#he looks like a paramilitary wannabe

[ragnarokhound]

I can guarantee you that arkham knight Jason is also yearning & pining & perishing <3 I live for your comments dude lololol

IM SCREAMING IM UNWELL I AM ON THE FLOOR OTL OTL OTL

I haven't actually finished the Arkham Knight game, but I did start it Purely Because Jason is in it TuT I stare at him sometimes and a single tear rolls down my cheek thinking about him trapped in this somehow even grimmer and darker version of Gotham. And Tim is bald and married so he doesn't even get to have a twink boyfriend about it akdmxnsk

GET HIM OUTTA THERE. HE NEEDS ENRICHMENT. HE NEEDS SEX WITH HAS-HAIR BISEXUAL TIM IN DRAG AND TO CRY IN HIS LAP WHILE HIS HAIR IS PLAYED WITH STAT

[heysawbones]

Many of us have backgrounds that we feel alienate us from others. The result of that alienation is often a protectiveness of the thing which alienated us in the first place; a sort of Stockholm Syndrome attachment to the pain that shapes us. We draw identity and, if we need it, pride from that suffering.

Me, I’m uncomfortable when NPR - an outlet I’m very attached to - discusses poverty. In an effort to be transparent and equitable, statements are often prefaced with an admission that the speaker hasn’t been poor, and hasn’t known anybody who is or was. We’re trying, is what they’re saying. We know that we’re outsiders, but we take this seriously and we mean well. They know that it’s important that their peers, their audience, keep the poor in mind. They go on to express their concerns in terms that make it clear that they do not expect any poor people - past or present - to be listening. In a broad, entirely unintentional sense, people like me don’t exist to the people who make the informative content that I like best. 

Despite their good intentions, listening to an NPR bit on poverty makes me feel worse about where I came from, instead of glad that someone is paying attention. It almost feels exploitative of them, and it’s hard to put a finger on exactly why this is.

---

I was active duty Army for four years, and in the Reserves for three. The corpus of Army uniforms mean something specific to me, because of the context in which they entered my life. Desert boots. Digital camo. TA-50 belts. These are purely functional in my mind - you wear them because you have to. The tasks you’ve been assigned necessitate these items. It just so happens that these tasks are often difficult - not intellectually, but spiritually. Physically. They try your patience, your faith in humanity. They dominate your life. As an enlisted person, it’s not uncommon to be treated as something less than a human being. Military service is often a hardship. You control very little, and you form a strong bond with your peers over the experience of, and the gallows humor generated by, said lack of control. 

I don’t like it when I see civilians in paramilitary get-ups that pull from actual military supplies. ACU pants, regulation (or near regulation) desert boots, random bits and pieces of gear they picked up from the Army surplus to look tough. There’s a guy I see walking around my neighborhood sometimes who wears ACU pants, boots, and carries a fucking rucksack, you know, a real one. One of the old ones. He’s got it tied around his torso and everything. And he’ll have a t-shirt tucked into his pants with all that. He looks like a real jackass, and every time I see him, I want to chew him up and spit him out. 

People who idolize the “glory” of being a cop or in the military are unique among wannabes, in the sense that they could actually just go be a cop or join the military. If one is able-bodied and has not done it, but insists on looking like they are obsessed with doing so, I dislike them a lot. I am 99% sure they are pathetic and possibly even dangerous, because it’s honestly hard not to get into the military if you are able-bodied and try at all. You’ve got to have done something pretty ridiculous. Come suffer if you want to wear this shit. You don’t want to suffer, don’t fucking wear military gear. 

Once, I chewed a guy out at an anime convention for cosplaying a contemporary Soldier and not tucking his boot laces in. 

---

I watched professional wrestling as a kid. It was popular in my house. The thing about my house, is that we were poor. More than being poor, we were white trash in the middle of a majority Latinx neighborhood. We were garbage. Pro wrestling wasn’t something other kids were into, where I grew up. It was, in fact, actively held in disdain. It’s not hard to understand why I grew up under the impression that pro wrestling was largely something that white trash sustained, like NASCAR, but for even less tasteful people. The rising popularity of pro wrestling has been strange for me. I can’t describe it very well. Is it the lack of acknowledgement? I have a friend who is going to school to become a pro wrestler, and it’s not like I have a problem with wrestling itself. I still enjoy it. I still think Ric Flair is hilarious. At least people haven’t all spontaneously decided that they love destruction derbies, but still really hate white trash.

---

The common thread that runs through these is that they are, in the most crass sense, personal problems. On some level they strike me as... appropriative? I loathe to use the word, less for the definition and more for the baggage. NPR talks about the plight of the poor because they care, sure, but also because they have a reputation of Serious Talk about Uncomfortable Issues to maintain. Discussing poverty is, in its way, credibility. People in military gear without military backgrounds are quite literally exploiting cultural capital given to people who have presumably done very hard things, while pointedly refusing to do the hard thing. Hearing podcasters talk about pro wrestling storylines is jarring, sort of like hearing Bob Garfield from On The Media say “4chan” twice in an episode. Seeing it on twitter coming from the kinds of people who would’ve reeled in disbelief at the way I grew up feels a little like spotting tourists.

[dean-samw67]

This is Hell

Chapter 22: Season 3 Episode 6

Warnings: Torture

Words: 2832

Daryl had found Carol and a woman came to the prison with the basket of formula that Harper had dropped. Daryl and Hershel follow Rick out of the cell block, into the room they were keeping the woman.

“We can tend to that wound. Give you some food and water. Send you on your way.” Rick explains, walking up to the woman. “But we need to know how you found us.” The woman just glares up at Rick as she holds a towel on her upper thigh. “And why were you carrying formula?”

“The supplies were dropped by a woman with a young asian man and a woman younger than her.” She answers.

“What happened?”

“They were taken.” She explains.

“By who?” Rick asks.

“By the same son of a bitch who shot me.” She growls.

“These are our people, if you know where they are, tell us now!” Rick gets in her face and then smacks his hand on her gunshot wound. Daryl aims his crossbow at her.

“Don’t you ever touch me again!” She shouts.

“Better start talkin’. Ya gonna have a lot more than a gunshot wound to worry about.” Daryl grunts.

“Find ‘em yourself.” She glares at Daryl. Rick pushes Daryl’s crossbow down.

“You came here for some reason.” He walks around the woman.

“There’s a town. Woodbury. About 75 people. Run by this guy who calls himself the governor.”

“He got muscle?” Daryl questions.

“Paramilitary wannabe’s.” She answers.

“You know a way to get in?” Rick crosses his arms.

“Place is secure from walkers. But I can find us a way in.” She nods.

“How did you know how to get here?”

“They mentioned a prison. Said it was a straight shot from there.” She shrugs. Rick sighs with a nod. He points to Hershel.

“This is Hershel. The father of that younger woman. He’ll fix you up.” He introduces before walking off with Daryl.

“We gotta go get ‘em. Harper-”

“I know.” Rick cuts off Daryl.

“What do I tell Alexis? She’s gonna start worryin’.” Daryl sighs.

“The truth. And tell her we will bring her back.” Rick nods before walking away. Daryl looks over at Lexi who was with Beth, helping with the baby.

“Hey, Lex.” He calls, bringing her attention to him. He motions for her to come over. He leads her into an empty cell and sits on the bottom bunk. She sits next to him.

“Is everything alright?” She asks, worriedly.

“Um… it’s your mother…” He starts.

“Is she okay?” Harper panics.

“She will be.” Daryl nods. “She was taken, but we are going to get her back.” He promises.

“I want to help.” She jumps up. Daryl places a hand on her arm as he stands.

“No. It’s too dangerous. Ya have to stay here. Help with the baby.”

“I want to help find her.” She insists.

“Lexi-”

“I am helping!”

“No, Alexis!” Daryl’s shout stops her immediately. “No. Ya need to stay here. Stay safe.” His voice, more calm now. Alexis huffs as she crosses her arms.

“You aren’t my dad.” She scoffs. Daryl had to admit, hearing that out loud from her hurt, considering he has been here for her. “You’ve even said it to mom. You have told her you aren’t my dad. So why do you act like it?”

“I’m not doing this right now, Alexis.” He walks past her.

“No, I’m curious.” She follows him. “You are so mean to mom about how you aren’t my dad. So why do you continue to act like it?” Daryl doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking away. “Mom could do so much better than you. I don’t know why she even likes you.” This stops Daryl in his tracks, biting at his lower lip to keep himself from losing his cool. “You act like you care about her, just to always treat her badly.” Daryl turns to her.

“Listen, you’re twelve years old, ya know nothing about adult relationships. So keep your nose out of mine and your mothers business.” He growls, pointing at her. She glares at him as he stands up straight and walks out of the cell block. Beth was standing back, watching what just happened. Alexis turns and looks at her.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t treat him like that. He cares about you and Harper.” Beth answers as she rocks the baby.

“Whatever.” Alexis scoffs and walks away.

***

Harper was in a room by herself, duct taped to a chair, in front of a table. She was looking around for a way to get loose after just hearing Glenn get the shit beat out of him in the other room. She looks up when she hears the door open up. She sits up straight, staring Merle in the eyes. His eyes were familiar, due to the fact that they resembled Daryl’s, but chillingly unfamiliar at the same time. He walks closer towards her and then behind her. He runs his knife, attached to him, across the back of her shirt, sending chills down her spine.

“Now if I know better, this ain’t belong to you. It looks a lot like something Daryl would wear.” He chuckles as he sits on the table in front of her. She keeps a glare fixated on him, not speaking. He leans forward, resting his hand on his thigh. “So what’s been going on between you and my baby brother, huh?” She stays quiet.

“Nothin’?” He smirks. “I didn’t want to do this.” He shrugs before standing up and sinking his knife into her left hand, it gripping the chair as she lets out a pained scream.

“Fuck you!” She shouts. She breathes heavily as she glares at him. “You won’t get shit from me.”

“I’m sure I will at some point.” He shrugs before punching her in the nose, her head snapping back as he does so. She leans her head forward, returning her glare on him. He lands another punch on her face, right in her mouth. The taste of blood fills her mouth as she gasps in pain. He grabs her by the face, making her look at him. “Ready to speak?” She spits the blood in his face and he pushes her face back before wiping his face. “You bitch!”

