#make noise to beat locusts

[maxmagic]

SHIT I realize I never posted these losers on Tumblr

Uh- Here they are !!! At some point I decided to give the boys some more members (kind of...). These are only concepts too I will defo redesign them ^^'

The first is the third band member we see in the pilot. At first I thought his name was Locust (like the bug), but someone on the disc said his name sounded like Lucas, so hes Lucas now.

The second is a full Oc- Aka Samantha/Sam

✨Descriptions and design explanations under read ✨

-Lucas came to my mind first. Like given how Mollox looks it was pretty obvious he would have been a potential hero member if the show got picked up, so I HAD do give him a design.

-He has a skull motif, because of the original thought of his name being Locust (and they're usually associated with plagues... And plague causes death... You catch my drift). And I did add the same robot arms the Mollox drummer has, but he also has it in his costume. I wanna redesign him at some point cuz I'm still not 100% with the design

-I also want to tweak his colours at some point cuz like I wanted It to be green, but Hank is also green (technically a neon yellow bit fuck that, that's green)

-I imagine he can summon giant drum shields or maybe even sort of bombing based abilities. Like he uses the beat of the drum to basically make explosions.

-I also posed him poorly, but he is supposed to have a spiky mohawk 😭😭

like this ^^^^^

-Samantha came after, cuz I felt like the team would be rounded out with a keyboard (and I personally like rock songs with piano so sue me)

-She has a wing motif. When I was looking up what kind of themes to give these two I realized Hank and Ronnie both have motifs that are common in rock imagery (fire and lightning) so I basically went to Google images and both skulls and wings appeared the most next to the first two, so they got that

-The rollerblades are only there cuz I had the idea she can summon like piano ramps that, when she slides over, make noise as if you went over the piano keys with your finger. With the belts the kind of resemble sandals and with the wings it kind of nods to Hermes. Her hair is also supposed to be wing-ish

-I also thought of maybe her keyboard can split to form wings on her back, with the keys kind of looking like wings. I do want to redesign her keyboard it just looks to plain to me, but it's so hard to styalize a keyboard.

I have a lot more ideas about their personalities and how they'd interact and join the boys

So if y'all are interested drop an ask or DM :D

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from The Revelator:

The world’s deadliest environmental disaster got its start in 1958. Its effects are still being felt today, more than six decades later.

It wasn’t an oil spill, like the Exxon Valdez or Deepwater Horizon. It wasn’t a chemical disaster, like Union Carbide’s gas leak in Bhopal. And it didn’t have anything to do with nuclear power, like Chernobyl or Three Mile Island.

It happened in the People’s Republic of China in the years after Mao Zedong came to power, causing mass starvation, murder, and even cannibalism.

And it started with a bird.

In 1958, nine years after the Communist Party of China seized power, Chairman Mao launched what he called the Great Leap Forward, a multipronged effort to transform China into an industrialized nation.

The many changes initiated during this period included banning privately owned farms in favor of collective, state-sponsored agriculture.

Around the same time, Zedong launched the Four Pests Campaign, an effort to eliminate flies, mosquitoes, rats, and sparrows to improve human hygiene and increase agricultural output. The campaign, accompanied by rampant propaganda, had a powerful slogan: ren ding sheng tian, or “Man must conquer nature.”

Three of those “pests” made relative sense: Flies, mosquitoes and rats can carry disease, and humans still try to control them today. But why were sparrows lumped in with the other three? Mao, it turns out, wanted to prevent the abundant birds from eating grain seeds — a perceived threat to farm production.

To stop sparrows from doing what comes naturally, China directed its citizens to persecute the birds at a level of carnage that may remain unmatched in human history. During the Great Sparrow Campaign people smashed nests and eggs and chased sparrows while shouting, banging pots and spoons, lighting firecrackers, and making other loud noises. Many of the birds spent so much time and energy fleeing the cruel cacophony that they exhausted their reserves and found themselves too tired to escape a well-aimed whack from a shovel. Others “simply dropped from the sky” and expired, as Frank Dikötter wrote in his 2010 book Mao’s Great Famine.

It’s impossible to say exactly how many sparrows died, but many accounts place the toll in the hundreds of millions.

And it wasn’t just sparrows: Birds of adjacent nearby species also fell victim to the noise pollution and violence.

Two years later the absence of sparrows spawned a crisis of epic proportions. Insects such as locusts, previously kept in balance by the sparrows and other birds, swarmed out of control in 1960, a year that — in a grim coincidence — also saw a massive drought. Crops vanished as the voracious insects spread across the country.

As a result of this imbalance in nature, millions of people starved to death over the next two years.

How many? No one knows for sure. The Chinese government officially counts 15 million dead. Chinese journalist Yang Jisheng, writing in his book Tombstone: The Great Chinese Famine, put the death toll at 36 million. Some academics suggest even doubling that to 75-78 million.

And they didn’t just die of starvation. People killed each other for food — and committed other unspeakable acts. “Documents report several thousand cases where people ate other people,” Yang told NPR in 2012. “Parents ate their own kids. Kids ate their own parents.”

The ultimate irony: China’s oppressive government had enough grain stored before the disaster to feed everyone in the country. However, they refused to release it and covered up the problem (in part by arresting and beating anyone who questioned the official narrative).

[atamascolily]

Lily liveblogs: Thunderbolt Fantasy 4x08

THE LAND IS CLOAKED IN DEEPEST BLUE.

Shang descends into The Abyss(TM) and going, "what the hell am I doing with my life, why is it always something"

another meeting of the Demon Court with everybody awkwardly noticing their numbers are dwindling.

Azi proposes that instead of waiting for someone else to summon a demon god, they do it themselves and make it humanity's problem.

just then Xing Hai's message talisman shows up with info on the Divine Swarm and chaos ensues

after everyone else leaves, the Demon King's like, sooooo, what makes you think you can win the War of Fading Dusk 2: The Demons Strike Back, and Azi says, "well, I know a guy...."

smash cut to that guy (Locust) learning that his daughter is missing. A lot of angry hairflips ensue.

Locust: "why.... can I not get... these stupid bangs... OUT OF MY FACE??!!!"

just then "Piaomiao" reports in that Chao Feng is in the demon realm, and Locust is all, THAT GOSHDARN KID AND HER STUPID OBSESSION WITH THAT STUPID IDOL SINGER, GAHHH.

In the Shadow Realm, Wasp is attacked by Parasol Lady and we get the epic butch vs. femme showdown I wanted.

the parasol makes sparkling noises by the way!!!

Wasp's arm gets broken and she panics because this is the first time she's ever encountered a situation her strength can't get her out of

but spider saves her!! and gives her a pep talk saying, "look, it sucks, but you gotta stay alive, I gave up being a thief when our boss saw through my tricks" and it's heartwarming character development for everyone

they then team up to beat Parasol Lady which involves breaking all of Spider's bones, ouch.

RIP Parasol Lady, you had a killer fashion sense, and I lament your undeveloped potential, but at least you went out with style

the two of them, limping and wounded, are still trapped in the shadow realm, but at least they have each other! awww.

[Note: having completed their narrative arcs and reconciled their philosophical differences, I don't hold out much hope for their continued survival, but we'll see!!]

I've seen people read this scene as shippy, and I personally don't, but whatever, I guess

the mech is charging in an energy shield (!!!) and Chao Feng wanders off and gets a letter from Lin luring her to a secondary location with promises of being reunited with Lang, but instead she gets trapped, hahaha.

Tian Ming and Mech Grandpa go look for her, only to get attacked by demons again.... but shang turns up just in time!

