me from double the usual range and will just relentlessly stalk me.

So, uh... the house I've finally finished is great. Doors seem to still make them lose where you are, thank god, and it just looks nice. :)

This is the formerly crappy cellar from Chapter 1, now way better now that I've replaced the main body with actual stone brick. Columns from the Builder's Addons mod and a hanging lantern from Macaw's lights help a ton, and I adore both these mods! Once I actually use them in a significant way, I'll be sure to show y'all.

More importantly, I've marked some stuff down. See, I called this a cellar for a reason; Once I move all my storage crap into the proper buildings, I'm turning it into a straight up wine (juice) cellar. The fruit arrow leads to a small orchard that'll have some nice trees that'll make nice ciders and other assorted juices, and I've dedicated space for some farmland in there so I can have the Pam's Berries as well!

The mines are walled off, too. I'm gonna have a proper crafting / smelting hall down in the little valley between the new orchard and this cellar, and it'll lead directly into those infernal mineshafts I dug up in Chapter 2. The stupid things just never end, but at least I haven't had to make my own oak fences in a while and it makes for a decent quarry alongside the massive amount of coal and iron.

Finally, I've made a pretty stumpy granary whose roof looked way better when I was up there building it. Thing's short on purpose, though, since it actually expands underground pretty cozily! I'm planning to eventually hunt down an ice ocean or, if I'm really lucky ice spikes; That'll let me dig down and create a refrigerated level for crops that would normally spoil irl. There's still plenty of room up top for the room temperature stuff.

It's not shown here, but I've also got a pretty large cow field started on the hillside behind me from this angle. You could probably see the space in Chapter 1, if you really wanted, and it's still there with a nice little stair platform leading downwards to it all. I'm planning to make two small buildings connected to it later, for a breeding pair of 'em, alongside even some pigs and sheep. Pam's sure likes its meat!

There'll be a butchery inside the hill too, of course, but don't tell them that.

[oftravisx]

[ charlie hunnam ] – have you heard about [ travis corbin ]? [ he/him ] lives at the qz. i think they’ve lived there for [ several hours ]. they’re [ thirty-six ] yrs old and seem very [ assertive ]. i’ve also heard they can be very [ withdrawn ] as well. they’ve been assigned as a [ cord alley smuggler ]. they often daydream about [ a white picket fence and a thanksgiving dinner, his sons first steps and a sunset over southern roads ]. i’m curious to know more. | tia. gmt +1. she/her.

BASIC INFORMATION

NAME: Travis Wayon Corbin

NICKNAMES: N/A

BIRTHDAY: April 17th

AGE: 36

HOMETOWN: QZ

BIRTHPLACE: Nashville, Tennessee

RELIGION: N/A

ETHNICITY: White

JOB: Smuggler

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

HEIGHT: 6′3

EYES: Blue

HAIR: Blonde

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Scars across his body, tattoos on his hands, back and neck

NOTABLE FEATURES: Scar on his brow

PHYSICAL DISABILITIES: N/A

ALLERGIES: N/A

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR

HOBBIES: Carving sculptures out of wood, bird watching, reading, horseback riding, playing the guitar in the evening, shooting guns in an open field

LIKES: Laying out in the sun, long meaningless walks, listening to people talk about things they’re passionate about, photographs (they remind him of a different time), positive people and laughter

DISLIKES: Politics, people who are cruel to animals, people who don’t understand nuance and are very black and white, being told what to do, grass that eats other grass, empty promises. 

POSITIVE TRAITS: Reliable, resilient, resourceful, analytical   

NEGATIVE TRAITS: impatient, hot-headed, stubborn

BIOGRAPHY

Travis was born the oldest child in a rather messy family. Both his parents cared more for their vices than they did for their kids, and it was not uncommon for the two to leave their children for days and disappear. Travis learnt from young age to look after his siblings, the household, the horses. Although his grandfather was around to help, and teach the youngsters, it was predominantly left on the oldest boy to hold things together. 