“Guess you have to kill me.” She growls. He narrows his eyes down at her. He runs the tip of his knife from her jaw to her shoulder and then digs it in deeper as he starts to cut down her arm. She lets out cries of pain as she closes her eyes. He stops at her elbow and then punches her in the gut, causing her to hunch over as much as she could. She coughs and spits up more blood onto her lap. He moves his hand to her hair, stroking it.

“You know, I always knew my little brother took a likin’ to ya. Never thought he would have the balls to admit it.” He chuckles.

“Go to hell.” Harper groans, completely ignoring his comment.

“You’ll see me there anyway.” He laughs.

“Daryl is better off without you.” She returns her glare up to him. Merle stands up straight, the smile fading off his face. “He’s happier. More himself. He doesn’t need you.”

“You’re gonna regret that one, toots.” He raises his hand with the knife before the door opens.

“Merle!” A man behind him shouts. “We aren’t killing them.” Merle drops his hand and turns to the man. “Leave her. Let's go.” He follows the man out with a huff. Harper lets out a gasp and looks at her hand, which is bleeding out. She returns to looking around, trying to figure a way out.

***

“Come on you bitch.” A man who worked with the governor walks into the room Harper was in, setting rope on the table and cutting the tape from her wrists. He roughly ties her hands behind her back after standing her, causing her to wince from the wound on her hand. He grabs the rope he had set on the table and ties it around her neck. Her eyes widen as the thought that she may be executed runs through her head.

“Just a precaution.” He chuckles as he wraps the rope around his hand, before putting a bag over her head. He leads her out and she can only follow him. She struggled against his arm a few times but failed due to her weak state. Cheers begin to fill her ears, making her feel on edge. Were they going to kill her in front of all the people?

“Brother against brother!” The governors voice rings in her head as she comes to a stop. “And Merle’s little brother’s girlfriend is even here to monitor.” The bag is yanked off of Harper’s face and she squints her eyes to adjust to what is around her.

“Daryl!” She tries to run to him as soon as her eyes land on him, the restraint around her neck pulling her back. She lets out a cough as the man holding the rope yanks her backwards.

“Ah, ah, ah. You are going to watch as Merle kills his brother in front of you.” The governor walks in front of Harper. Merle puts his hands up.

“I’m gonna do whatever it takes to prove…” He turns around and punches Daryl in the gut, Daryl falling to the ground, coughing.

“No!” Harper screams.

“...That my loyalty is to this town!” Merle begins kicking Daryl. Harper cries as she watches. He lands blow after blow on Daryl, beating on him. Harper tries to run in but is only pulled back again. She looks away, tears running down her blood stained cheeks. Walkers are now brought into the mix. She shakes her head in hopes that this is all a really bad nightmare.

Daryl turns over and reaches up, swinging at Merle. He gets up for a moment before Merle pushes him back down. Merle stands over top of him, Daryl placing his hands around his brother's throat. They begin talking low enough that no one can hear over the cheering. Merle pulls Daryl up and they now are back to back, facing the walkers.

Harper looks back over at them. Daryl looks over at her, seeing face blood covered and arm dripping blood. He couldn’t see her hand but the blood dripping behind her gave away that she was wounded. It pained Daryl to see her like this. He is pulled back from his thoughts as a walker is pushed at him. He punches it and pushes it back towards the people who had it on the lead.

The brothers continue punching the walkers until gunshots echo through the air and each zombie is shot. A smoke bomb is thrown in the crowd, filling the air. Harper works up all her energy left and lifts her leg and rears it back into the man’s, who was holding her, crotch. He lets the rope go and grips his dick as he groans. She turns around and head butts him before running while still trying to regain balance from the head butt.

She heads over to where the gunshots came from. She slams into Rick, who grabs her to keep her from falling. He pulls the rope off of her neck and cuts the restraints from her hands.

“Are you okay?” He cups her face and she nods quickly in response. He shines a light for Daryl to see. Daryl rips his crossbow from one of the men's hands and runs toward us, Merle following in tow. Rick hands Harper a gun as they begin running to leave.

“They’re all at the arena. This way.” Merle starts to lead, running to the metal fence.

“You aren’t going anywhere with us.” Rick snaps.

“You really wanna do this now?” Merle begins to break the fence. The rest of the group keeps watch. He gets it open and Daryl follows him out. The rest of them follow after Daryl. Merle starts to lead them into the woods. Harper, Rick and Maggie look at each other.

“Let’s go!” Daryl shouts. Harper huffs as they follow. Once they are far enough away Rick leads, taking everyone back to where Glenn and Michonne were. Harper grunts as she begins to tear off the leftover duck tape on her wrists. Daryl reaches over and tries to take her hands to look at it. She rips it away from him, glaring at him.

“Let me just look.” He huffs.

“No. Don’t touch me.” She growls.

“What’s your issue?” He scoffs.

“This is your brothers doing.” She spat before walking further up, next to Rick. They get back to the road.

“Glenn!” Rick calls. Glenn and Michonne walk to us, Glenn sighing in relief. “Now we have a problem.” Rick holds up his hand. As soon as they see Merle, Michonne pulls out her katana and Glenn aims his gun. Harper steps next to Glenn, holding her gun as she faces Rick, Merle and Daryl.

“Put those down!” Rick shouts. Harper ignores him and holds up her gun.

“Harper!” Daryl shouts. “He helped us get out of there!”

“After he beat the shit out of you!” She shouts right back.

“We both took our licks.” Merle shrugs.

“Jackass.” Daryl looks back at him.

“Shut up!” Merle grunts.

“You shut up! You see what the hell you did to me!?” Harper yells holding her hand up, blood dripping down her arm.

“Enough!” Rick yells. Michonne holds up her katana trying to swing it at Merle. “Put that down!”

“Get that thing out of my face!” Daryl shouts at Harper who had her gun aimed at both brothers. Merle starts laughing.

“Man, look like you’ve gone native, brother.” He chuckles.

“No more than you, hanging with that psycho back there!” Daryl turns to him.

“He is a charmer. Been puttin’ the wood to your girlfriend Andrea.” He looks at Michonne as he moans.

“Pig.” Harper spat.

“You know Andrea?” Rick looks at her.

“Yep. Her and blondie spent all winter together. Cuddling in the forest. Mmmm.” Merle smirks.

“Shut up, bro!” Daryl shouts at him.

“Shut up, yourself! Bunch of pussies-” Rick smacks him in the back of the head with the butt of his gun, knocking him out.

“Finally.” Harper grumbles before she walks toward the cars. The others follow. “We aren’t taking him back.” Harper shakes her head as they all gather, aside from Michonne.

“We’ll make it work.” Daryl huffs.

“It’ll just stir things up.” Rick jumps in.

“The governor is probably on his way to the prison right now. Merle knows how he thinks, and we could use the muscle.” Daryl shrugs.

“I am not having him at the prison.” Maggie sighs, shaking her head.

“Yeah, no. Have you seen me and Glenn? That is Merle’s doing.” Harper pulls the bandana from Daryl’s pocket, wrapping it around her hand.

“Do you really want him sleeping in the same cell block as Carol or Beth? Or Alexis?” Glenn adds.

“He ain’t a rapist.” Daryl scoffs.

“His buddy is.”

“Well, he ain’t his buddy no more.” Daryl growls.

“He isn’t staying there.” Harper sighs.

“It’ll put everyone at each other's throats. She's right.” Rick nods.

“But you’ll bring the last samurai with you?” Daryl motions to Michonne.

“She’s not coming with us-”

“She is in no condition to be on her own.” Harper cuts Rick off.

“At least let my dad stitch her up.” Maggie shrugs.

“She’s unpredictable.” Rick shakes his head.

“We don’t know who she is. Now, Merle. Merle’s blood-”

“No, Merle’s your blood. My blood, my family is back at that prison and standing here.” Glenn interrupts.

“And you are a part of that family, Daryl.” Harper takes his hand in hers.

“But he’s not.” Rick adds.

“Fine.” He yanks his hand out of Harpers. “No him, no me.” He walks toward the car.

“Daryl.” Harper follows after him. “Don’t do this.” He opens the trunk. Rick follows the two over.

“There’s got to be another way.”

“Don’t ask me to leave him. Did that once already.” Daryl shakes his head as he gathers his bag. “Take care of yourself. Take care of lil’ ass kicker. Carl.” He slings the bag over his shoulder. “He’s one tough kid.”

“Daryl, please.” Harper shakes her head as she looks at him, tears brimming her eyes. He looks at her, biting on his lip. He steps closer to her, cupping the back of her head and kissing her forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling away. A small sob escapes Harper’s lips. “Take care of Lex.” He whispers before he turns away from her before walking to Merle.

“Daryl!” Rick calls but Daryl keeps walking, Merle leading him away. Rick puts all the guns in the back with a sigh. Harper grabs the trunk door, slamming it shut. She walks around, throwing the car door open and climbing inside, slamming the door behind her.

Chapter 23~

This is Hell Masterlist

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

New World CH. Fifteen

Title: Woodbury

Words: 2119

Warnings: Strong language, assault

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

New World Masterlist

Daryl Dixon Masterlist

The Walking Dead Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

It was supposed to be an easy run. In and out. Get the stuff the baby, and you, needed along with whatever else you could find and get back to the prison. But no. Some jackass had to make things hard.

 Glenn had gotten inside the store first and right when you were about to join him, you heard something. Looking around, you saw nothing and turned back to Glenn.

 “Hey, Glenn, grab that toy,” you said.

 “Which one?”

 “The duck. And any other ones you can find. If these kids are going to be growing up in a prison they could use some toys.” Glenn laughed but did as you asked. After he grabbed some formula and some other stuff, he came back outside.

 “We just hit the powdered formula jackpot.”

 “Good. What else did you find?”

 “Some batteries, beans, cocktail wieners, and a lot of mustards.”

 “Great, more beans,” you muttered. “Seems like that’s all that left.”

 “What’s wrong with beans?” Glenn asked you.

 “They sound gross right now. Did when I was preg—.” You stopped yourself but the damage had already been done.

 “Holy shit, you’re pregnant?” Glenn said. You nodded and he gave you a giant hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

 “I know.” You closed your eyes and felt him kiss your forehead softly.

 “Come on. We should get back. Thankfully it’s a straight shot back to the prison from here,” he said.

 “Hopefully we’ll make it back in time for dinner. And you can get back to Maggie.” Your voice was teasing and you giggled at how red Glenn’s face was turning.