DRAMATIC POEM ENTRANCE DRAMATIC POEM ENTRANCE YEAAAAHHHH

this time, the mech turns into an amp and Tian Ming hooks up her guzheng and sings "THE LAND IS CLOAKED IN DEEPEST BLUE" while Shang fights and it's FUCKING AWESOME

Lin shows up briefly, just to tease Shang, and then vanishes, lolololol

after it's over, Tian Ming grabs Shang's shoulder and is like, you're not getting away from me again!!!! which is good because these two desperately need to talk

Ansarto is gloating over Lang's cocoon and the demon cop overhears and takes it all out of context and fucking murders him without any warning.

RIP Ant-boy, you had the sickest possible design and I will miss your skittering little legs and scheming

Ling Ya starts screaming for Lang to wake up as the cop prepares to murder him in the cocoon, but I saw the preview and he totally wakes up in the next episode, even if that's one hell of a cliffhanger to end on

speaking of cliffhangers, the preview also has Dan Fei FaceTiming Bo Yang Hou and the mech climbing out of the abyss, so hahaha, yeah

it sucks that the two coolest new demon characters got killed off so quickly in this episode, DAMN YOU TRUNCATED STORY AND RUSHED PACING

if Tian Ming's song isn't on the OST, I'll be so mad

I'm also happy we got a character poem, even if it's a repeat, I missed them!!! they are so epic!

asldgasdlkgjslfakjglsfkjglksfjglkfjglfkg frothing screaming crying even when it hurts me with all the lost potential, this show is still so good y'all

[justwriteryan]

MARVEL X GEARS OF WAR

CHAPTER THREE.

                                     CHAPTER THREE

Tracking shot-as if from a shaky helicopter, over the trees of Central Park. Some of them are aflame. The woods are crawling with Locust all racing towards a large bronze colours mansion on the edge of the park. Steve Roger’s voice is heard, as if through a telephone.

ROGERS: Luke its Steve. Hostiles are in the park and they’re rushing to the mansion. I’ve got my team battling the horde right across Mid-town, but I need your guys. I need your Avengers.

The double doors of the Avengers Mansion burst open.

CAGE: …because this must be-Christmas! That’s a lotta them!

Luke Cage, leader of the  New Avengers charges out to meet the onslaught. The Locust’s bullets bounce off his unbreakable skin as the rest of his team come racing out behind: Hawkeye, champion archer with bow in hand and his wife Mockingbird at his side…Cage’s wife, Jessica Jones flies above him…Ben Grimm, the Thing, brings up the rear…the mystical ninja Iron Fist leaps into the air, fists ablaze with energy…Miss Marvel takes to the skies and shoots binary blasts at the Locust attackers, while Wolverine comes bounding out, claws unsheathed and ready to kill.

CAGE: Okay, guys, you know the routine…

THING: We have a routine? What’s that?

Cage smashes his fist into the nearest Locust, sending him flying into the air.

CAGE: The only routine for evil alien assholes.

THING: Oh, ya mean the “beat them ‘til there’s nothin’ left” routine!

WOLVERINE: Exactly!

He slashes upwards and slices off his opponent’s head. As the New Avengers join the fray, Steve Roger’s voice buzzes in Luke’s earpiece yet again.

ROGERS: Try not to get ahead of yourself, Luke. We have no idea how many there are. Send word to the Raft to get the Thunderbolts in the field.

Cage punches another Locust. A squelching noise coming from where it’s face was.

CAGE: You got it, flag-man.

He taps a keypad on one of his wrist gauntlets. As he speaks, his voice echoes across the Raft, an island prison complex for super-human offenders.

CAGE: Attention, Raft personnel this is Director Cage. Thunderbolts team…

A brief shot of Juggernaut, Crossbones and Songbird stirring in their cells.

CAGE:…report to the flight deck at once and await further instruction. Security personnel, this facility is now under lockdown. Man the entrances and security towers. Nobody gets in or out without orders from myself or Commander Rogers. Cage out.

HAWKEYE: Thunderbolts, huh? Must be nice to have a gang of convicted super-villains doing whatever you say.

CAGE: Oh, yeah, sometimes I can’t get over how blessed I am. Aint like my life wasn’t complicated enough bein’ an Avenger, a daddy and a husb-WHOA!!!

A locust soldier lunges up out of the earth and opens fire. As the bullets ricochet off Luke’s hardened skin, Hawkeye notches an arrow to his bow, aims, and looses. It takes the Locust between the eyeballs. He falls without another sound.

CAGE: Nice. Think you can do that a few more thousand times?

WOLVERINE: Cage! We need you up here!!!

As Cage’s team of Avengers hold their own on the battlefield, Wolverine spots a new breed of Locust making its way through the ranks. Hulking, eight feet tall brutes armed with enormous bazookas. As they shoulder their weapons, they chant a single word.

BOOMERS: Boom.

Noise smoke and blood burst into the air as the new Locust units fire as one. One missile hits Wolverine and catapults him into the air, far from the fight. Others slam into the earth, or smash the surrounding buildings, sending glass showering down from above. 

Inside Avengers Mansion, two women are arguing and running through the house frantically. One is Victoria Hand, Luke Cage’s lieutenant and personal assistant. The other is Squirrel Girl, superhuman nanny to Luke and Jessica’s daughter, Danielle. In her arms, baby Danielle is crying.

HAND: I’m telling you, the panic room wasn’t build to handle an assault of 

             this magnitude! You’ve…

SQUIRREL: And I’m telling you, lady, that I’m not going anywhere with this kid until her mom or dad say so!

A missile hits the roof of the mansion. The building shakes and debris falls from the ceiling.

HAND: Does the building have to be levelled for you to believe me? Take the baby and go to Avengers Tower! Don’t stop for anything! Go!

SQUIRREL: What about you?

HAND: GO! I’ll cover you!

Squirrel Girl clutches the child close to her chest, then races out of the house. Victoria runs to her room, reaches under her bed, and pulls out a sniper rifle. Just then, Luke’s voice screams over the comm.-link.

CAGE: Hand! Tell me you got my baby outta there!

HAND: Already taken care of, sir. Now try not to let them do that to the building again, huh?

Outside, the defence is now being led by Cage and Thing. The two powerhouses are giving everything they’ve got to prevent the Boomers from firing. Cage breaks the gun of one, while Thing disarms one with a lethal head butt.

Inside, Victoria takes up a position at a window on the front of the house. She takes a breath, then starts taking out the enemy with expert precision. One dies with a hole in it’s throat as it tries to flank Ms. Marvel. Another’s head bursts like a water balloon as it tries to mow down Iron Fist.

   Four Boomers position themselves for a shot at the Mansion.

BOOMERS: BOOM!

The missiles take flight. Too quick for the binary rays of Ms. Marvel to stop them, or for Cage and to smash out of the air. Victoria Hand sees them coming out of the corner of her eye.

HAND: Oh.

They smash into the front of the Mansion as one. Flames and smoke soar up, concrete crumbles, windows shatter and Avengers Mansion collapses into ruin.

CAGE: Victoria…?

With renewed morale, the Locust advance more fiercely than before. Gunfire rips through the air. The Avengers are demoralised and desperate now. All of a sudden, it feels like they’re in a fight they can’t win.

CAGE: Avengers Assemble! Let’s show these motherfuckers who they’re dealing with!

As the Locust swarm around them, Hawkeye and Mockingbird get separated in the fray. Hawkeye lets fly three arrows simultaneously. Each of them finds its mark. A few feet away, Mockingbird disarms a Locust grunt, then kills him with his own weapon. Just then, an arrow with a flashing light pierces her thigh. She screams.

HAWKEYE: Bobbi?