He didn’t mind. It was simply what ‘normal’ looked like to Travis. He’d go to school, get home, take care of what needed taking care of and sleep. A routine was important for him. And although his routine would get messed up every time his parents would decide to return and then up and leave again. He made it work. Up until his 13th year when the whole world took a turn. At first, the news were sporadic. And then it took over everything. 

Him and his siblings were safe at first, but he never saw his parents again. The ranch had kept them isolated long enough to avoid the major chaos at the start. But this sickness swept everything in its wake and it wasn’t too long before Travis and his younger siblings and an elderly grandfather had to rush into hiding as well. 

Except there was nowhere to hide. Nowhere was safe. Not land, not the sea. And if one did not have to fear the infected, they sure had to fear the living. 

His siblings fell off, one after the other. First his youngest brother, bitten. His sister died of the infection, the grandfather disappeared in the night, and the only sibling he had left, his brother Darren, died years later during an unfortunate set of circumstances Travis could not protect him from. 

When at his lowest, he met a woman on the road. She cared for him in more ways than one and when she got pregnant, Travis thought world was giving him another chance. A part of him which failed to protect his family before, both due to young age and paranoia and distrust, was now amped up to the max. He would not lose her, and he would not lose his son.

For years, Travis, Amelia and Jamie were on their own. They lived in the outskirts of cities. Surviving on land, hunting and good timings. When winter would come along, Travis would seek out warmth of caves for them to hide. But they could not hide forever. When Jamie was about 4, they found their first settlement in Nevada and staid there until the unrest which pushed them north. On the run, Amelia was shot and although Travis did everything humanly possible to get her to the next stop in time, it was just not fast enough. Next came years on the road: Idaho, Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa and finally Illinois. There, the boys settled for years. But the leader of a small private settlement got into some shady business with a friend of Travis’ who owed him a great deal of money. In order to make things right, Travis tried to negotiate, but his leader Roger made it clear he would have to hand in his friend or face the consequences. 

Travis refused to give in and reveal his friends location and in retaliation, Roger killed his only son. After this, Travis mostly blacked out. His body resorted to such a trauma response that he set the entire settlement on fire, killing everyone in it. He took his time with Roger though, and in the process got so beat up and messed up he was pretty much drenched in blood from head to toe when he finally emerged. 

He then walked, and walked, and walked, as far as his feet would carry him and then everything went dark. 

--- After this, unbeknownst to him, he was found by an old friend and taken to QZ where his wounds have been looked after. He’s only been in QZ for about a day or so and is just now regaining consciousness. 

[mqsinfo]

What are some amazing facts about Africa?

MQSinfo.com

Conservationists in South Africa are infusing a special red dye into the horns of live rhinos. The mixture renders the horn completely useless to poachers trying to sell it commercially, and is also toxic for human consumption.

MQSinfo

The ‘loneliest organism’ in the world. A single, lone cycad tree, the dominant tree during the dinosaur era, was discovered in Africa in 1895. They have yet to find a mate to pollinate it.

In 2009 a pigeon named Winston raced Telkom, South Africa’s largest ISP, to see who could deliver 4GB of data to a location 60 miles away the fastest. By the time Winston arrived with the 4GB flash drive, Telkom had transmitted only 4% of the data.

In Rwanda plastic bags are illegal and carry with them a 100-$150 fine. In fact, at airport customs all plastic bags are confiscated which has resulted in Rwanda being one of the most litter free countries in Africa

South Africa is the only country to have ever developed its own nuclear weapons and then voluntarily dismantled them.

There are 4 million square miles of fertile land in Africa that can’t be cultivated because tsetse flies keep killing farm animals

When the world’s largest diamond was transported from Africa to England, an elaborate & secure journey by sea was publicized — as a rouse. The real diamond was simply posted by mail.

MQSinfo

A man in Africa single-handedly stopped the desertification of his region by reviving ancient farming and irrigation techniques despite being ridiculed by his community.