 “And you can get back to your baby daddy.”

 “He doesn’t know, Glenn,” you said.

 “What? Why not?”

 “I found out yesterday. A few hours before—“ You swallowed then sighed. “The quiet’s nice. You can hear the walkers everywhere back home.”

 “And where is it y’all call home?” A voice rang out. Turning sharply, you saw a man pointing a gun at you. You dropped the basket full of formula to the ground and quickly drew your weapon.

 “Merle?” Glenn said. You shot him a glance before turning your eyes back to the stranger. So this was the infamous Merle? Huh, you thought he’d be taller.

 “Wo-ow!” He said with a laugh. Merle put his gun down and his hands up before walking towards you.

 “Back the hell up,” you said, raising your gun higher.

 “Okay, okay. Jesus, honey.”

 “Don’t call me that.”

 “You made it,” Glenn said.

 “Is my brother alive? Can ya tell me that?”

 “Yeah. He’s alive.” Merle seemed relieved that his brother was alive and he reached a hand towards Glenn slightly.

 “Hey, ya take me ta him and I’ll call it even for everythin’ that happened on that roof,” Merle said. “No hard feelin’s whatsoever.”

 Glenn said nothing and his eyes flickered over to the man’s hand. Or lack of one. A long blade was strapped to his arm and it looked deadly.

 “Ya like it? I found myself a medical supply warehouse. Fixed it up myself.”

 “We’ll tell Daryl you’re here and he’ll come out to meet you,” Glenn said.

 You knew that Merle had some problems with the group from before and that alone didn’t want to bring him back. Merle didn’t like that idea and got defensive.

 “Just hold on a second.” He started walking closer and Glenn held his hand out.

 “Stop walking,” he said. Merle did and you shifted nervously.

 “Tha fact that we found each other is a god damn miracle. Ya can trust me, come on now.”

 The way he said that was enough for you to not trust him and you eyed him warily.

 “You trust us. Stay here. We’ll bring Daryl to you.”

 “No!” Merle pulled out a gun from his waistband and shot the rear window of your car out.

 Ducking, you spun around and fell to the floor. You weren’t quick enough and you felt a piece of glass cut your cheek. Then, a body crashed into yours and you found yourself being held by Merle. His knife arm was around your neck and his gun was pointed at your head. When Glenn came around the car and saw you, you could see the fury in his eyes.

 “Hold up, buddy. Hold up,” Merle said.

 “Let go of her. Right now!”

 “Put that gun in tha car. Put it in tha car, son!”

 Glenn did as he was told, eyes never leaving you. Taking a deep breath, you gave Glenn a smile. Then you rammed the back of your head into Merle’s face. Scrambling to get free while he was disorientated, you almost got out of his grip but he collected himself before you could. Merle hit you with the butt of his pistol and you saw black spots swim before your eyes. Blinking them away, you felt Merle’s grip on you tighten.

 “I wish ya didn’t do that, sweetheart,” Merle spat. Looking at Glenn he said, “We’re goin’ for a little drive.”

 “We’re not going back to our camp.”

 “No, we’re not. Now get in tha car Glenn. You’re drivin’.” Glenn looked like he wanted to protest more, but Merle dug the barrel of his gun deeper into your temple. You whimpered, still a bit out of it.

 “Move!”

 “Okay. I’m going.” Glenn got into the driver’s seat and you were shoved into the passengers. Merle got in behind you and continued holding the gun to your head.

 The drive was completely silent and you were pretty sure that you had passed out for a couple minutes. Then you got to the place Merle was taking you. It looked like a town. There were walls made up of vehicles and metal and there were armored guards everywhere too. But you only saw a glimpse of it before Merle instructed Glenn to turn right. He led you to the back of a building before telling Glenn to cut the engine.

 “Ya stay right where ya are, Glenn,” Merle said. “I’ll help out sweetheart here.”

 He climbed out of the car and opened your door before grabbing you and hauling you out.

 “C’mon now. Let’s getcha inside.”

 With his gun still pointed at your head, Glenn had no choice but to do what he was told. When you got inside, Merle shoved you into the first room and locked the door. You heard him take Glenn into the room right next door and after a minute, he came back to you. You didn’t fight it as he made you sit down in a chair and tied your hands behind your back. He left shortly after and you heard the lock click in place.

 ---

 Sam and Dean

Dean was outside with Beth when Rick and Carl saw a woman standing there. He stood by Beth, watching with worried eyes as they brought her into the prison. Carl got a towel while Beth got water. Dean was holding the baby, keeping her calm.

 “Rick?” Daryl said. “Who the hell’s this?”

 “You wanna tell us your name?” Rick asked the woman. She didn’t answer and Rick repeated the question. When she still said nothing, Daryl spoke again.

 “Y’all come in here,” he said.

 “Everything alright?”

 “You’re gonna wanna see this.”

 Rick gave the go ahead so Dean followed Beth in to the cell block, Hershel and Carl behind them. Rick talked to the woman for a few seconds before following, the woman’s sword in hand. Daryl locked the door and led everyone to one of the cells. In the cell sat an exhausted looking Carol. Sophia was right next to her, hugging her mother tightly. Sam and Maggie were sitting with her and when Carol saw everyone, she stood up shakily and went to hug Rick.

 “Thank god,” Rick said, holding Carol close. Dean couldn’t keep the smile off of his face.

 “How?” Hershel asked.

 “Solitary,” Carol said with a small laugh.

 “Poor thing must’ve fought her way inta a cell. Passed out from dehydration.”

 Carol let go of Hershel and saw Dean next. He was still holding onto his sister and when Carol saw the baby, she turned to Rick with a smile on her face. Rick’s face fell and Carol immediately started to comfort him.

 “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She turned to Carl and put her hand on his cheek before taking the baby from Dean’s arms. Dean watched the interactions with a sad smile on his face, his hand on Carl’s shoulder.

 After Carol was all settled, Rick walked back into the common area. Dean, Sam, Hershel, and Daryl with him.

 “We can stitch up that wound for you. Give you some food and water then send you on your way. But you have to tell us how you found us and why you were carrying formula,” Rick said.

 “The supplies were dropped by a young Asian man and a pretty girl,” the woman said. Dean stood up straighter and looked at Sam, a worried look on his face.

 “What happened?” Rick asked.

 “Were they attacked?” Sam asked.

 “They were taken.”

 “Taken? What the fuck do you mean, taken?” Dean said, hands clenching in anger.

 “Taken? Taken by who?”

 “Taken by the same douchebag that shot me.”

 “These are our people. Our family. You’re gonna tell us what happened now!” Rick went and put pressure on her wound. The woman hissed in pain and swatted his hand away.

 “You’d best start talkin’,” Daryl said, crossbow raised. “Or ya problems are gonna be bigger than a gunshot wound.”

 “Find ‘em yourself,” she said, eyes narrowed. Rick told Daryl to put the crossbow down and put himself in between the two of them.

 “There was a reason you came here,” Rick said. The woman looked at the floor before looking at Rick.

 “There’s a town. It’s called Woodbury and has around seventy-five survivors. I think they were taken there,” she said.

 “A whole town?”

 “It’s run by a guy who calls himself the Governor.”

 “He got muscle?” Daryl asked.

 “Paramilitary wannabes. There’s armed sentries on every wall.”

 “You know a way in?” Sam asked.

 “The place is secure from walkers but we should be able to slip our way through.”

 “How’d you know how to get here?”

 “The girl said something about a prison. Mentioned it was a straight-shot in this direction.”

 Rick was silent for a second before pointing to Hershel. “This is Hershel. He’s gonna be the one stitching you up. And they’re Sam and Dean. They’re the brothers of the girl who was taken.”

 With that, Rick walked away. Daryl followed immediately but it took a second for Sam and Dean to follow. They both gave the woman a hard look before walking back into the cell block.

 ---

 “How do we know we can trust her?” Oscar asked.

 “Does it matter? This is Glenn and [y/n] we’re talking about. Why are we even debating?” Beth said.

 “We ain’t. I’ll go after ‘em,” Daryl said.

 “You can’t go alone. This place sounds secure,” Rick said, tapping his foot.

 “I’ll go,” Beth said. Axel and Oscar said the same and Rick shook his head.

 “Dean, Daryl, the woman, and I will go.”

 “I’m going too,” Sam said. “Like hell you’re gonna stop me from going to get my sister.”

 “You need to stay here just in case they manage to escape before we get there. And Adeline is going to need you,” Rick said to Sam. Sam wanted to argue, but he knew that Rick’s point was a valid one.

 “Fine. But if you guys don’t come back within twenty-four hours, I’m going out there to get you.”

 “Deal.”

 With that, the meeting dispersed. Daryl packed a bag full of the flash bangs and tear gas. Dean walked out to the Impala with Sam and gathered a few shotguns and about half of the non-salt ammo along with a few knives.

 “She’s gonna be fine, Sammy. She’s tough and can handle herself,” Dean said. Sam gave a grunt as a response and hauled the duffle over his shoulder before bringing it to the car they were taking.

 Before they left, Dean walked over to Carol and Maggie, kissing their cheeks, kissing the baby and both toddlers foreheads after.

 “Keep an eye on her. She’s a handful,” Dean said.

 “I think I got it covered. Now you go on and get them back safe and sound, okay?” Carol said. She rubbed Adeline’s back, the toddler clinging to Sam.

 “Bring [y/n] back,” Sophia said softly.

 “I will, sweetheart.” Dean gave them a smile and walked over to the car. He got in the backseat next to Daryl. It was time to get his sister back.

[fanficslutforsmut]

The Walking Blind: Chapter 5

*************Monet's POV********** I could hear people yelling, it was frantic outside, it wasn't so close so I knew it wasn't the cells. I could still hear Daryl's voice talking to Rick, eavesdropping was like second nature now, needing to know everything going on around me. I sat up a little in the bed, moving my legs over the ledge. Bear whined as I stood up, immediately grabbing onto the cell door for stability. I squeezed my eyes shut, the dizziness was bearable but still, the room spun around me.

I was determined to see what the commotion was about. I walked further, out of the cell, Bear walking close to my side, nudging me every once in a while. My breath was labored and I was so tired.

"Carl?" I asked, hoping he was close.

"Right here," He said quietly, tapping his foot, I turned to my left.

"What's going on?"

"Some women showed up, with the stuff Glenn and Maggie were supposed to be getting." He told me, grabbing my hand and leading me closer to the voices.