MOCKINGBIRD: Clint, what the hell?

HAWKYEYE: That wasn’t me!

A Locust unit clad in red and grey robes appears. He screeches at them. In one of its hands is a massive, wicked looking longbow.

MOCKINGBIRD: Oh, you guys have bows too.

Suddenly the flashing on the arrowhead quickens, a beeping sound is heard. It detonates.

And Mockingbird is gone.

Amid all the war and chaos, Hawkeye drops his bow, and falls to his knees.

HAWKEYE: My wife…

[drew-mga2022mi5019]

Research | Insects and Beauty in Terror

"And so it goes. In Africa, a mosquito bites a man and kills him. In India, an evil person beats a child and is reincarnated as an insect. In Siberia, one dies and the soul may leave the body as a wasp. Alexander the Great is preserved in golden honey and his body is shown to luminaries for centuries. Conversely, in Medieval Europe the body of St. Clare is devoured by insects while being admired by the faithful as an incorruptible or miraculous preservation. In Russia, the mortician in charge of preserving Lenin’s body in Red Square has a recurring nightmare of a fly buzzing inside Lenin’s sarcophagus. Clearly, insects abound in both the physical reality and the mythology of death in cultures around the world." (1)

In the same vein as the previous topic, I will be using the Six Thinking Hats model of thinking postulated by Dr. de Bono when approaching this topic. The inspiration for this topic stems from a song I discovered a couple of months ago; The Bug Collector by Haley Heynderickx, which deals with the fear of insects as a metaphor for psychosis. Personally, as I mentioned before, I am deathly afraid of insects, however I find them incredibly fascinating. When I think of insects, I think of Terror in Beauty. But why? Why have humans collectively associated insects, an incredibly broad group as creepy crawlies? To understand this, I dove into the symbolism of insects in art.

Arguably the most well known piece of art or literature to make mention of an insect is Little Miss Muffet. Why is it that a nursery rhyme makes mention of a spider and immediately ties it to the idea of fear? The spider, in this instance has done nothing. Its mere existence is what scares Miss Muffet. Why is that? Is it to do with the inherently alien stature of insects? Throughout pop culture, the common basis for extraterrestrial or otherworldly designs has always been an arthropod. Or does it go deeper than this? To find out, we must look at insects from an evolutionary perspective, and the impact of insects on the human psyche.

The fear of insects is known as Entomophobia, and appears to have persisted since the dawn of mankind. It is one of the most common fears in the world. One common belief of why this is so, sans their unsightly appearance their intrinsic link to death. "Insects cause death. Especially as disease vectors, insects have killed humans from time immemorial and have even influenced the fate of nations. Insects eat the dead. The role of various insects as decomposers of animal corpses, including man, is well known. The biology of these insects is used in crime fighting as forensic entomology to determine such factors as the time of death or the location of a murder (Erzinclioglu 2000). The preceding are physical realities of insects in relation to death in the real world." (1) This passage from a study conducted by Ron Cherry posits that this is a reason for entomophobia.

This could explain the relationship between arthropods and death in mythology. In many cultures and religions around the world, misfortune, sickness and death have been linked back to insects. The Bible states that of the Seven Plagues sent by God to the Egyptians during the time of Jewish slavery, one was a plague of locusts to ravish their crops and livelihood. Similarly, the locust is also regarded as the bringer of death in the mythology of the Wiyot of California. In South Africa, the praying mantis is known as the God of the Hottentots and is blamed for humanity's loss of immortality in their mythos.

These mythological references even persist in modern times. A genus of booklice was aptly given the family name Atropidae, named after one of the Three Fates in Greek mythology, Atropos. Allegedly, Atropos was the Fate that determined the course of human destiny, and her role was to cut the Thread of Life. The genus Atropidae was given this name because it was thought that members of this genus made a tapping noise on wood at the moment of death of humans.

Cherry also makes note of how insects are also a symbol of life after death, or rebirth. "Guralnik (1970) defines a symbol as something that stands for or represents another thing, especially an object used to represent something abstract. The use of an insect image to suggest or denote something other than itself—an abstract idea or quality—is to be recognized as true symbolism and distinguished from purely linguistic, artistic, or pragmatic representation or venerations of the insect (Hogue 1975)." (1) Notable symbols of rebirth consist of butterflies for their ability to metamorphosise, cicadas as a symbol of immortality due to their desiccated appearances and place in Chinese funeral rites, and infamously the scarab beetle regarded as a sacred symbol by the Ancient Egyptian civilisation.

Further driving the notion of insects as symbols of death and rebirth, the Warao of Venezuela have a rich insect mythology that includes powerful insect spirits. They are Black Bee, Blue Bee, Termite, and Wasp. It is said that these insects gather around a board on which the insects play a game that determines the fate of life on earth. Also, one Warao god is Warowaro, the Butterfly god (Calligo sp.). If a shaman had served the Butterfly god, he would go to the god upon his death to live a blissful afterlife (Cherry 2007).

An observation that becomes immediately apparent is the role of death and the fear of insects is not simply reserved for the ugliest of the brood, but even those as beautiful as bejeweled scarab and the delicate butterfly. This belief may tie into why children are taught to respect even the smallest of life forms at a young age, out of not just respect for all life but the fear that had been instilled into humanity since the dawn of civilisation. However, with fear also comes an oddly perverse fascination. This is especially noted in children. A study conducted by Haefner in 2006 noted that presenting children with insects elicit a wide range of reactions from fear to excitement, to be expected. Despite this, the insect handler receives a steady stream of questions from children on all parts of that fear-excitement spectrum and a great sense of curiosity. (2)

It does not stop at study, as previously mentioned insects have remained prevalent throughout art and literature for centuries as seen by the works of creatives like Ulisse Aldrovandi, Joris Hoefnagel, Johannes Goedart, and Franz Kafka, and this persists even in the modern day seen through popular tales such as Alice in Wonderland, and even permeating Japanese media such as Tokyo Ghoul. This could be attributed to humanity's daily exposure to some form of insect or another. What is it that gives humanity this urge of morbid curiosity?

According to a study conducted by C.W Scrivner of the University of Chicago, they posit that morbid curiosity derives from an evolved cognitive architecture for predator management, is powered by curiosity, and, in humans, is amplified by the capacity for imagination. Their basis for these claims rely on the study of predator detection and avoidance and predator inspection, as well as William James and Daniel Berlyne's models of curiosity. Their definition of curiosity is divided into two parts; perceptual curiosity and epistemic curiosity, the latter of which is largely exclusive to humans. (3) They go on to say that if curiosity refers to internal motivation for information gathering, and organisms are sometimes internally motivated to learn about threats, then it follows that organisms are sometimes curious about threats. This would go on to explain why morbid curiosity occurs. In the modern day, humanity does not see insects as threats, however due to our shared history with insects and what we know about them through mythology and knowledge passed down from our predecessors, I hypothesize that subconsciously, humans still view insects as threats, albeit on more of a psychological level (an extreme case of this is seen in individuals with psychosis). However, as I mentioned in the beginning of the analysis of this topic, there is beauty in terror. A butterfly, the symbol of death and rebirth, is simultaneously beautiful and terrifying to those who revere it.

Already a few positives on this topic present themselves; due to the saturation of insects being used as a means to communicate the otherworldly, eldritch or horror type themes, we begin to learn and understand more about them through media. Further, this idea of insects being tied to death allows for storytellers to tap into the core of human nature and bring out interesting and meaningful narratives. This also could strive to inform on some real world dangers of insects, such as the spread of disease and rot.