Elephants killed 605 people in Assam b/w 1994–2006. In South Africa, 3 elephants killed 63 rhinos.

Biologists think increased elephant aggression is the result of species-wide trauma from poaching & habitat loss, and direct trauma for those who saw family members murdered before their eyes.

“AIDS orphan tourism” in Africa is a thing, where volunteers temporarily care for children who have lost their parents to the virus, and has left children with attachment disorders and encouraged orphanages to purposefully keep them in poor conditions to attract more volunteers.

The experience of hearing voices among schizophrenia patients is influenced by culture. In the US, patients typically report hearing angry/violent voices. In India and Africa, patients are more likely to report hearing friendly/entertaining voices.

Facts That Are Absolutely Mind Boggling

In 1972 a pocket of uranium in Africa was found to have undergone self-sustaining nuclear fission for over 100,000 years, making it the only known naturally formed nuclear reactor.

There’s a bar in South Africa entirely inside a 6,000 year old baobab tree, a species which naturally begins to hollow after it reaches about 1,000 years old.

“Beehive fences” (spaced along the edge of their property) in Africa help farmers ward off elephants without harming them, while also producing honey that they can sell in addition to other crops.

Facts And Knowledge info

Quotes in urdu

Facts in urdu

Knowledge in urdu

Information in urdu

12 African nations have come together pledging to build a 9 mile wide band of trees that will stretch all the way across Africa, 4750 miles, in order to stop the progressive advancement of the Sahara.

The Prawns in the movie District 9 are not called that because of shrimp, but are in reference to the Parktown prawn which is a cricket native to South Africa.

There is a frog from Africa, Trichobatrachus robustus, that breaks a bone in its toe pad, pushes the sharp broken bone through it’s skin, and tries to shank you with it if it feels threatened.

In Algeria, the largest country in Africa and 35th in world population, women make up 70% of the country’s lawyers and 60% of its judges, as well as dominating the field of medicine. Increasingly, women are contributing more to household income than men. 60% of university students are women.

interesting facts about South Africa — جنوبی افریقہ کے بارے میں دلچسپ حقائق اور معلومات

In 1962 the CIA tipped off South Africa’s intelligence service about the location of Nelson Mandela, leading to his arrest that put him in jail for 27 years

[fencefacts1]

How to Test Electric Fence Energizers: A Detailed Guide

As someone who has worked with electric fences for years, I know that the energizer, or fence charger, is the heart of your electric fence system. It’s crucial to regularly check your fence charger, especially if you’re experiencing issues with fence voltage.

In this guide, I’ll walk you through how to test an electric fence energizer using simple tools, based on my own experiences.

Read Detailed Guide on: https://fencefacts.com/test-electric-fence-energizer/

How Does an Electric Fence Energizer Work?

A fence energizer works by generating a high voltage, low amperage pulse, similar to an automotive ignition system. When current enters the energizer coil, it creates a magnetic field, producing a high voltage (5KV to 12KV) due to electromagnetic induction. However, exposure to moisture and rain can cause rust and lead to poor performance.

To protect your energizer, install it under a cover on a wall away from flammable materials, and where children and animals can’t reach it. Regularly inspect the wiring and circuits for loose connections, and use rust cleaner to keep it in good condition.

Tools Needed to Test an Electric Fence Energizer:

Screwdriver

Electric fence tester

A digital electric tester

Step 1: Safety Measures

Before testing, wear insulated gloves and shoes. An electric fence charger inputs 120 or 240 V AC and outputs high voltage (5–10KV), which can be unpleasant to experience.

Step 2: Test with a Screwdriver

Turn on the fence charger.

Attach the screwdriver’s metal part to the ground terminal.

Move it near the live terminal.

If the energizer is working, you’ll see a spark jump from the live terminal to the screwdriver, indicating a current pulse.