"We can tend to that wound for you, give you a little food and water and then send you on your way. But you're gonna have to tell us how you found us and why you were carrying formula." Ricks's voice was dominant and strong. Even without being able to see him, his voice alone could shake anyone to their core.

"The supplies were dropped by a young Asian guy with a pretty girl." The women's voice was quiet but she was holding her own.

"What happened?"

"Were they attacked?" I heard Hershal's voice now, he was fearing the worst.

My stomach dropped and I held onto Carl's shoulder. I was also fearing the worst, that my stupidity had cost them their life. That my need for medicine and other unnecessary things had gotten them eaten alive. I let silent tears fall from my eyes as I continued to listen.

"They were taken." She answered. I furrowed my brows, taken?

"Taken? By who?" Rick asked her.

"By the same son of a bitch who shot me." She was cut off in the end by Rick, his footsteps advancing a bit.

"Hey, these are our people. You tell us what happened now!" He growled. I tensed as I heard the woman groan in pain before moving.

"Don't you ever touch me again!" She hissed, and suddenly I was back in a world filled with Carter. I didn't want to believe Rick was hurting her but the evidence was clear, and this time I could reason with why he was doing it, we were missing out people.

"You'd better start talking. You're gonna have a much bigger problem than a gunshot wound." I heard Daryl tell her. I closed my eyes. Hoping the women would just give up the information so we could let her go. Alive.

"Find 'em yourself." She told them, and suddenly god was laughing in my face, telling me my hopes were useless in this world.

"Hey, sh sh sh" His footsteps were loud as he walked around, trying to get her back on track.  "You came here for a reason," "There's a town, wood bury, about seventy-five survivors, I think they were taken there." "A whole town?" Rick questioned her.

"It's run by this guy who calls himself the Governor. Pretty boy, charming, Jim Jones type." She sneered. By the sounds of it, this meant trouble. A whole town, kidnapping our two people, I'm not sure if we can win this one but I know that Rick wouldn't let this stop them from trying, especially Hershal, Maggie was his daughter for crying out loud.

"He got muscle?" Daryl asked. My heart jumped a little every time I heard his voice. I don't know if it's the fact that he saved me not only once but now twice that was making me act this way but I didn't want it to stop either way.

"Paramilitary wannabes. They have armed entries on every wall." "You know a way in?" Rick asked. "The place is secure from walers, but we could slip our way through." The mystery woman replied. "How'd you know how to get here?" Rick sniffed. "They mentioned a prison, said which direction it was in, this it was a straight shot."  She told him a matter of factly.

"This is Hershal, the father of the girl who was taken," Rick told her. I learned a little on Carl, my head getting lighter, I kept shifting my weight from side to side, trying to keep my breath quiet as we lurked. "He'll take care of that."

"Come on they're coming out now," Carl told me, helping me wobble back to some tables. We sat down just in time for the footsteps to be in the same room as us now.

"What're you doin out of bed, you need to rest," Daryl asked, touching my back. I flinched for a second, relaxing into his touch, thinking of a lie quick.

"I wanted to make friends?" It was more of a question than an answer but he still huffed, obviously not believing me.  "Can I have some water please, I'm really thirsty," I told Daryl, hoping I could ask Carl about what he saw. Daryl just hummed, walking away, I turned back to Carl.

"Alright tell me what you saw, what was she like?" I asked him lowly. "She's black, with long hair, it looks weird." "Weird how? Poofy or like ropes?" I cut him off, I needed a good description. "Ropes." "They're called dreadlocks," I told him. He hummed and kept on with his description.

"She was shot in the leg, and she has a really cool sword." He told me. I bit my lip not being able to make a good picture in my head from the lack of detail but I took what I could get before Daryl came back, touching my arm and holding the bottle out for me, which I took gratefully.

"Thank you," I told him quietly. "Go on," Daryl told Carl, who scrambled away from the table. "Hey, he's my friend." I scowled. "Be nice," I told him, he huffed, grabbing my hand and lifting me slightly.

"You need to lay down." He told me, leading Bear and me up the stairs back to our cell. "Will you stay with me?" I asked him once we reached the room. "Can't gotta help Rick out, Glenn and Maggie were taken, gotta get 'em back." He told me. I frowned now remembering why they were in that mess.

"I'm so sorry this happened," I told him, choking back the cries. From the sound of it, the people at this town aren't like the close-knit family I was brought into by Daryl.

Daryl hummed,  giving me the lightest squeeze before letting go and leaving me. After a few moments, I heard footsteps coming back.

"Daryl?" I questioned the unknown person I could sense standing in the doorway.

"It's us, Carl and Beth." The girly voice called out quietly.

"Come in." I smiled, patting the mattress I was now sitting on. The weight dipped on it a bit but it was heavier than I thought Carl would be, so I assumed it was Beth.

"Got anything for me? Who's all going?" I asked, pushing my hair behind my ear.

"Well, right now my daddy's fixin that lady up," Beth told me. "But then my dad, Daryl, Oscar, and I think Axel is going too," Carl emphasized the word describing Rick. I nodded humming, picking at my fingers, worrying about Daryl. I mean how would these odds look to anyone? Four against a town?

"I gotta go, I know my daddy's probably looking for me, talk to you later, Monet," Beth said, hurriedly walking out of the cell just as Hershal called for her. I waved. "I'm gonna go too, say bye to my dad," Carl said, following Beth, I just stayed silent and sat on the bed for a few minutes.

"God this is boring, huh bubby?" I asked Bear, patting his head. I stood up, Bear instantly standing flush against my leg. I put my arms in front of me, talking small and slow steps around the cell. I walked to the door, then turned to face the inside of it.

The bunks were on the right side, then about three steps to the left there was an empty table against the wall. Walking further into the cell there was a small toilet and an equally small sink next to that, there was a mirror above the sink, very useless in my case. The walls were baren cement blocks, paint slightly chipping away in some places.

"I brought you some sheets and blankets and pillows, and a curtain for your door." I recognized Carol's voice. I turned around.

"Oh thank you, you didn't have to but I appreciate it," I told her, giving her my best smile. She helped me with the tiny fitted sheet.

"Can you tell me anything about the group, at least the more grown-up details?" I asked her as I put the blankets on the bed, putting the pillows on the end closer to the back of the cell. I sat down on the comfortable bed, waiting for her response.

"Like what?" "I don't know, how did everyone find each other, is this everyone, was there more?" I was a broken damn, flooding her with questions.

"Well, when this all started we were all stuck on a highway, there was way more than now." She paused. "Then when people started meeting one another we set up a little camp sort of thing a little way out of Atlanta, Glenn would get supplies from the city, the girls did the woman's work, Daryl and his brother hunted for us."

"Daryl has a brother?" I cut her off, scooting forward at the interesting thought.

"Mhmm," She hummed. "His name was Merle. The last time Glenn went out to the city he took Merle, and a few others and when he came back Merle was gone and Rick was there." She tells me.

"What happened?"

"Merle was being Merle. Racist and an asshole, Rick handcuffed him to the roof and they left him there, T-Dog dropped the key or something and when they came back for him he was gone, just his hand left." She told me. I nodded, eyes scrunched. She continues.

"Rick found his wife and Carl at the camp with us and his old partner. He used to be a Sherrif deputy. I had my husband, son of a bitch, and my daughter Sophie. We had a lot of other people, but one night, walkers came and got so many of them, nearly half." I nodded.

"They got my husband, other families, they got Andrea's sister. So we moved out of there, got to the CDC, it was ok at first. Big dinner, lots of drinking, then the guy there told us there was no cure, there was no hope. He tried to blow us up and almost succeeded. We lost more there.  Then we were back on the highway and while we were looking for supplies there was just this huge hoard of them, probably a hundred or so, and my baby got scared, and some walkers chased her into the woods." Carol paused, taking a deep breath, taking a moment to reminisce in her loss, to remember her sweet baby like how she used to be.

"We separated and looked for days, and then one day this lady on a horse came running to us screaming for Laurie, Carl's mother, saying he's been shot, she tells us to meet them at a farm and we do. That's where we met Hershal and his family. We stayed there for a while but then there were just some problems and we lost even more people and another hoard shows up and drove us out." She sighed.

"We were jumping from house to house, anywhere we could hide for a bit until we found this place, cleared it out and made it ours. Lost some people doing that too." I decided not to question her about her daughter, I already assumed her untimely demise. I nodded, feeling for her hand.

"I can't imagine your losses, and I can only hope your journey in this world become lighter," I told her, squeezing her hand.

"Thank you, sweetheart, it's our journey now. I don't think you're leaving us anytime soon, you're part of the family now." She laughed, kissing m forehead. I flinched back a bit but accepter her embrace. I missed my mother, her soft hugs.

"I don't know about that, Rick doesn't seem so fond of me." I laughed warily.

"Don't worry, Daryl won't let anything happen to you." She told me. I nodded, smiling at the ground. "Plus I think Carl's got a crush on ya." She nudged my shoulder, I laughed a little.

##############

Tagged:

@nikki082489 @theunofficialduke @lonewolf471

Masterlist

[javaelemental]

Batwoman (S1, Ep2): The Rabbit Hole

Episode two was a huge improvement over one. Pacing was better, scene segues were better, characterizations took a big jump forward - it was overall a much stronger episode.

Looks like we get the red suit next week? Looking forward to that - the egg-shaped cowl on the current bat suit bugs me.

I’m liking the dynamic between Kate and Alice - can’t wait to see how all that shakes out.

Jacob Kane is kind of the worst, right? Like, that dude is not good at being a dad. Or a wannabe cop/paramilitary force.

Speaking of, super-duper not loving the idea of a private paramilitary force basically taking over for the cops. How on Earth was that even let to happen? What kind of power do they have? I could see them providing private security for people or at events, that makes sense. But they’re actually out there hunting down gang members, doing investigations, and shooting people dead. I could see how they might be able to round up the power to make an arrest - bounty hunters can do something like that. But shooting people dead, apparently legally? What?

Also, not liking the whole Kate/Sophia thing. The girl got married Kate, leave her the fuck alone. Being a woman doesn’t absolve you of being weird and pushy with your ex. Also, Sophia totally sold Kate out at school or wherever, why would you even still be chasing that? No part of this Kate/Sophia situation makes me happy. It’s creepy and unhealthy. Yuck. Stop it, Batwoman writers.