In terms of negatives, the point of insects constantly being represented this way in media is a double edged sword, causing irrational fear among the public. Furthermore, this could also discourage interaction with these fascinating creatures as well, and due to superstitions and cultural beliefs could even lead to an active hatred towards insects, due to generalization of bugs as a group. There is also the very real problem of rampant misinformation being spread this way.

A solution to the problem of entomophobia has already been provided in this study; education. As mentioned before, morbid curiosity could stem from a desire to understand "threats". Already, some schools in Canada have begun to use a new model of education which exposes children to outdoor, hands on learning. This allows them to explore curiosity and learn more effectively about the natural world around them. I intend to take this further, by using this concept of exposure in my final animation through multisensory art, the film itself being my design solution and part of a campaign to represent the ethereal beauty and positive representation of insects through the research of preexisting mythology. As mentioned in a previous post, this topic offers limitless potential for experimentation and this in particular is an avenue I feel I can use as an opportunity to tap into the human psyche.

(1) Cherry, R., 2011. Insects and death. American Entomologist, 57(2), pp.82-85.

(2) Ernst, C., Vinke, K., Giberson, D. and Buddle, C.M., 2013. Insects in Education: Creating tolerance for some of the world’s smallest citizens. The management of insects in recreation and tourism, pp.289-305.

(3) Scrivner, C.W., 2022. The psychology of morbid curiosity (Doctoral dissertation, The University of Chicago), pp.9-24.

[few-favorite-things]

locust attack: গুরুগ্রামে হাজির পঙ্গপাল, ঢাক-ঢোল পেটানোর নিদান প্রশাসনের – make noise, shut windows: gurgaon administration warns of locust attack হাইলাইটস দরজা-জানালা বন্ধ রাখার পাশাপাশি বাসনপত্র-ঢাক-ঢোল পেটানোর নির্দেশ (beating utensils) দেওয়া হয়েছে। খুব জোরে নানারকম আওয়াজ করলে পঙ্গপালের ঝাঁক ছত্রভঙ্গ হয়ে পড়বে বলে আশা করা হচ্ছে।

[seeingstarks]

Wonderfully Worried || JW: Dominion Fluff

summary : You and Ian Malcolm have been together for a few months now and despite actually being there with him physically, the thought of no longer having him by your side at all causes a lot of worry. pairing : old! (but still hot) ian malcolm x afab!reader cw : slight mentions/talk of de*th (a), shock, fear, bugs, car crash, fireWord Count : 1,098 words a/n : . Jurassic World: Dominion spoilers through entire post . After watching the film, I just had to write this! <3 It's kind of obvious what scene inspired this, heh. Reblogs are very much appreciated! No stealing my work! tag list : @josiewrites

You were helping Ian press buttons on the panel, hoping that the correct combination of numbers would do the trick in order for Ellie, Alan, and Maisie to reach safety. Luckily, all of that button mashing seemed to work out just fine.

Afterwards, you and the group got in a car together only to realize there were oversized locusts falling from the sky, on fire. You sat in the passenger seat of the vehicle across from Ian who was sitting in the drivers seat. Ellie and Alan sat in the back with Maisie in the middle.

Ian looked quite panicked at the situation happening quite before his eyes, "That's Bananas."

You yelped as the falling locusts caused the vehicle to crash as it teetered you took a few deep breaths while Maisie seemed like the only one with anything helpful to say. The car flipped upside down as she started to cry.

Your vision was a bit blurry as you glanced over at Malcolm, reaching your hand out toward his as the two of you linked your hands together.

A gentle chuckle escaped your lips when looking over at Ian's confused expression as he stepped out of the wrecked vehicle along with the others. He seemed surprised to see his old pals along with some new faces.

Loud stomping from a dinosaur was heard from afar as Alan and Owen both said, "Don't move." You accidentally stepped on a branch while hiding behind Ian, scared that the dinosaur would somehow see you before the rest of the group. The dinosaur looked like a T-Rex but it's frame was much larger. Alan explained to the group that the species is called an Gigantosaurus.

A gasp nearly escaped from your lips as your mouth opened wide but before you could make any noise, Ian pressed his lips against yours while both of your hearts beated rapidly against each other. Your chest pressed up against his, the moment becoming more heated by the second but unfortunately more pressing matters were at play.

"Go to safety." He told you before you ran off with the rest of the group and up the ladder. Ian stayed behind and hid in the flipped over car, the foot of the Gigantosaurus mere inches away from crushing him.

A thud was heard as the Gigantosaurus gnawed through the metal ladder like it was nothing, Kayla encouraged Maisie to keep climbing as the others soon followed.

The Gigantosaurus roared in all of there faces, including yours. Fear took over your body, unable to move as you stood still and watched Ian risk his life for a second time in a row. You didn't want to see the love of your life die.

He threw the fire locust on a stick into the dinosaurs mouth and it seemed to get the job done. Ian slipped while going up the ladder and luckily Alan was still there to save him because you were in pure shock, still inert until he finally made it up the ladder safely.

After a bunch of stunning blows to the dinosaur from the group, it finally left you and the others alone.

You took this opportunity to catch a few breaths.

The group chatted for a bit as Ian stood beside Kayla on one side of a white table and you on the other, he began to unbutton his shirt while Kayla shook her head no at Ian. Your cheeks grew warm at the sight of Malcolm, you wanted to tear the shirt off of Ian right then and there but it wasn't exactly the best time or place.

"Y/N, you feeling alright?" That all too familiar voice asked you in a cocky tone. You were staring at him unknowingly and gnawing at your lower lip so hard that it left an indent on the bottom. Ian had already buttoned his shirt up which was disappointing to say the least.

"Yeah, I'm feeling alright... thanks for calming me down out there." You winked gently over at him although your heart was still beating fast.

You and Ian Malcolm had met a few years back and wanted to work together on taking Biosyn down. Being younger than him has never phased the two of you.

Kayla walked over toward Ian as you walked toward Owen, making small talk. Ian stared at you and admired all of your features, getting lost in your beauty. Kayla grinned just a bit, "Wish I had a woman that looked at me like that, true love right there."

Tears began to run down your face as the emotions from recent events finally hit you. Ian had been through so many near death experiences and most of them were just stories to you, experiencing them first hand brought a whole new feeling and not a good one at that.

Owen frowned, you had helped him train the raptors in the past and he didn't want to see one of his friends in pain. He pulled you into a side hug, "I'm always gonna be here for you, Y/N. I promise. Take care now and if that Rambo dude ever treats you wrong... let's just see how much he likes a raptor bite to the ass."

Shaking your head, you chuckled at Owen's comment. He always knew how to put a smile on your face even on the darkest of days. "Thanks for helping me feel better, I'll catch up with you all in a few." He nodded and waited for Kayla to finish her conversation with Ian.

As soon as Ian noticed the tear stains on your cheeks, he rushed over and pulled you in for a huge bear hug.

You hid your face in the crook of Ian's neck while he rubbed your back gently with one of his hands to hopefully help you keep calm. After a few more deep breaths and being held in his arms, your heart started to beat at a normal rate and the only butterflies in your stomach were caused by your love and admiration for Ian.

You worried about Ian, wondering if he was going to die tonight but luckily he was still safe and sound in your arms. "I was worried about you..." You uttered to Ian softly while looking up at his hazel eyes.

"Don't worry about me my love, I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me no matter how many gray hairs I grow."

You rolled your eyes at him jokingly with a chuckle, "I love you no matter what, silly."

"I love you too, Y/N."

[adultalternative]

2021 best of. At least I beat my time last year and actually wrote?