Step 3: Test with an Electric Fence Tester

Attach the tester’s metal pin to the live terminal.

Connect the black probe to the ground terminal.

Read the voltage on the tester. It should be above 5KV.

A good fence energizer will show a strong voltage reading. If the voltage is significantly lower than expected, the energizer might be faulty.

Step 4: Test the Output Voltage with a Multimeter

Although not recommended for precise readings due to the pulsing nature of the energizer, a multimeter can still provide a rough idea.

Set the multimeter to the AC voltage (V〜) at a higher range.

Insert the red probe into the VmAΩ port and the black probe into the COM port.

Connect the red probe to the live terminal and the black probe to the ground terminal. A functioning energizer should show between 5–12KV. If the reading is low, there might be an issue.

Step 5: Test the Amperage with a Multimeter

Set the multimeter to AC amps (A〜) in the milliamps range.

Connect the probes as before: black to ground and red to the live terminal.

An electric fence should output very low amperage (0–500 milliamps). Higher amperage could be dangerous.

Testing a Solar Fence Charger

Solar fence chargers store energy in a battery. Here’s how to test one:

Unscrew the plate on your solar energizer to access the battery.

Unplug the battery wires and fully recharge the battery.

Use a digital tester to check the battery voltage. A 12V battery should read around 12–12.6V.

Attach the battery to the energizer and turn it on. If you hear clicking, the battery was the issue.

If the problem persists, inspect for improper ground connections or shorted wires. Clean any corrosion with a rust spray like WD-40.

Frequently Asked Questions

1. Why is my electric fence clicking but not working?

Check the output voltage. Disconnect the wires, turn on the charger, and measure the voltage at the terminals. If it’s low, the charger is faulty.

2. How to test an electric fence without a tester?

You can use a piece of grass, a screwdriver, a tester screwdriver, a non-contact voltage tester, a compass, a tube light, or a light socket.

3. How to connect an electric fence to an energizer?

Connect the ground terminal to the fence rod and the live terminal to the fence wires using galvanized wires and clamps to prevent rust.

Conclusion

Testing your electric fence energizer is essential for maintaining a functional fence system. Follow these steps to ensure your energizer is working properly. If you have any questions or need further assistance, feel free to ask in the comments below.

[aloulou-travel]

Spreader by BobMelnyk

[amerie-wadia]

pope heyward headcanons part one

for @gushes because of this post—hope you like them, this is part one :)

1. how pope met jj, john b, and kie

—pope meets jj first. he absolutely did not want to play kickball at recess because some of the other boys were really aggressive and fast and pope was smaller than the other kids and something about kickball just seemed really intimidating. he’s in first grade and he has recess with all the older elementary schoolers and not just kindergarteners, so there are fourth and fifth graders running around the bases. pope’s best friend from kindergarten moved away over the summer because her mom got a job in texas. pope misses her a lot because she loves to dig for worms with him or go hunting for toads at night along the marsh. he isn’t allowed to bring a book with him outside (even though he asked his teacher and even said please) so for a while he just sits on the swing and thinks about how he can’t quite draw the letter ‘a’ the right way. but the kids playing kickball are laughing and cheering and eventually pope works up the courage to walk over to the field. when he gets there he sees all the big kids and gets a bit scared so he goes to hide behind the little fenced in dugout. and that’s when he meets jj. jj is almost as tiny as pope but he’s an inch or two taller. pope thinks he has blond hair but it’s hard to tell because the kid is covered in dirt. he’s crying but the moment he sees pope he stops and rubs at his eyes, smearing dirt all over his face. jj tells pope that one of the fifth graders kicked the ball right at his face and that it didn’t hurt that badly but he didn’t want to play anymore (pope can tell that it did indeed hurt jj, but he doesn’t say anything). jj asks if pope wants to play on the jungle gym and by the time recess is over they are best friends.