I am really liking Mary, Kate’s step-sister. (Half-sister?) I love that’s she’s out there running an illegal clinic to help people, love how she handled Alice’s boytoy breaking in on her, love how she straight called Kate out, she’s great.

Kate’s still kind of being a dick to Luke Fox. I could do without that. I’m totally on Luke’s side here. This crazy woman broke into his boss’ place and is now swanning around acting like she owns everything when, as far as I can tell, she does not. And she’s being mean about it to the guy who’s basically in the right. No argument he’s made has been a bad argument.

I’m a little confused about the 70′s-style giant box computers in the Bat Cave. I feel like Bruce would have upgraded that occasionally. They look cool, not gonna knock that. They just kinda don’t make a lot of sense.

Overall, good, solid episode. Good action, plot, fun. I’d like to see a few relationship things cleaned up, but we’ll give them a few episodes to get it sorted out.

🏆 Line of the Night Award: Bad guy: “Thought you were Batman.” Batwoman: “You wish."

Supergirl (S5, Ep2): Stranger Beside Me

Lena. Holy shit, woman. What the hell. “I’m not evil,” she says, as she proceeds to do all the evil things. “This woman screwed me over once so I’ll just reprogram her whole brain and stick my friendly AI henchman in there, that seems like a good idea that never, ever goes wrong in other stories. Also, I’ll figure out how to do something similar with all humans. 'Making humans better by force’ always works out well and is never evil.”

River Tam wants a word with you, Lena, JFC.

The rest of the plot was, y’know. Meh. I don’t care a lot about J’onn’s brother and whatever’s going on with that, yet.

I extra don’t care about Nia and Brainy’s issues. This is a prime example of CW’s penchant for forced relationship drama. Y’all are grownups, use your goddamn words.

I am slightly interested in what’s going on with who’s-his-face at Cat Co., the reporter dude from London with NSA contacts and the obviously fake backstory. Please do something more interesting with that than dating/relationship drama, Supergirl writers. Oh yeah, we saw what you were doing there with Kara’s snipping at who’s-his-face. You can’t fool us.

Also, for fucksake, will someone please tell Kara to get a lawyer? Rojas’ non-compete contract is in no way enforceable or realistic. Get you to a lawyer, stat. And take James Olsen’s dumb ass with you before we have to see him run for office.

Overall this was another weak episode. I hope they’re not stuck spinning their wheels until Crisis.

🏆 Line of the Night Award: No winners in this episode.

[mugsywrites]

Love your idea about Denise doing psych assessments of new recruits. And I’m so excited to hear that the homesteading au is going well. Do you think you’ll be posting anything soon? For it or Ripples?

Like many things on TWD, it’s such a wasted opportunity for some character development. I mean, they did a little of it with Deanna’s interviews of them all but it would have been interesting for a shrink to question them.

As for Homesteading AU: Maybe? Let me just explain my writing process: 1)I do a basic outline, 2)start writing somewhere in the middle, work my way toward the end and 3) go back and figure out how things got there/fill in the gaps. But doing that means I usually rewrite huge swaths of the ending.

For example: the skeletal outline of “Fables” was “Daryl is injured and stays at Hilltop after the war, while there he falls in love with Jesus, they sleep together, Daryl has a gay panic moment and runs away to the ASZ, Jesus goes after him and something happens which makes Daryl and the group have to look for him, they have an angry confrontation and admit their feelings for each other” . From that the earliest scenes I wrote were the night they slept together for the first time and Daryl left, also scene where Paul confronts Daryl about it and the final scene where Daryl tells him he loves him back. The only thing that remains of those last two scenes are some of the dialog since once I started working toward that the plot changed significantly: Originally the Whisperers were going to be the baddies, and Daryl was going to get bitten and wouldn’t find out until the last chapter that it wasn’t from a zombie and he was going to live. The Whisperers were abandoned because I realized it would take too much time and attention to set them up as baddies, especially when I worked out the best way of telling the story was alternating chapters of “Now” and “Then”. I wanted the “Now” chapters to be shorter and take place over a day or two in contrast to the months covered in the “Then” chapters and that just wasn’t enough for the Whisperers. I changed it to Paul getting injured because the story began with them not sure if Daryl would live and ends with them not sure Paul will, which was a nice little bookend instead of just repetitive.

So that long ramble is just to explain that I’m sort of on step 2 right now, but since it’s an AU of my AU and I’m jumping around a bit I have most of the first couple of chapters roughed out, but I’ve been mostly working on some middle-to-end bits. As small reward for anyone’s patience in reading that ramble, here’s an out-of-context, likely to be deleted/altered significantly, and unedited bit of a scene I’ve been working on (apologies that it’s more TF focused than Desus focused:

“I don’t know where my husband is,” Michonne says quietly, “We were separated a few days ago, and when we went looking…he wasn’t where he said he’d be.”

“What happened?” Paul asks. He wishes Daryl were already home, if Michonne and Carl’s people are out here on the mountain then Daryl would find them. But he’ll be out on his hunt for another two days at least.

“Group of us are on our way to Washington,” she says. She glances to the living room behind her, where Carl has fallen asleep. “It’s a long story.”

“Well. I’ve got time. But you should probably sleep. So should I.”

She gives a weak smile, “I can’t sleep.”

“Not alone?” Paul says with sympathy.

“I can sleep alone,” she answers, “I just can’t sleep when I’m the one doing the waiting.”

Paul nods; he understands this too well. When he’s the one out on a supply run with Daryl and Clementine holding down the fort here at 19 Chicopee Paul sleeps wherever he can find shelter and is out as soon as he lays down. When Daryl’s the one out on one of his hunts even in a warm and comfortable bed in their almost-safe home then Paul is wide awake. “How long have you been married?” Paul asks.

Michonne pauses, “I-we didn’t really have a ceremony, you know? He wasn’t my husband from before.”

Paul has already guessed this; Carl obviously isn’t her biological child anymore than Clem is his.“How’d you meet?”

Michonne’s face changes, goes blank. “It was…maybe a year ago. I was alone,” Michonne says, “for a long time. Lost everything, everyone. It was just me and…” she swallows and looks away, and Paul doesn’t press. He can guess the gist of it, and he thinks if Daryl were gone he would probably cut himself off from everyone as well. “I wasn’t crazy…I was just…gone,” Michonne continues, “One day I found a woman in the woods. Carol. Surrounded by walkers. And for some reason I decided to stop and help. Saved her life. Then it was the two of us.” A faint smile, “Carol…she was pretty much gone too. But we helped each other find our way back. At least part of the way. It was the first winter after everything happened. In the spring…that’s when we found Woodbury.” Her voice grows dark. “It was a big group, an entire town. Was run by this guy who calls himself the Governor. Pretty boy, charming,” she grimaces, “in a Jim Jones type of way.”

Paul knows exactly the type of guy she’s talking about. He nods for her to continue.

“Or more like they found us. Carol’d gotten sick, and the Governor and his men found us. Brought us to Woodbury. We both knew something wasn’t right from the start. Sentries on every wall. Paramilitary wannabes. I wanted to get out of there right away, but Carol was still too sick. By the time she got better she told me we should stay put for a bit. Watch these people,” she snorts. Paul can read her face well enough to know that whatever relationship she had with this woman, it was complicated. Michonne shakes her head, “Carol’s…you’d never notice Carol, not before. Susie Homemaker. Soccer mom. Looks like she’d jump six feet if a mouse farted. No one notices a woman like that now either. She could bake you cookies with a smile then slit your throat without changing her expression. Within a day or two she’s part of a ladies’ social and making dinner for old folks and everybody’s talking to her.” She shrugs, lost in the memory, “Not like me. Carol said I was about as subtle as knife to the crotch.”

Paul can believe it. The woman at his dinner table is soft-spoken, genteel, and nothing like the ferocious mama bear defending her cub he’d met in the woods earlier that day. Even so, “subtle” is the last thing she is. She’s the sort of woman who walks in a room and draws attention without effort. “What’d the two of you find out?”

“That this Governor was a fucking psychopath,” Michonne replies, eyes dark. “Him and his goons raided other settlements for supplies. I think the only reason he didn’t kill the two of us right away was because we had nothing he wanted to take. At Woodbury he had a makeshift arena with weekly ‘gladiator matches’ where you fought in a pit with walkers chained to either side. Had a room full of fishtanks with decapitated walker heads. Kept his dead daughter—Penny—in chains in his house. Thought she could be cured.”

Paul can feel the blood draining from his face, “Holy fuck,” he whispers softly. “And people at Woodbury…they just went along with it?”

She shrugs, “Most people there didn’t want to know. He was keeping them safe, and fed, and together. His soldiers knew, but they didn’t care either. Some of them liked it, like his number two. Merle,” she spits the name out.

Paul’s stomach plummets, and he must look like he’s seen a ghost because Michonne asks him what’s wrong. “Nothing,” he starts to say, but she looks like the sort of woman who can see through lies, so he admits, “My brother-in-law was called Merle. Merle Dixon. And he was a son-of-a-bitch. Ran around with white supremacist militias and dealt meth. Reacted how you’d expect when he found out his little brother was gay.”

Her face goes still, “I never found out his last name, but that sounds like our Merle. Fifties, beefy, blue eyes, gotta mouth on him.”

Paul’s heart races, “He was in jail when everything happened, I’m sure there are a lot of redneck assholes in the state of Georgia called Merle.”

“Well, the world gets smaller at the end. Something Merle said himself. See, he knew Carol. They were in the same group at the beginning, before they kicked him out. The rest of Carol’s group…she thought the world of them. One of them died saving her life, right before I found her. Carl’s mother.” She gives a small smile at Paul’s look of confusion, “Me and Carol were getting ready to escape  when the Governor brought in a new group, one Carol recognized.”

“The one she was with before, with Merle,” Paul says, amazed.

Michonne nods, “World keeps getting smaller. So maybe it is your brother-in-law out there in the woods after us. The night I found her, Carol’s group was overrun by a herd and she got separated. Must’ve thought she died with Lori. They were glad to see her, even…” She trails off, eyes seeing something else, “That’s when I met Rick.” Her voice is unsteady when she says her husband’s name.