Starcrossed- More of an All for You divorce album than a Butterfly, in a 'it stinks, but whatever. Now do you want the wedding china that I'm unloading?' kind of way. I didn't like it at first because of the tracklist making the songs feel too samey (Also, even this long into the new music model, I'm not used to songs being under 3 minutes). The movie and listening to the songs out of order helped a lot. The best songs are justified, simple times, and camera roll. An interesting example of the Glass Animals/Tame Impala sound.

If I can't have love, I want power- Halsey's first impressive album, to me. Really glad this body of work came out. Best songs are you asked for this, Girl with a gun, and One Eye closed.

Lately I feel Everything- Another fun project, another great side to Willow. I like the different types of alternative rock on it. Listen to Naive, Extra, and Gaslighter, as well as F**k You.

3:33- Did I lose interest in Tinashe now that she’s independent and there’s less of a bad guy or goal for her music career? Yes. Is this album still good? Yes. My favorite songs are Shy Guy and Pasadena.

No gods No Masters- Yes, I would say that their last three albums have been their most similar to each other (See all the Record Store Day songs included in the bonus disc) as songs that would play in a Deadly Class type of genre show about young adults, but that says more about alternative rock nowadays than Garbage. That said, I still enjoy the industrial vibes on this one. I like The Creeps, Anonymous XXX, and This City Will Kill You. It was interesting hearing the Eurythmics influence in songs like The Men Who Rule the World.

Texis- Hyperpop gone rock. Locust Laced is that song. I'm Not down’ is startlingly on point for this point in the pandemic, and Sweet75 is a great opener.

Play with the Changes- Rochelle Jordan is the closest that I liked to dance pop this year. A great combination of UK garage and alternative R&B.

New Long Leg- I guess this is usually when my list is what I’m in the mood for and I’m in the mood for post-punk. Scratchcard lanyard is cool, and if you haven’t yet, watch the music video! I don’t understand what Her Hippo is about but it makes me sad. I like the drums in More Big Birds.

Soberish- Casualties of my schedule change. Not as familiar as I could be. Spanish Doors is both sad and relatable. If you like Liz Phair’s character studies of men like Soap Star Joe and Uncle Alvarez, listen to Hey Lou. Meanwhile, In there is very new and trip hoppy for Liz. These songs are more like her EPs Juvenilia and comeandgetit, and whitechocolatespaceegg outtakes instead of, say, her Girly Sound songs.

Who am I?- Precursor for the Avril Lavigne album this year. It might just be 2000’s pop rock, but if the formula isn’t broken, don’t fix it. Listen to You Don’t Own Me and Fall to Pieces.

Unlimited Ammo- Fun hyperpop, that has both songs that are ethereal and wintry, like Steel, and great bangers like Finish Him.

Pinkpantheress- I enjoy the drum and bass sounds as well as the wistful 19.

Pink Noise- A different kind of going pop. It’s like if the group We Are King made more music. Very lush. I like Magical, Got Me, and Church Girl.

Screen violence- A great combination of alternative rock and synthpop. Lauren’s voice has a lot of urgency. I like Nightmares, How Not to Drown, and He Said She Said.

Pearl Charles- Good country and soft rock combination. Listen to Only for Tonight for disco, and Impostor and Slipping Away for soft rock.

Flux- Countlessth year-of best for me, but I have finally decided to let go of my various reservations and just enjoy. I like Lessen the Damage, On the Level, and As Strange as it Seems. For alternative rock music what Light Years is to disco.

Homegrown- I love the saxophone sample in Slow Down. I like Dysfunctional and Come Over. Good combination of contemporary and alternative R&B.

Death of a Cheerleader- Lux is THAT song. Kind of cheating because I like Popular, a cover of the Nada Surf song released January 2022, more than the album. Sort of how TIME has people on influential lists for potential influence in the future.

Last Year Was Weird, Vol. 3- See Poppy’s review for umpteeneth great project. I like So Cold, Syrup, and Cashmere.

Non-fiction- great post punk. I like Violent & Paranoid.

[lunapaper]

Album Review: 'Texis' - Sleigh Bells

Sleigh Bells’ Treats unleashed a monster.

Celebrating its 10th anniversary just last year, the NY-based duo’s debut album arguably provided the blueprint for what we now know as hyperpop with its screeching metal riffs, its hip hop swagger and Alexis Krauss’ sickly-sweet vocals: Pop mayhem with a rusty, serrated edge. Even now, tracks like ‘Infinity Guitars’ and ‘Crown on the Ground�� can ignite a killer battle sequence in your head.

Though not all of their crazy pop experiments have worked in the past (namely 2013’s Bitter Rivals), Krauss and multi-instrumentalist Derek Miller have somehow endured even as the pop landscape has become bigger, bolder and more aggressive.

On their latest album, Texis, the duo learns to stop worrying and let go of any hang-ups. But even as they embrace the explosive technicolour of their earlier work, Krauss and Miller end up reckoning with their fair share of inner turmoil.

‘SWEET75’ sees Krauss boast ‘I’m a good time boy’ while laying waste to those who ask ‘aren’t you a little too old for rock n roll?,’ creating a shuddering whirlwind of jackhammer guitars. On ‘An Acre Lost,’ she encounters the ‘dark wake of a troubled heart’ while despairing ‘I can see the exit signs/Right behind your eyes/I can see the thunder clouds come rolling in/And all the real tough kids with high IQs/Tragically die, tragically.’ ‘I’m Not Down’ is bittersweet yet defiant, demanding that ‘we gotta look out for each other’ as the world collapses under the weight of fear, uncertainty and abject cruelty. First single ‘Locust Laced’ is spiky and scattershot, with Krauss providing exhilarating bursts of ‘I feel like dynamite’ amid rapid-fire guitars and eerie synths.

On ‘Justine Go Genesis,’ she’s a ‘concrete girl in a cavity world,’ caught in a frantic rush of drum n’ bass that underpins the record’s air of anxiety and doubt. ‘Rosary’ incorporates acoustic guitars and glassy tremors as Krauss likens heartbreak to being in a coma.

‘Hummingbird Bombs,’ meanwhile’ combines the band’s trademark crunch of guitars with a glassy, 80s calypso-type beat as an audacious Krauss proclaims ‘I'll exit life right on time’ while apologising to all the friends and the lovers, the dads and the mothers. ‘Some inside get burned alive’ she reminds us, ‘Some inside get out alive,’ ending the album on a rather eerie yet poignant note after almost two years (and counting) of complete and utter chaos.

Deep in the heart of Texis lies a measured sort of chaos. Sleigh Bells have long perfected the art of the quiet/loud dynamic, even if it’s not quite as fresh or abrasive as before, while also managing to plumb new emotional depths in line with 2016’s Jessica Rabbit and their 2017 EP, Kid Kruschev.

Sleigh Bells don’t reinvent the wheel on Texis, nor should you expect them to at this point. It doesn’t make the album any less enjoyable, but it does remind you of the noise pop’s pitfalls, the same ones that will plague hyperpop soon enough. And yet, the duo has never sounded so good in years, more honest and straightforward, and even a little optimistic.

Let’s hope the slow rejuvenation of Sleigh Bells continues…

- Bianca B.

[random-writes-blog]

What you are chapter 4

The weekend came far faster than Deceit would like, he felt like he was leading a death march as he and Remus walked down the dark halls of the Mindscape to the large door of the Imagination. It towered over the pair, like a black dragon, ancient and terrifying. Each piece of silver decor outlining it a scale on the beast.

It will devour Remus whole.