—pope meets john b the summer before fourth grade. jj wasn’t in his third grade class but they stayed pretty close friends. pope’s dad always picks up jj because jj’s dad ever offers to dry or walk jj across the island. expect this summer jj’s dad tells heyward that jj has been staying with some boy named john and that he should call big john routledge if he wants to see jj. pope doesn’t understand why jj’s not staying with his and neither does heyward. but they call big job routledge and half an hour later they are driving across the island to the routledge’s. big john answers the door and pope understands where he got the nickname because he’s practically a giant and makes pope’s own father look pretty short. he’s really sweaty and his has a mustache and he tells heyward that jj is staying with them for the summer. he offers them soda and tells pope he can come over too anytime he wants. jj runs to the door and all but tackles pope in a hug and then leads him back through the house to the porch where he introduces him to john b. heyward offers for john b to come fishing with them for the day and big john and john b both seem excited about the idea. pope is a little iffy about it all but jj’s big eyes are bright and hopeful and pope agrees. he doesn’t feel super comfortable around john b for the summer but they don’t see each other all that often. fourth grade comes around though and pope and john b are in the same class. pope doesn’t have any other friends in the class so he hangs out with john b and within the first week of school they become best friends.

—pope has known kie all his life because heyward is constantly making deliveries for the Wreck, but she’s never seemed interesting in being his friend. she’s always nice and smiles at him, waves when she seems him in the hall, but they’ve never really spoken. the summer after seventh grade comes along and jj and john b are running to him telling him all about this surf camp that is looking for middle and high schoolers to run for the local elementary school. pope isn’t the best surfer, but he’s gotten a lot better throughout the years and the camp pays really well so he agrees and all three boys sign up. kiara is working as a camp counselor too and she basically does all the work at actually keeping the kids in line and teaching them how to stand and balance. jj is messing around the entire time and riling up all the students. john b is too busy flirting with the other amp counselor so pope tries to help kie as much as he can. during lunch time when all the counselors finally get a fifteen minute break to have their own lunches, they get to talking and immediately hit it off. she’s closest to pope for awhile but by the end of the summer she’s hanging out with them almost everyday and by the time school starts they are the pogues.

[eliteexports22]

Sportswear at Exports Hub is commonly designed to be light-weight so as now now no longer to encumber the wearer. The brilliant athletic put on for some types of exercise, for event cycling, ought to now no longer create drag or be too bulky.

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Standardized sports activities things to do garb may additionally moreover moreover moreover feature as a uniform. In crew sports activities things to do matters to do the opposing facets are oftentimes identified by means of ability of way of the colorings of their clothing, whilst man or woman crew contributors can be recognized by way of way of the utilization of a reduce once more extensive vary on a shirt.

In some sports, particular units of garb are worn to differentiate roles internal a team. For example, in volleyball, the libero (a specialist in defending play) wears a unique coloration to that of their teammates. In sports activities things to do matters to do such as soccer and GAA codes, a contrasting color or sample is worn with the useful resource of the goalkeeper. In one-of-a-kind sports, garb can also additionally in addition thing out the modern-day recognition or previous achievements of a participant. In biking disciplines, the rainbow jersey suggests the present day world champion, and in most crucial avenue biking races, jerseys of unique shades are worn through way of way of the race chief and leaders of auxiliary classifications.

Spandex is the desired fabric for form-fitting sportswear, such as used in wrestling, tune & field, dance, gymnastics, tempo skating, and swimming.

Sportswear at Exports hub is usually used as a Genius for the marketing and advertising of sponsors of a sportsperson or team. In some sports, there are insurance plan insurance policies limiting the dimension or design of sponsorship organization names and trademarks on gadgets of garb  

[lazarzlynch]

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[doomedandstoned]

Meeting Bomg, Doom-Drone Legends from Ukraine

~Interview by Billy Goate~

Doomed & Stoned continues our week of epic interviews with a long overdue conversation with the great Ukraine doom-drone band BOMG, who have been desamating stages and blowing out amps since 2010. During that time, Nikolay Temchenko (guitar), Yuriy Temchenko (bass), and Anton Khomenko (drums) have put out two mammoth LPs, an EP, and a split.