[dontcallmecarrie]

Oops, I did it again

Umm...

so, for those who don’t know, The Blue Pill wasn’t so much a planned story, so much as a ‘hey what if- oh never mind that wouldn’t fit with the plan...but what if?’ during the early stages of hammering out what would and wouldn’t happen in the original story, back before Blurred Lines was a mere 10k-fic and not the 57-page monstrosity of snippets, world-mashing, and spinoffs. *facepalm*

Some spinoffs are longer than others, and I tend to add to them as I go along, because it’s a fun thought exercise when running up against a brick wall [thanks, Sherlock]. Thus, why a ‘what if there were four cups and not three?’ became a 4k AU off branch from a Blurred Lines scene. And why there’s another in the works with a similar premise, what’s shaping up to be a prequel to the entire thing, and, now, a crack AU.

Specifically, a crack!AU wherein the genius that she attaches herself to is Moriarty. [What can I say? He’s more cooperative than Sherlock, all right?!] For a 3-AM-is-totally-the-best-time-to-finish-that-one-assignment random thought, it’s gained...quite a bit of ground. 2k, to be specific, but that’s just the outline; for context, if I were to think about it more than I have already, the one I’m using for Blurred Lines has me taking 86 words on a bullet point and making it into a...4k chapter and counting, for where I’m at right now. 

If anyone’s curious, let me know so as to post part of the outline, because it’s unapologetically crack and involves Martha accidentally upstaging wannabe gang leaders, Moriarty getting impressed by the unconventional use of fountain pens, and Jack despairing of Martha’s life choices and poor taste in men because “you’re dating a doctor, Martha, except this one wouldn’t know what to do with a temporal singularity if you beaned him in the head with it” “Tom’s a sweetheart, I’ll have you know”.

 It’s ridiculous, and I’m inordinately proud of it, because Martha ends up basically being Moriarty’s right-hand (wo-)man who goes out for drinks with Irene Adler whenever she’s in town to commiserate over stupidly attractive men and their melodrama. This AU has less of a body count than canon does, even, because Martha Jones’ badassery is a fundamental constant in anything I write.

Speaking of which:

Martha Jones is the main character of Blurred Lines, not the Doctor, or Sherlock Holmes. I’m sorry, and they’ll show up later [or, in the Doctor’s case, get a few cameos and mentions later because this is post-Season 3], but...apparently that ‘later’ just keeps growing. I’d initially hoped to have them meet within five chapters, but now it’s been 6 and not a peep from his corner. Wrangling Martha into John’s situation is tricky, on a number of levels.

It also doesn’t help that I keep getting ‘when does she meet Sherlock?’ reviews, because I really want to write their meeting but his character is not cooperating and it’s driving me up the wall. [The criminal mastermind’s more cooperative, that’s how bad it is.]

But, just to clear up any misconceptions for anyone curious: Martha’s the main character, this entire AU is her healing and carrying on and being a badass. Yes, eventually she’ll up and run with another genius with great hair and sharp words, but this entire series is, fundamentally, focused on her. If that’s not what you’re looking for, sorry, but  I’m going to go with the classic ‘don’t like, don’t read’. 

Then, there’s the other, more serious-and-less-plot-related issues that are delaying the next chapter.

Specifically, the sense of ‘premed Latina student in the US is trying to write a black med student in the UK and trying not to get anything wrong but I only have so much time to research this instead of studying’, because I’m doing my best but with everything going on? I get the feeling that the sociopolitical climate between what I’m writing, and now, are monumentally different.

Part of me wants to go the ‘you’re doing this to de-stress, you can relate to her more than some other writers so you’ll probably get at least some things right, don’t worry about too much and hey as a bonus, you can give this fictional universe a competent President and it’s set like a decade ago anyway also you’re doing your best and for free’ route, but another part’s going ‘hey, you need to get the nuances just right and also you’re not black you’re a Latina and you’ll probably screw stuff up becasue of it and also it’s a different country and probably different prejudices’. Fun, especially since a key component of the original premise of this whole thing was ‘have everything go in a lighter, more ‘everyone lives!’ direction rather than grimdark and angsty’.

Which, on top of BS’ing how international paramilitary organizations who regularly deal with temporal and extra-planetary threats work [wish me luck, I’m a civilian and the nearest fictional reference I had turned out to be secretly Nazis, thanks for nothing SHIELDRA], and keeping characters in character while still developing them to where l need them to be, means that I’m essentially flying by the seat of my pants. 

Oh, and remember how I’d said earlier ‘trying to prevent a prequel’? 

Yeah...about that, err.... My notes to keep Martha’s story straight just keep growing, because Martha’s picked up some...interesting habits and learned some useful tricks, and in an effort to keep things at least vaguely plausible, being able to pinpoint when and where she learned something is useful. 

However, that also means I’m referencing Indonesia and the OCs who helped her along the way, and at this rate I should probably make a prequel. If only to confuse less readers, because Blurred Lines has Martha Jones leveled up in terms of badassery, and these upcoming chapters are going to reflect that. And having something to point the haters to if anyone ever starts talking about Mary Sues wouldn’t hurt, either. [Likelihood of a prequel at some point, even if only a tiny one: very, very high.]

[fractalfractures]

The Shitty Stories I’m Translating: White Savior Edition

So when we last left our medical intern heroine she was being left in charge of the entire refugee camp while her boyfriend went and risked his life to save them. We get a boring chapter in which Captain Machismo decides that giving piggyback rides to the four year old who wants him to be her adopted daddy is in no way contradictory to the surgeon’s orders to rest in bed for the first few days. Then this exchange with the heroine, which told me it was time to pause work to blog:

“What kind of food reserves are we talking about?”

“Let’s say that tonight we’re having a bit of soup and some dry crackers. There’s not much else.”

“Understood.” [Hero] got off the cot, stopping [Heroine] from continuing with his injuries.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I need you to get me some thick cords and some narrow strips of thin cloth. I also want you to gather five or six strong young men.”

“I don’t understand. What are you planning?”

“Dear doctor. We’re in the middle of the jungle. We have a river nearby, along with rabbits and wild pigs. There is abundant food around us. We can fish and hunt.”

“You’re going to what?!” She touched his forehead to check if he was sick, but [Jake Sully wannabe] was faster. He took her little hand between his strong fingers, and gave her a kiss so fast and fleeting that the young woman was unable to react.

“We’re in the middle of jungle, for good as well as bad. We’re surrounded by animals and plants. I’ll teach these people to survive until Mr. Perfect gets back.”

Two things wrong with this:

1. YOU’RE TELLING ME NONE OF THE THOUSANDS OF DISPLACED LOCALS LIVING IN THE CAMP KNOW HOW TO GATHER THEIR OWN FOOD. (Or have tried planting gardens or raising chickens in the years they’ve been there.)

2. Presumably the reason they aren’t already out foraging is because THE JUNGLE’S CRAWLING WITH ARMED PARAMILITARIES OUT TO KILL THEM. What’s more, we’ve already been told that it’s especially important that they NOT FIND THE HERO, who they are definitely already looking for, since his body was missing after the plane was shot down.

I can’t get over the idea of some city slicker from across the Atlantic needing to come teach Amazonian peasants how to live off the land, but plot-wise the second point is what really doesn’t make sense. We’ve been told that the refugees in general are acceptable targets to the dictator’s men because they’ve been branded traitors to the fatherland. The camp itself is for some reason left alone, but shipments of goods are being intercepted and then there’s the whole bridge-destroying thing. I assume the author will have some sort of explanation, but scanning the page it looks like “desperate times call for desperate measures.” Umm...

[njawaidofficial]

How Rap Became The Soundtrack To Polish Nationalism

https://styleveryday.com/2018/02/11/how-rap-became-the-soundtrack-to-polish-nationalism/

How Rap Became The Soundtrack To Polish Nationalism

KRAKOW, Poland — Tadek spent his teens scouring record stores for albums by the Wu-Tang Clan and other hip-hop artists in Poland’s medieval center, Krakow.

Tadek, whose full name is Tadeusz Polkowski, discovered rap in the ’90s when it was still a new import to Poland; communism kept the country closed to Western pop culture until 1989. He started recording his own tracks at 16 under his nickname and became nationally known in his twenties as part of a wannabe gangsta rap–style group that recorded songs with names like “The Hard Life of a Street Rapper.”

So there was an outcry from the mainstream press when Tadek was invited to perform at the presidential palace in 2017 to mark the National Day for the Polish Language, a day historically used to honor Poland’s greatest writers.

The performance looked awkward for everyone involved. Tadek had traded the hoodie he often wore in his videos for a pair of chinos and a mustard V-neck sweater, both of which looked several sizes too large for his willowy frame. He kept his eyes tightly shut, as if trying to block out the rows of dignitaries in suits stiffly watching on.

But Tadek was given this platform precisely because he was no longer the man who’d tossed around phrases like “fuck the police” in his youth. That day he performed a song addressed to his wife — but it turned out to have a surprise message.

“We are getting stronger, the family is getting bigger, without man and woman — the final extinction. Our sons are so great that I want another child,” he rapped, before apologizing at the song’s end, “You have one rival, forgive me — it’s Poland!”

“Everyone who wants to control Poland … wants us to be weaker, wants us to be not proud of ourselves.”

Rappers like Tadek reflect just how deeply the past divides Poland today. He’s reinvented himself in recent years as part of a booming nationalist rap scene. His songs pay homage to the Poles who fought the Nazis in World War II and the communist government that followed, while taking jabs at the mainstream media, liberal politicians, and the European Union. His videos sometimes rack up millions of views on YouTube, and he plans to put out three new albums this year, now supported with a fellowship from the Ministry of Culture.

His trajectory reflects just how much nationalism has transformed Poland in recent years. The 2015 elections were won by an aggressive far-right faction, the Law and Justice Party, known as PiS for short. The PiS government has undermined the courts, refused to accept the refugees required under EU rules, and opened a culture war by claiming Poles have long been fed lies about their history.

Earlier this week, the president enacted a law that makes it illegal to say Poland shared any responsibility for the Holocaust. In World War II, the country lost 6 million people, half of whom were Jews. Lawmakers want Poland to be recognized as a victim of the Nazi invasion, but critics say the law would silence discussion of the way some Poles contributed to the Jews’ deaths.

One of the biggest tests of democracy in Europe is now playing out in Poland — and a drive to rewrite history is at its heart.

“Everyone who wants to control Poland … wants us to be weaker, wants us to be not proud of ourselves,” Tadek said in an interview with BuzzFeed News last month at his apartment overlooking the industrial valley that keeps Krakow smothered in a blanket of smog. “Pride gives people power to do something for your country.”