Deceit shook the melodramatic thought from his head. Granted there was a truth to it, he shuddered thinking about what might happen to Remus in there. He glanced at the side who was rocking back and fouth, heels-to-toes, heels-to-toes. Deceit checked his watch- 10 minutes left. Deceit turned to Remus and opened his mouth-

Remus immediately replied, “I know, you’ve been repeating it since I brought it up. I’m sure this is what I want to do. This is what Thomas needs me to do. I get that it’s risky but you have to trust me on this one.” His cadence was less bouncy than usual, his smile, less manic. The unease that rose in Deceit’s chest wasn’t lessened in the slightest by Remus’s serious certainty.

Deceit hesitated, he needed a mind unclouded by emotion right now, “It’s not that I was worried about you of course. I was worried about how this will effect Thomas’s overall mental health. Honestly this level of repression seems like a short term situation that will cause long term problems and...” He faltered over his statement his throat closing in on itself stupidly.

Remus leaned down and kissed the top of his head, “Hey, hey, it’ll only be a few hours, than I’ll be back in here,” He did a pose, “My usual ass-mazing self,” He slapped his own ass for emphasis, “and everyone will be better off for it!”

Deceit closed his eyes and nodded, he held his hands up a light yellow glow forming around his gloves. He checked his watch, 2 minutes. “Only a few hours... If you can and you need to contact me if you need to leave earlier.”

Remus gave a one handed salute, using his other hand to grab the slimy door handle to the Imagination. He pulled and the door moaned sexually, he couldn’t help his giggle at it, on a different day he would have spent hours teasing the door, but today he just stepped into his half of the Imagination. He heard another moan, followed by a click behind him. The door gained a steady yellow aura around it.

This was it. From now until Thomas woke up he would be stuck here. He could do this!

Immediately clouds started forming around him as his thoughts began to run wild, what if the Imagination created a monster that he couldn’t defeat? What would it even look like? OH imagine if it had long claws like a crab, but the rest of its body was octopussy- heh, octopussy, what if it had one that worked like a vacuum, sucking up everything in its path?

And as soon as the thought formed so did the cloud, and as soon as the cloud fully formed, so did the creature. It was the size of Mount Everest, and other than its bright red claws it was made of a strange, putty like substance. Its face- or lack thereof was a completely flat surface. It rolled towards him, claws outstretched ready to snap him in half.

Well this certainly was a great way to start the night.

He leaped away from the creature’s first attack, and tried to ignore how large the crater was, tried not to think about how it would feel if the creature managed to catch him, how he would first feel the sharp sides of the claws digging into his flesh, then feel them push deeper into his skin.

It grabbed him.

The creature was clever, it would play with him, slowly pushing those nubs into his skin, he cried as he felt a thousand needles dig into his skin at once. The blood trickled down his skin hot as a flame, each droplet touching another hold. It never touched the ground, swirling around him, burning him. He panted, both because of the extreme heat and the ache that had taken over his body. He wished something would get rid of the blood in his body, at least if he didn’t have blood the burning aches would go away.

The Imagination obliged him, the creature rolled onto its back, revealing the only hole in his body. Remus couldn’t help but take a moment to admire the perfection of his Yonic imagery. The way the sides folded in on itself and the round diamond-like shape. It was like a Georgia O Keef painting, Logan would be proud after all those lessons on anatomy...

Well he would be proud until it started to pull the blood from his body, his body arched back and he screamed, he felt like an inflated blow-up doll, limp in the air but still conscious. His heart continued to pound, giving the creature more blood, and it gained more size and power. He forced himself to think of a way out of this situation. The only thing that can beat one giant octopus-crab-vag creature... Was another octopus-crab-vag creature! And maybe he’d just be thrown off to the side so they could touch lips-

And so he flew through the air, watching the two octopus-crab-vag creatures roll away together and he easily thought of a cloud to make him slowly float into the arms of a group of small humanoid creatures, aspects of their faces each in different spots like a group of Mr.Potato heads in a preschool. Their hands were cold as ice and had the texture of snot. They gripped his wrists, the top of his head and ankles, that snot-like texture dripping against arms, head, and legs. He twitched under the touch- a twitch that would have been a flinch if he could properly move at the moment. He couldn’t help but give a sigh of relief, even though these guys were creepy and he was trapped in their grip they didn’t seem to automatically want to kill him. If anything, they were kind of cute, one of them had an eye on his chin how precious!

Remus giggled, “What’s your name little guys?”

One of them grinned from a smile in their hair, and the others started giggling, one of them loudly started shouting, “DING DING DING DING DING DING!” Another clicked on a record player which started playing siren noises, and a third created a stepping stool and stood over him, several knives in hand.

“SPIN TIME!” The one standing over him shouted, the ones holding Remus giggled started to spin him around and around the one standing above him began to throw knives at his body. Remus thought he would get sick and his mouth immediately started to taste like bile and his stomach heaved, he tried to throw up, but the one holding his head had an iron grip. He felt the bile rise in his throat and stop there, he coughed feeling the chunks getting stuck in his throat. His coughs became harsher as he tried to force them out but to no avail.

It was then that he started to feel the pinching, harsh stab of dull knives being thrown at his body, the first at his stomach, then his head, then two for each shoulder and two for each knee- and at first, he supposed it wasn’t too bad. He sucked in air through his breath as each one pierced through his skin, but it was only a few seconds of pain before he was gently set down on the ground. He took a moment to breathe, the creatures suddenly became silent as he stared at the sky; it was already filled to the brim with clouds of thoughts towards other people he’d had throughout this endeavor. Every second he wished someone else was here, every fly away thought he had while floating to the ground sat in that sky.

He almost thought it would be more painful for him to be stuck here, staring in horror at the future that Thomas had waiting for his mind and knowing it was his fault. The guilt weighed in his chest like a thousand bricks, and unsurprisingly at this point, several tons of bricks than fell from the sky and onto his chest, forcing the breath from his lungs. Something that looked like ash swirled around him. In his ears came the squelch of a knife being pushed into a body.

Oh wait, no, that wasn’t ash.

Those were his locust.

The first one landed on his skin and immediately the creatures that had captured him began to make noises that banged around in his head like the beans in a rattle. The feeling of every small leg of the locust against his raw, pained body felt like hammers banging against his skin. Their bits like needles pushing into his skin. One began to walk on top of his eyeball and he immediately closed his eyes, squishing it between his eyelids, feeling the guts in every pore. He put his hands to his ears but the sound only grew louder, he rolled around but failed to kill any of the locusts. They swarmed around him like a tornado of pain. He wished this would end, he wished he could just escape-

"Remus?" Remus could hear the sound of a voice above the whirlwind of noise noise NOISE around him. The screams of children as someone chopped off their fingers and used them to scratch a record playing Sweet Home Alabama slowly, far too slowly, the man's voice low and crackly and the SCREETCH of the nails against the record. How could he even try to focus on who this was?

" REMUS! "He struggled to hear the voice and recognize it. So familiar, so terribly terribly familiar. his eyes popped open and his vision filled with the twitchy, tiny leg of locusts. They started to gnaw on his eye, his vision slowly becoming black as they bit into his iris as easily as one might chew on a piece of a sandwich.

But Remus didn't need to see at the moment, he knew what he saw.

Roman. His brother, he could save him! Wait, he was supposed to be in here for a reason, wasn't he? Think Remus think! Why was he supposed to be here? Something about Patton? Thomas? The noise broke his brain, he didn't care anymore, he didn't care anymore! He just wanted to get out of this situation, to live for a few more minutes. He crawled out of the tornado and reached for his brother's hand.