I first got turned on to BOMG's sound with the record 'Polynseed' (2013), which released the year that Doomed & Stoned was founded. I recommend starting there if this is your first exposure to the mighty trio from Kyiv.

Bomg have been gradually drifting in the direction of full-on drone metal, executed in their own authentic and compelling way, as we're about to discover as we drill into 'Peregrination' (2020) -- which we reviewed last year and Robustfellow has recently reissued.

Give ear...

You state that BOMG means “vagabond” on your Bandcamp page. Can you elaborate on how the name ties in with the band’s history and core identity?

It’s an abbreviation literally meaning “with no particular place of living”. Funny thing is that its’ meaning is degraded in common use (like “bum”), but when it was incepted (60s – 70s in USSR) those who were stigmatized by it were better off going elsewhere than being part of the regime, taking it as a positive. This became somewhat of a short-lived movement even. We think that despite being prone to misunderstanding in every way, it fits the overall vibe. Blessing and a curse. But frankly, the name is a secondary thing at best.

How would you describe your distinctive sound, to someone who has never encountered it before?

Basically, trying to elaborate and add to “Black Sabbath spaghettified” idea. We try to squeeze out any possible amount of low frequency, volume, distortion and effect saturation to the instruments, not necessarily designed for it. As of similarities and influences, it’s 60s-70s heavy psych, proto-metal and proto-punk, 80s - 90s continuation of it (doom metal, stoner/desert rock, sludge, drone doom), besides that – dub, ambient, prog rock, experimental music, field recordings and whatnot.

Peregrination by Bomg

Your new album 'Peregrination' is an explosive bombshell, massive in every respect. When was the concept for the album born?

The first track was almost ready in 2011, we played it at our first show. As of concept, it started to take shape somewhere in 2013-2014, most of the lyrics were written back then. Then it took years to “grow.” First, we tried to make it so each track would fit one side of LP, but it seemed kinda compressed and landed too quick. Then we decided not to confine it to any time limit but each track landed itself around 40 minutes, so we made sure it evens out like this in final recording.

Tell us about the recording process involved. We’re very curious about instruments, gear, amps, and the general studio environment in which it originated.

Each whole track was recorded live (took roughly four weeks for four tracks), then layered with two additional guitars. Synths, field recordings, vocals were added afterward.

Gear: we used two Tank amps (Orange/Matamp clones) made from old soviet broadcast amplifiers and Tesla Disco 240 for guitar and bass (wish our Sunn concert bass was alive at that point, but it just burns transistors when turned on – we couldn’t find an exact schematic for it, even photos of the exact amp on the web, seems like it’s from some transition period).

The drums are '70s Rogers 13”, 16” toms and 24” steel shell bass drum from '50s-'70s (mass-produced for political celebrations, weddings and funerals), coupled with Meinl hi-hats, Paiste Rude China and Zildjian Mega Bell.

Guitars used were early '00s Gibson SG Standard, '72 Musima Eterna Deluxe and ’69 Musima Record; and ‘70 Cremona Violin bass.

Pedals: Poltava fuzz-wah, Noname “flanger” that is actually phaser for bass; Tesla Vrable fuzz-wah (the seller told us that his uncle was under KGB investigation for just having it), Noname dist (most likely a ProCo Rat clone), Vox wah, Boss BF-2, Lel’ parametric EQ, Lel’ digital delay, Boss dynamic wah, Roland Space Echo for guitar.

Recording equipment: Two '70s Oktava ML-19 for overheads, '50s-'60s Oktava ML15 and ML16 for room and various dynamic and condenser mics for everything else into Pro Tools, then later in mixing/mastering stage partly routed through mixer and cassette deck using beaten up cassette for analog saturation and vibrato.