Tadek at home with his two sons.

Anna Liminowicz for BuzzFeed News

The night that Tadek’s parents brought him home from the hospital in 1982, he slept through riots outside their front door in which pro-democracy activists clashed with communist paramilitaries.

Shortly before Tadek was born, his father, a poet named Jan Polkowski, was imprisoned for seven months for his role in the pro-democracy Solidarity movement. After communism fell, Polkowski went on to serve in Poland’s newly democratic government and then a right-wing party that ultimately became part of PiS.

Tadek grew up surrounded by the memories of ancestors who’d fought for Poland. His parents hung a portrait of an ancestor who fought in a failed 1863 uprising against imperial rule by Russia. Tadek was told stories about his great-grandfather, who fought the Soviet Union after Poland became independent in 1918. He heard about his grandfather, one of thousands of Polish soldiers who fought the Nazis only to be sent to Soviet gulags by the Red Army as it established a communist puppet government at the end of the war.

So, Polkowski told BuzzFeed News, he was dismayed when Tadek grew into a rebellious adolescent drawn to “the way of expression that was used by black people in slums.” The music “did not talk about the reality he lived in,” he complained, and it seemed like a foreign subculture that “cuts you off from your roots.”

“It was also a rejection of my past,” Polkowski said.

Within a few years Tadek had started a group called Firma, rapping about weed and vodka and girls.

He saw Tadek as emblematic of a generation of young Poles raised under the liberal governments that ran Poland in the ’90s and brought it into the EU in 2004. He said Poland’s liberals only wanted to speak about the dark side of the country’s past and believed that “Polish identity should be dissolved into an EU identity.”

While his father wanted him to learn about Poland’s history, Tadek dedicated himself to mastering the audio equipment he’d inherited from an uncle. He recorded songs to cassette using samples from his PlayStation, recordings for children, and classical composers like Brahms and Beethoven. He was still in high school when he began performing live shows.

“I was fucking scared,” he said when recalling his first performance. “Everyone told me that I was really white in the face onstage.”

Within a few years Tadek had started a group called Firma, rapping about weed and vodka and girls. By the mid-2000s, they were playing around 50 concerts a year.

But everything changed for Tadek as he approached his thirties, when he decided to go on a self-improvement kick — to fight “not to be an idiot,” he said. His father had a library of more than 10,000 volumes, so he asked for some recommendations. And his father gave him books about Polish history.

Recounting this moment in his living room, which is decorated with the emblem of the uprising of Polish rebels that expelled Nazi troops from Warsaw at the end of World War II, Tadek grew angry about how much he hadn’t known about Polish history.

“Jewish people use the Holocaust for a lot of business.”

He discovered a past full of heroes who fought for the country’s independence — and decided their memory should be a resource for Poland today, not something to be ashamed of.

“What’s wrong? Why don’t we use it?” he said. Poland could have followed the model of the Jews, he said, who “built a lot of success on tragical history from years of war.”

“Jewish people use the Holocaust for a lot of business,” he said, like how “when you say something wrong about some Jewish people, it’s [called] anti-Semitism.”

For Tadek and many others, an example of the distortion of Polish history concerns the 1941 massacre of Jews in a village called Jedwabne. That July, a group of Poles herded the town’s Jewish residents into a barn and set it on fire as Nazi soldiers looked on.

youtube.com

Jedwabne was one of dozens of pogroms that broke out as the Nazis marched east across Poland, but a 2001 book by American historian Jan Tomasz Gross about the incident forced the first widespread discussion about how some Poles contributed to the death of Jews. A monument was built in Jedwabne, and two presidents apologized at commemorations a decade apart. But a government examination of the incident concluded in 2003 that Gross overstated the number who died and how many Poles participated. Many nationalists have since dismissed the book as a hit job designed to make Poland look bad.

Tadek claimed that Gross said, “Poles were the biggest killers of Jewish people during the war … that Polish people only wanted Jewish blood during the war.” In reality, Tadek said, thousands of Poles risked a death sentence by helping Jews escape the Nazis.

World War II wasn’t just a Jewish tragedy, he said. Around 2 million of the 6 million people believed to have been killed in Poland were ethnic Poles, and both Hitler and Stalin sought to destroy the Polish state. The Warsaw Uprising against the Nazis in 1944 was the largest underground revolt against German forces in any country during the war — there were plenty of stories of heroism, too.

“We were fighting during the Second World War,” Tadek said. “We were the biggest losers.”

Tadek came to believe that powerful interests were trying to keep the truth of the past from Polish citizens.

He pointed to members of the old Communist Party who’d become part of the center-left party that led Poland into the EU, who he believed were trying to keep the party’s crimes buried. Other former communists have become powerful in the media, like Jerzy Urban, who was the press secretary for Poland’s last communist leader and now edits a weekly paper. Many foreign companies are now big players in the Polish economy, including German firms that profited during the Nazi era, such as Allianz insurance.

“If you want someone to be your slave, you don’t want him to be intelligent, smart,” he said. “How the fuck did it happen — people don’t know about the biggest World War II heroes?”

Anna Liminowicz for BuzzFeed News

It’s not just the memory of World War II and communism that divides the Poles.

In 2010, President Lech Kaczyński and several other top officials died when a plane crashed in the Russian city of Smolensk as they were traveling to the site where the Soviet army massacred Polish officers at the end of WWII. Competing accounts of what happened that day are so far apart that they exist in entirely separate universes.

The official investigation by aviation experts and the government of liberal Prime Minister Donald Tusk established that it was an accident caused by a rushed landing attempt in bad weather. But the leader of PiS — the dead president’s identical twin brother, Jarosław Kaczyński — was convinced it had been an assassination by Russia and that Tusk was covering it up.

PiS hammered on the claim, organizing monthly vigils calling for the “truth” about Smolensk, while a new network of right-wing media outlets spread the conspiracy allegations. They claimed Tusk was a pawn of a hostile power, and charged him with treason when he later left Poland to become president of the European Council. By 2015 nearly a quarter of Poles believed there was a cover-up of Smolensk.

That’s the year PiS won a majority in Parliament promising to restore Poland’s pride and to keep out Muslim refugees. And it solidified its power with what opponents say is sustained assault on the media and the historical record.

If you think that the previous government covered up a Russian assassination of Poland’s president, then it’s not a stretch to believe that authorities will lie about anything. And there was a new network of right-wing news sites and social media accounts to convince the public they had long been duped.

“We were fighting during the Second World War. … We were the biggest losers.”

For PiS members, the Smolensk cover-up was part of a much wider conspiracy by pro-European governments to lie about Poland’s history so the country would be ripe for foreign exploitation. They claimed liberals wanted Poles to be ashamed of their past so they would not fight back.

PiS’s Andrzej Duda, who is now Poland’s president, said his liberal predecessor’s apology for the Jedwabne pogrom “destroys historical memory.” A former PiS parliamentary candidate organized a nationwide hunger strike when the education ministry rolled out a more flexible curriculum in 2012 that required fewer hours of history.

Tadek’s first historically themed album came out at the height of this furor. He called it An Inconvenient Truth, because, he said in the title song, it carries a message for “those scumbags that destroy this country from the inside.”

“There is no consent to rob young Poles of knowledge of their ancestors,” he said in lyrics addressed to then–prime minister Tusk in a song about the curriculum overhaul. “Maybe he forgot that he is the prime minister? … Do they love their country or Brussels more?”

The album’s biggest single was about the so-called Cursed Soldiers, Polish units who fought the Nazis and hid in the forests when the Soviets occupied Poland in 1945; they fought until the Red Army finally wiped them all out. It immediately racked up thousands of views on YouTube, and today it has been watched more than 4 million times in various versions. That number is more than one-tenth of Poland’s entire population.

One track told the story of Danuta Siedzikówna, who joined the Polish resistance as a nurse and supported the Cursed Soldiers with medical supplies until she was arrested and executed by communist forces. Another told the story of Witold Pilecki, a soldier during World War II who spent two years organizing a secret resistance inside the Nazi concentration camp at Auschwitz. He escaped in 1943 and fought with Polish forces during the 1944 uprising in Warsaw, before being arrested and executed in 1948 as a Western spy by the communist regime.

“Why did they not teach me about you in school?” Tadek lamented. “Today, the media and political elites — as if they are Polish — are constantly striving to deceive history.”

Tadek Polkowski in his the apartment where he grew up in Krakow, Poland.

Anna Liminowicz for BuzzFeed News

This led to the busiest time of Tadek’s career, when he was playing around 100 concerts a year. He also began working with a Krakow museum dedicated to Poland’s homegrown World War II resistance, and the city’s symphony orchestra organized a concert of classical arrangements of his music. Then came government honors.

Promotional copies of Tadek’s An Inconvenient Truth were distributed by Magna Polonia, a publication that is now a Breitbart-esque online portal run by a group called the National Radical Camp. Known by its Polish initials ONR, it takes its name from a right-wing group that sought an ethnically pure Poland in the 1930s.

ONR members have been convicted under Poland’s anti-fascism law for making Hitler salutes. But in 2010, a procession the ONR co-organized in Warsaw to mark Poland’s Independence Day became the focal point for the growing nationalist fervor and drew thousands.

“You have one rival, forgive me — it’s Poland!”

Tadek endorsed the march in 2012, and said he believed that mainstream media coverage of the event was propaganda by left-leaning stations to make nationalists look bad. Last year’s march saw organizers describe themselves as “racial separatists,” openly use banners with slogans like “All Different, All White,” and give prominent speaking spots to self-proclaimed fascist leaders from other countries.

Tadek distances himself from the overtly racist parts of the movement but seems unaware of its reach. He said he’s never attended the march, but was certain that “most of the people who go … are just normal people.” He seemed surprised when told that its organizers described themselves as “authoritarian” and that some marchers had used racist slogans and banners with a Nazi emblem. These “are things that should never happen,” he said.

The country’s right-wing media, which now includes the state-owned public television network as well as a broadcast empire owned by a powerful Catholic priest, seems to ignore or denies these facts. These details are emphasized by Poland’s major independent broadcaster, TVN, which is owned by a US company and dismissed by the right as a foreign agent.

Some nationalist rappers have zealously embraced their role as propagandists; some even call for violence. A group of rappers from the industrial city of Łódź were reportedly arrested in 2016 with a cache of weapons after releasing a video calling for a “Polish jihad” against Muslim immigrants.