Light flooded his vision and the swarm of locusts exploded into a swarm of butterflies. The creatures started to run towards Roman, who easily tore them down with a wave of his sword. He picked up Remus as easily as he might a small child. Remus watched as they walked through the black and silver door of his half of the Imagination, he saw Deceit, he was obviously saying something but his ringing ears couldn't understand a word. He felt weak and dumber than usual as he finally closed his eyes, deciding he'd focus on the consequences of his actions later. For now, he would let himself rest.

[acerosedrop]

Spring is for the Bees

In the middle of one if their many journeys, Geralt and Jaskier take a moment to just stop and relax, and Geralt is happy to find that there's always something new for him to learn about his Bard. 

Or alternatively, how many different ways can I come up with to describe a bee in a single story. Enjoy some fluff!!

If there was one fact of life that Geralt had never truly been able to grasp until Jaskier had started walking alongside him all those years ago, it was how the average person could have all of these smaller habits and peculiarities that would never be brought up or explained until the most random of moments. And even after almost spending a decade out on the Path together, this was still especially true of both himself and Jaskier.

One such moment came about a spring afternoon, as the rain that had been steadfastly following them the past week had finally begun to subside, with the barest hint of sunlight peeking through the clouds and brightening up the landscape quite nicely. In a rare moment of feeling just a bit at ease (and being ready for an excuse to cast his water-clogged cloak aside), Geralt had decided to pull Roach off the road and give her a few minutes to nibble on the grass, with him and Jaskier settling under a nearby grove of trees as they shuffled through their bags to get a better look at what would need replenishing or replacing soon.

In a series of motions that had become downright domestic over their many weeks and months of travel, Geralt had settled down to give his blades a thorough one-over to ensure the excess rain hadn’t caused any major harm while Jaskier, after similarly checking his lute and it’s case over, set about taking care of the various rips and tears his travel jacket had accumulated (Geralt had finally, finally thrust the bit of dark blue leather into Jaskier’s hands while they’d stopped at a local market a while back after hearing him complain about yet another doublet being ruined thanks to the elements, and between the sparkle in his eyes and the look of surprise on his face even Geralt had had a hard time denying the small smile he felt tug at his face whenever he saw the Bard wearing the jacket).

With Jaskier’s attention being taken up by attempting thread a rather uncooperative needle, Geralt gave himself a moment to turn his face back towards the fields surrounding them, over to where Roach was happily grazing away. He felt that tug again, the tug he often felt in Jaskier’s company to let himself be at peace for a moment, to let his mouth lift up and ease some of the tension off his shoulders. It was a feeling he found himself experiencing more and more these days, thanks to a rather constructive night they’d shared at an inn almost a year ago that had led to Jaskier joining Geralt on Roach’s saddle the next morning and to a much louder night by the fire. Now, leaning against an old tree with no monsters or villagers breathing down their necks or downpours beating at their backs, Geralt could almost say that he was finding himself to be at peace.

Well, that is, until a bit of movement caught his eye, and he spotted a familiar looking bit of black and yellow fuzz making its way over to their little tree grove, and a frown quickly settled back onto his face.

Bees. Off all the creatures in the world, bees and wasps weren’t exactly a Witcher’s best friend, as despite their stings being little more than like tapping a pin with your finger to such hardened skin, having one suddenly go buzzing by your ear was enough to make anyone jump. Add in a Witcher’s sensitive hearing and, in Geralt’s case, you had one of the few things that could still cause his skin to crawl and give him the urge to jump right out of his seat.

In fact, it was thanks to a far-too curious bee exploring their camp one night that had led to Geralt almost spilling a full bowl of rabbit stew all over himself and the fire, and Jaskier almost being thrown into the river for being unable to stop laughing. It took Geralt having to threaten to use his best doublet to wash Roach to finally get the Bard out of his giggling fit, but after a quick explanation that sounded like Geralt would much prefer being stung then admitting anything resembling a weakness, Jaskier had assured his companion that, while he was a bit surprised at his animosity towards a tiny little bee of all things, he wouldn’t make too much of a deal out of it, and they’d since moved on from the admittedly funny moment. Of course, Jaskier would still occasionally throw in a rather sly comment whenever they passed a hive if he was feeling particularly cheeky, but once Geralt had discovered Jaskier’s own disdain for locusts, grasshoppers, and other bugs of a similar design, the bard decided it was time to seek out some newer material for his jests.

This time however, the fat little fellow seemed much more interested in the patch of wildflowers Jaskier was seated by, and was inching closer and closer to the bard as they made their way from blossom to blossom. Jaskier was completely oblivious to the movement, humming one of his newer tunes under his breath as he now went about fixing a tear on the jacket’s sleeve, and continued to be oblivious as the bee finally made its way onto his leg and settled over one of the many embroidered flowers along his thigh. Geralt had long since abandoned the dagger he still had settled in his lap, and was now watching as the insect began the slow ascent up Jaskier leg, onto his shirt and up his torso, before arriving onto the Bard’s shirt collar and remaining there for the time being.

Predicting the utter Hell that could come about if the bee actually did crawl onto Jaskier neck (Gods help them both if Jaskier spooked it to the point of stinging), Geralt pushed his bag aside and leaned over to deliver a hard flick onto his boot. It wasn’t enough to mess up his stitching, but it was enough to jolt Jaskier out of his tune and turn his head to raise a ‘Did you really just do that?’ eyebrow at his companion before saying, “Any reason you’ve decided to test the leather quality of my boot just now?”

The eyeroll Geralt gave his companion’s response felt almost involuntary at this point, before just barely nodding his head towards his neck and answering, “You’ve got a friend who’s about to make its home under your shirt, if you’d stop all that noise your making for a moment.”

“That noise, my dear, is what’s going to get you a damn-well needed bath at the next inn, and me enough ale to forget about the amount of mud in our laundry bag right now.” Only getting a curt “Hmm” in response from the Witcher, Jaskier angled his neck to try and see what he was referring to, but to Geralt surprise instead of yelping at the sight of the bee or trying to swipe it away like he’d done with other bugs, Jaskier actually smiled down at the furry thing and sit his needle down in his lap to carefully bring his hand up. Sticking his index finger out as if it were a perch, he gently tapped the bee’s behind to get it to move to the edge of his collar, before just gently placing it right where it’s front legs were. He leaned his head down, whispering something that to Geralt sounded suspiciously like, “Come my dear, hop up now,” and to his surprise the bee instantly crawled it way onto the bard’s finger, not an ounce of annoyance or anger in its yellow and black-striped body.

“I’ve mentioned my mother’s affinity for beekeeping before, correct?” Geralt gave a gentle ‘Hmm’ Jaskier had come to know a shorthand for yes before continuing, though his eyes were stuck on the bee now perched on his Bard’s finger. Given a gentle but still very playful grin, Jaskier brought up his other index finger to gently rub the top of the bee’s abdomen before continuing, “Well, I daresay she managed to pass down quite a bit of that love to me before I headed off to Oxenfurt, helping her maintain the hives and collect the honey and what-not. Wasn’t always easy, I still remember the one that decided to crawl its way up into my armpit, nearly knocked the whole hive over when it got scared enough to sting, but since then my mothers’ taught me enough tricks to at least get over that particular fear, and a few other bits to boot.”

Indeed, Jaskier had on occasion brought up his life with his mother to Geralt, before the Bard had made his way over to Oxenfurt. They'd left his father's home when he'd been about four, and after a rather disastrous attempt to make a living herding goats Lilianna had gone for beekeeping instead. Nowadays she was the keeper of a pretty popular honey and wax stall in her village's marketplace, and occasionally she found ways to send some of her wares over to her wayward son, especially when allergy season was just around the corner.