Long story short, we tried to use most of the stuff we got in our studio, and at this point, it’s hard to remember every detail of the process. Referring to the environment, it is compiled of numerous weird gadgets which got to us throughout years, most of which were collecting dust somewhere for decades, and have a history (an entire topic by itself) we’re always asking for. And when used, they tell a story which then leaves a mark in recordings for sure. That was a hell of a fascinating process.

I noticed you had lyrics for each song on 'Peregrination,' but the singing doesn't seem discernable. Are there indeed vocals and, if so, how can I hear them?

Yes, there are vocals. They appear on low volume as reverberated and somewhat oscillated notes, more like presence; on high volume, you can hear words with 1-5 kHz correctly dialed in (on most audio equipment these frequencies tend to be excited, so lowering EQ at this range brings clarity), it appears as a whisper in a loud, saturated mix. Also, we added subtitles on YouTube, so you can know for sure where to find vocals. The point was to make them recognizable only with intent.

Talk about the album art. It seems there is hidden symbolism there, is that true?

It’s some sort of a window that leads to four areas, which are the visualized soundscapes to each track. There were no particular symbols, but the thing is that they fill in the picture as it is set - like a hallucination, which is often a well of meaning where symbols change and multiply interpretations, at the same time being just momentary blobs of form.

The process of making this album cover involved many iterations of drawing, running through GAN networks, editing the result to achieve the effect of a captured hallucination, close to the exact one. When hardwiring symbols directly into it, they would be eaten up by hallucinating AI. So by randomly forming a resemblance of shapes, things started popping out where they fit the most contextually - weird stuff. It’s a common thing in art to throw “open for interpretation” on everything, but this one might be.

What is the concept behind each "hobo" symbol and track on 'Peregrination'?

So, the first one means being quiet and alert, seeing what’s going on. The second one is a sign of a trolley – hopping from one soundscape to another, time travel. The third one – safe camp; it may be confusing when applied to the lyrics, but the position that is stated there facing the object is some sort of a “safe camp”, ground to stand on. The fourth one means “don’t give up”, even if applied in both meanings of this phrase to track. But the symbol references may lack context without diving into tracks.

I'm sure our readers would be most happy if you were to illuminate the meaning of each of the songs on your new album.

Well, it’s like trying to create a soundtrack to some introductory ontological theories (pretty blank, sterile stuff), realizing their intensity. Here uneven-numbered tracks touch on mind ontology, even-numbered - on reality ontology. Not diving into details too much, let them hang there.

I. Electron

Peregrination by Bomg

it's no light of star it's a light of mind walking thru a dream electron shamanism

"Electron" is covering the theme of mythical perception akin to humans and the discovery that put a dent into these beliefs. Variation on a Tunguska story, mythos surrounding Tesla, how people mythologize all around.

II. Perpetuum

Peregrination by Bomg

Across desolations Caravans astray Sand covered roads Forget old ways

"Perpetuum" goes more into sci-fi territory: endless cycles of dead and born-again civilizations, the Great Filter caused by cosmic events or beings themselves, and how we just might unknowingly observe such things staring at the sky.

III. Paradigm

Peregrination by Bomg

Giant web built and set in lines It works when mind reflects Leaving us with all the fears Or letting them disappear

"Paradigm" is based around the tendency of the mind to confine itself into some set of ideas, building a higher fence while thinking it broadens the space. Thinking of one thing while it is the opposite, fear of the structure collapsing while an event like this would alleviate any sort of fear. But breaking a paradigm usually leads straight to the next one, to which the same attributes apply. And keeping this notion brings a safe distance to it.

IV. Emanation

Peregrination by Bomg

Now the opportunity is To see the universe spinning Emit structures boundless Round its' endless borders It's the very first the very last small moment In periods of endless time When the structure merge infinite To manifest as something

"Emanation" goes somewhat contrary to the second one - a reality that may be started at some point, complicates itself, and never is truly repetitive. Also thoughts on subjective existence and the point of it, maybe being an instrument of the Universe to explain it to itself. Speculation on whether or not consciousness flows from one state to another, as energy does, returning to its inception or scattering across until equilibrium, or even said results being the same thing. And the uncertainty of these things that are left to be answered while we as beings, it seems, are just left to fade away.