Despite Tadek’s disavowal of the nationalist rap scene’s racist elements, he can’t escape them. When you watch Tadek’s videos on YouTube, the site algorithm quickly suggests tracks by one of the more extreme right-wing rappers, Basti, whose songs include “Stop Islamizing Europe” and who titled one of his albums Hate Speech.

“Our main role is to build good feelings about Poland, not bad feelings about the others,” Tadek said.

But the transformation of history into a weapon by the nationalist movement has helped Poland’s far right radicalize faster than seemed possible even a few years ago, said Dariusz Stola, director of the POLIN Museum of the History of Polish Jews.

When the museum opened five years ago, he said, “I didn’t expect that you would see neo-fascists … marching in the main street of several cities or present in church with their flags.”

Nationalists were very shrewd to turn every discussion of history into a test of patriotism, he said.

“It’s horrible and it will bring violence sooner or later,” he said. “Someone will die.” ●

[originaldetectivesheep]

A Life of Riley Part 4: The Dumptrucks of the Gods ch 6

Chapter 5

VI

For a space that'd had a metal bucket taped to a thermonuclear explosion drive itself up through the roof, then down again through the mangled beams and rebar, the Applied Physics lab wasn't in half bad shape.  Most of the machine tools hadn't been hit hard enough by anything to be crushed, the gas tanks and the other welding supplies had miraculously gotten saved when an I-beam smashed only most of the way through the isolation fridge, and though nearly all of the capacitors had ruptured at some point, they hadn't melted down, so the lab was only ankle-deep in motor oil when we got back, not on fire and poisoned with burning copper.  It was a big job cleaning up and it would be a long time before we could replace all our equipment – predictably, everything electronic not inside the Raging Potato had shorted itself out when we fired all the capacitors at once to start the engine – but even putting the roof back together was something to do as a project, and there's always interesting physics you can do just on a workbench.

And that's what we were left with: the Potato's subsystems worked, and we scavenged them out to refit the lab as soon as we got all the oil off the floor, but the engine was completely dysfunctional, having given its last to get us all the way back down – or sometime after that, when we shut it down and crossed our fingers that it wouldn't explosively lose containment.  Of course, it was a miracle that it had worked at all: a crazy experimental design left in the jungle for sixty years, it had every right to stop working after its one trial.  Well, that's what we thought at first – when we found out that Riley had refilled the fuel reservoirs by hand to replace the decayed tritium and lithium deuteride with newer stocks gathered from…we were afraid to ask, we all considered it a miracle that it hadn't just blown up the entire campus instead.  Either way, there was no spare power to kick on with the graviton-detection test that Riley was still dreaming about, and there weren't enough reliably-functioning parts for the quantum dislocator even if we could put enough energy through it to shift state.  It was enough.  It was coming down to the end of the term, and I had enough to do with finishing my labs, finals, and non-Riley research work.  One big, excessively dangerous, near-impossible physics project per semester was just about enough.

"Jeez, was it even though," Riley said reflectively, tapping a wrench on the side of the Ceiba housing, essentially all that remained of the Potato, then pulling down to lift the bucket full of extra leads and flux up to where Leo was welding the ceiling back into place.  "I mean, even for this lab, that shit was wild.  Did we really do that? Did we really go to space and beat the crap out of a bunch of aliens, then bust on their game and half blow their ship in pieces?  It seems so friggin mental and even if we did it, I was half out of my gourd on Melanie's fish tequila and I've got huge chunks of just blackout in what I can remember."

"Oh, we did it," Sajitha said from over at her workbench, tweaking something connected to one of the microwave dishes.  "We got the hole in the roof from it, for one, and Remy got a scalp infection from that blood gunk that he had to shave off all of his hair for – I'm still mad about that.  And then there was the part where Yuping lost his shirt and his coveralls in the fish flood, and Carolína got stopped driving us home because some rentacop saw him shirtless and thought he was a teenage prostitute that had gotten trafficked in as part of a fake Korean boy-band.  We definitely went to orbit and beat the shit out of a bunch of aliens, because there is no other possible explanation for all this crap that is somehow less weird."  She shook her head and leaned over to fiddle with something on her laptop.

Riley nodded, backing away and looking carefully down at the floor as Leo lit his torch and started to spray sparks down from where he was attaching one of our former containment panels to the roof beams. "Yeah, I get it; it just seems so friggin out there, though – like something out of one of those bullshit wannabe novels all those weepy arts students are killing themselves to write this time of year.  You know about that?  I was on the bus minding my own business, like you do, and one of them is reading her shit out to another sad-sack buddy, for serious like a sex scene where one of the dudes was doing one of the other dudes with actions that were like 'assiduously' or 'adroitly' and I'm sitting there like are those even words?  And she to her credit was having like an existential panic attack about how bad it was, but the guy with her was like no, no, write through, keep going, finish it, it'll all get fixed in edit.  Edit.  You're shitting me.  What editor on earth isn't just going to throw that out the window?  Friggin kids."  I didn't know, and I didn't have much of a response to that, and it seemed like Riley was just venting rhetorically anyway, so I took an earbud off the top of my ear and put the right side of my brain, at least, back out to sea with Primordial, keeping the other one open in case something important happened here in the lab.

"At least the grinckles are gone," Riley said, slumping down in a chair by the parts bin to pick through for the start of another jigsaw-puzzle roof-panel replacement assembly.  "At least I have Wilson off my back, and you guys aren't getting stopped by weirdo paramilitaries doing fish genocide, and the dining halls almost don't stink like rutabagas baked on a trash fire any more.  At least there's that."

"Yeah, there's that, and you can definitely tell who came here straight from China now, because they've all lost ten pounds in three weeks and stand nine deep at the back of any talk there's a rumor there might be food at," Sajitha said, her fingers flying over her keyboard. "It's not all good news; I'm not crazy about the grinckles either, but if I knew that it was going to be that they were completely wiped out, I might have said something on the ship – tried to do something different."

"It is not our goddamned job," Riley said back, idly waving a wrench through the air, "to manage a sustainable fishery for an invasive species from another friggin planet, nor to fund an allegedly public university to the point that students do not need to go around dragging said invasive ET fish out of puddles to keep from starving to death.  We are a physics lab – we have a lot of other skills, and maybe because of that we do keep getting dragged into solving everyone else's godawful stupid problems, but sometimes, it's okay to at least try to stay in our lane and make literally everything our deal."  Riley looked up, and back over in my direction.

"Oh, yeah, on skills; Yuping, that punch you threw on that punk there was sick.  I thought you never learned, but that looked like legit XiaoLin from where I was standing.  What school did you do?  Wu xia?  Wing chung?"

"Kǎo yā," I said, shifting the plotter paper I was drawing out the circuit on so that I could hold it on the workbench with one hand.  "School is Kǎo Yā Bù Huì Zuò Gōng Fū." I put up my right hand to give Riley the finger, not looking up from the circuit plot.

"'Roast duck', right," Riley said, properly ashamed at least.  "I got it – the official martial arts school of the lab, where the only technique is 'hit'em hard while they're not looking'.  I'm sorry; that was over the line, and I shouldn't've gone there.  My bad."  I nodded and pulled my hand back.  On the other hand, that the lab was short on big challenging projects meant that Riley got more bored more easily and asked more dumb too-personal questions.  If this was how it was going to be, maybe I did want something else to happen sooner rather than later.

"Afternoon!" Carolína said, coming through the door, knocking on the side of the frame mostly out of habit; there weren't enough high-energy power supplies around the lab right now to make the drop bars worth paying attention to.  "How is everybody doing?  Leo, are you okay up there?  It looks like you got that last open square covered, so can I have my tarp back?" She set her bag down on her bench across from Sajitha and pulled out her laptop, not really expecting an immediate reply.

"Actually, that reminds me," Sajitha said, looking up from her work.  "Do you know what happened to the camp chair I had in the front closet? I was thinking of bringing it in here so that I don't have to sit on this bucket stool any more, but I couldn't find it.  Did you already bring it up?  I don't mind, but I just want to know where it is."

"No," Carolína said, shaking her head as her screen booted.  "I don' like my stool either, so I was thinking of ordering one of those, but I was waiting for my next check to clear.  I didn't know you had one in the closet – did you ask the guys?"

"I did," Sajitha said, her forehead wrinkling.  "I asked Remy, and he texted Leo about it because I wasn't sure if it'd get weird like I was accusing him of stealing my chair when he's always hung off his strap to the ceiling in here, but he hadn't heard of it, and Remy totally forgot that I even had that chair.  I wonder what happened – it's not like a camp chair's just going to disappear."

"You're still in your place, right?" Riley asked, strangely deadpan, cutting into the conversation.

"Yes, but I don't know what – oh no."  Sajitha realized the meaning and covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide.  "That's right – the demon – now that the grinckles are gone –"

"Our contract is bust, and it's back to eating your furniture," Riley continued, standing up. "Save your work, call your boyfriend, pile up all our functioning electronics.  Leo, get the hell off the ceiling and start cutting up the Ceiba to see what we can cannibalize out of it for parts.  Carolína, if you don't have your machete and your grappling hook, go the hell home and get them before they get eaten.  And Yuping, get over here and bust out all our old paper circuit diagrams, then start downloading the drawing repository into whatever spare PC we've gotten working yet.  I'll do something about power supplies, and see if I can't work up another dozen cannon rounds or actually find someone who knows how to wreck this guy's shit.  You all, you all start building – we've got to get a new dislocator built, up, running, and rated for GeV-range throughputs before the end of the week, or half the lab is going to be in the shit with their realtor again.  Move!"

I unplugged the bud from my right ear and left the headphones down next to my phone with a sigh.  Sajitha was on the phone to Remy and Carolína was on the way out the door and Leo was rappelling down off the ceiling at the Ceiba, welding torch strapped across his chest, and Riley was tearing a desk like in half, spewing parts and pencils all over the floor, and we'd just gotten committed in an instant to something unfathomably strange, but in a way this felt more like the Applied Physics lab than it had felt like in here in a while.  One way or another, no matter what the problem was or how little sense it made, this was Riley; this was our lab.  It was always something.  There was always something.  I rolled up my half-done drawing and grabbed for my pliers and a soldering iron: time to get back to work.

go back and get the ebook if you want the bonus story