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[apod]

2020 May 2

Radio, The Big Ear, and the Wow! Signal Image Credit & Copyright: Rick Scott

Explanation: Since the early days of radio and television we have been freely broadcasting signals into space. For some time now, we have been listening too. A large radio telescope at Ohio State University known as affectionately The Big Ear was one of the first listeners. The Big Ear was about the size of three football fields and consisted of an immense metal ground plane with two fence-like reflectors, one fixed and one tiltable. It relied on the Earth's rotation to help scan the sky. This photo, taken by former Big Ear student volunteer Rick Scott, looks out across the ground plane toward the fixed reflector with the radio frequency receiver horns in the foreground. Starting in 1965, the Big Ear was used in an ambitious survey of the radio sky. In the 1970s, it became the first telescope to continuously listen for signals from extraterrestrial civilizations. For an exciting moment during August 1977 a very strong, unexpected signal, dubbed the Wow! Signal, was detected by the Big Ear. But alas, heard only once, the source of the signal could not be determined. In May 1998 the final pieces of the Big Ear were torn down.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap200502.html

[earthstory]

WOLVES IN CENTRAL EUROPE

Thirty years ago, wolf populations in Central Europe were in a poor state.

For centuries the wolf had been villified and persecuted.

Then World War II came along, and in its aftermath, an Iron Curtain was drawn straight through the middle of the continent, impassable not just for man, but for beast as well. The few wolves which remained in Central Europe were confined to a handful of remote mountains in the Carpathians.

What happened next could possibly be one of the most spectacular instances of nature regaining a foothold in one of the most densely populated and industrialized parts of the world.

The remaining wolf populations started recovering in Poland around 1980 after they were offered more widespread protection. Since wolves are highly mobile species, capable of traversing over 100 kilometres in a single day, they managed to spread into most parts of the country within a decade. However, the game changer took place in the evening of the 9th of November, 1989.

When the Berlin Wall fell, it took the rest of the Iron Curtain along with it, together with all the mine fields and fences which separated east from west. Within ten years, the first wolves were sighted in Germany where they were hunted to extinction a century before. On the dawn of the twenty-first century, the first cubs were born in Lusatia, a region to the northeast of Dresden.

The number of wolves in Germany remained low for nearly a decade. Only a few packs called Lusatia, a relatively sparsely populated region near the Polish border their home. Around 2010, however, something happened that few saw coming - wolves started expanding their range into the densely populated regions of Western Germany and began to breed. As of 2018, the wolf population in Germany alone stands at around 73, and the first sightings have taken place in countries such as Denmark, the Netherlands and Belgium. Of these places, the Netherlands will be particularly interesting to watch over the next few years, as historically wolves have not been able to adapt to civilization the way other canids have, such as coyotes or foxes.

Despite the re-expansion of wolf populations, these canines are still threatened in Europe. When they find animals on farms, they will still hunt and kill them - costing farmers money in the process. As a consequence, the environmentalists who support maintaining the population of this top-level predator often come into conflict with farmers trying to protect their own land. As of now, it is illegal to kill a wolf under EU rules unless the wolf is a threat to people, and the EU has established a fund to compensate farmers when their livestock are killed by the wolves they are protecting.

More information: http://bit.ly/1GyPI0B http://bit.ly/1FB90in (Dutch) http://theatln.tc/1NBiLCG http://bit.ly/1C07BhN

Image credits: "Wolves in Norway" by Taral Jansen / Soldatnytt from Oslo, Norway - Landskonferansen 2010. Licensed under CC BY 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2019/feb/17/germany-wolves-farmers-environmentalists