He lifted his finger up near his now, and whispered something else to the bee, something so low even Geralt could barely catch it, but the bee must’ve agreed with whatever he said as they slowly picked themselves off of Jaskier’s finger and headed back off into the day, a lazily bobbing bit of fuzz flying off into the surrounding sea of green. Thankfully since it was still just one bee the buzzing wasn’t loud enough to be grating on Geralt’s hearing, but he still just barely angled his head away from that particular spot as it seemed the bee had discovered a very intriguing set of buttercups and it was very intent on sharing this information with the world. Jaskier couldn’t help but gently chuckle at both of them as turned to pick up his sewing once again.

“Of all the things I’d imagine would set us apart my dear, our attitudes towards the insect populace was certainly not the highest on that list.” He said with another chuckle, Jaskier had gotten quite good at reading Geralt’s body language over the years (often the only type of language the Witcher would consistently use), and was especially skilled in knowing when and where he could jab at his lover’s peculiarities.

Geralt, for his part, must’ve been truly relaxed now, or at least his equivalent to such as feeling, as he answered with just a hint of teasing in his tone, “At least my unease comes from one that can do some harm to a human, you on the other hand spy a single grasshopper near the fire and ask to move camp.”

“Well you try catching a good night’s sleep with those beady black eyes staring you down the entire time! Not exactly the most comforting of feelings when you’re out in the middle of the damn woods.”

“You do realize their eyes are practically the same, right?”

“It’s the not just the eyes, Geralt, it’s the intent behind them! A bee just wants to go about his business, ensure his hive is doing alright, meanwhile a damn locust wouldn’t think twice about stripping you to your bones if it had the chance, little bastards that they are.”

“Hmm, now why can’t you have this same kind of survival instinct when I tell you to stay the fuck away from whatever it is I’m hunting?”

“Oh Gods, I am not arguing this one with you again. One, either I come along or you find a way to become a better storyteller beyond two damn sentences, and two, if you ever do find yourself contracted to take care of some man-sized locusts terrorizing a farm, do be assured that I’ll be happily taking refuge about four villages over, with the best bottle of wine an evening of performing can afford me.”

“As opposed to a fucking Kikimora, or pack of ghouls?” Now there was no denying the smile slowly spreading itself across Geralt’s face as he watches Jaskier become more and more animated with his movements, almost knocking his jacket off his lap as he tries to use his hands to get his point across. It’s one of the few positives he found came with conversations nowadays, seeing Jaskier come alive with just the littlest of ribbing.

“You try writing a ballad worthy of traveling across this great continent about a fucking bug, while I stick to the stuff that will actually help get us a bed for the night.”

“Yes well, if it’s a bed you want then you better hurry the fuck up, we’ve still got at least four more hours before we even hit the next set of farms,” Geralt says, now turning his attention back towards getting the rest of his blades and cleaning equipment put back into its bag. Jaskier tsked, but followed along with putting his own supplies away and standing up to get one more good stretch in. Taking a moment to breath had been nice, but the allure of an actual bed and food consisting of anything other than whatever animal they managed to scourge out of the woods was more than enough to get him back on his feet. Finally slinging his lute case back over his shoulder, he leaned down to leave a quick peck on his Witcher’s cheek before making his way back over to where Roach was standing.

Once again he found himself rolling his eyes, but with the ghost of a smile still on his face Geralt didn’t waste any time in catching up to his partner, ready to continue their journey together once more.

[daughters-and-winsisters]

Huntress- Part 24: Loss

Sam x Daughter!Reader, takes place in S12 E23 so warning:SPOILERS

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen Part Fifteen Part Sixteen Part Seventeen Part Eighteen Part Nineteen Part Twenty Part Twenty One Part Twenty Two Part Twenty Three

A/N: There will be one more part after this in the Huntress series

“Okay so let me get this straight, we beat the Brits, kick their smug, tea-swirling asses -no offence Y/N- and instead of finally catching a break we get Lucifer?!” Uncle Dean sighed, pacing about the bunker while you sat with your Dad and Mary. You looked up from your mug of tea, glaring at him over the rim before turning your attention to the photographs your Dad had printed. “You’re sure that’s him?” Mary asked. “Yeah I’m sure.” Dad nodded, not looking at them for too long. It was Lucifer, alright. “In his old vessel?” You asked. “Yeah...”“How’s that possible?” Mary took a photograph from the table and studied it. “Kelly I guess...” Dad shrugged. “So what do we do?” You said, putting your tea down and sitting back in your chair. “Well,” Dad cleared his throat, “Rowena can slam Lucifer back in the cage.” “Great,” said Mary, “where is she?”

Dad picked up his phone almost immediately, standing up from the table as he did so. You all watched in anticipation as he held the phone to his ear. He rose his head, his eyes pacing the room. He then breathed a sharp breath and looked to Uncle Dean who shot him a frown: “What?” Dad put the phone on speaker and held it up so you could all hear.

Then came a voice: “Oh and if you’re looking for Rowena she is presently indisposed which is a delicate way of saying I stomped on her face till the white meat showed and then stomped on her face just in case,” Lucifers voice sounded as smug as usual, “uh...it was messy. Screamy. Had to be done, though. I’m about to be a Dad! Can’t raise a kid from a cell, can I? Speaking of, any idea where Castiel is?” “Go to hell.” Dad snapped. “Oh good one! Let me write that down.” “Look-“ Dean cleated his throat, but was interrupted. “Oh, hey Dean! I know I know you guys are gonna want to kill me but you’ve never done it and you never will. Especially now Rowena is gone,” he paused, but none of you had anything to say, “catch you guys later!”

You all fell silent with the phone, aware he was right, but not wanting to admit it.You sucked it up and spoke, “He’s got a point.” Dad threw you a look you couldn’t quite read, but composed himself and said, “Okay, so we just have to keep Cas and Kelly moving. Lucifer can’t hurt them if he can’t find them.” “And Cas will go along with that?” Mary asked, sounding unconvinced. “We won’t give him a choice.” Uncle Dean said sternly. You frowned with concern, “What he means is we’ll figure something out by talking it through with them.” You corrected, not willing to make any more causes for tension. “Right.” Dad nodded. “How do we find them?” Mary turned to your Dad. “There will be signs: locust plagues, freak storms things like that.” “Okay so we’re looking for something weird.” Mary said unenthusiastically. “Story of our lives.” Uncle Dean huffed.

——————

You all sat back around the table, researching on phones and laptops to find anything weird. “What about this?” Uncle Dean held up a news report about a three-headed calf being born. You chuckled, “Poor mother.” which made him cringe. “Not biblical.” Dad muttered, not looking up from his tablet.

“You rang?” Crowley spoke up from now where, appearing at the table. Before you could even take him in, Uncle Dean launched himself at him, punching him square in the jaw and sending him flying. “Did you do it?!” Uncle Dean shouted, holding a demon-blade to his throat, “Did you let Lucifer out of the cage?” “I didn’t let-“ “Tell me!” Uncle Dean pushed, shaking Crowley by the collar. “Dean, wait! Don’t kill him.” Dad put a hand out. “Seriously?” Mary raised an eyebrow. “He wrote the cage spell with Rowena,” you nodded in understanding, “he could help.” “What if he can’t?” Mary asked, eager to put an end to Crowley. “Well then we kill him.” Dad said, making Crowley’s eyes widen as Uncle Dean loosened his grip.

Crowley stood himself up when Uncle Dean let go, patting his coat down. He swivelled his head a little and cleared his throat, aware you were all waiting for what he had to say and making the most of that small amount of control. “I put Lucifer in a vessel of my own making. I had to win. Too damn many people have been after my throne. I put the Devil on a leash to show everyone not to mess with me.” Crowley explained. “Worked out well.” Uncle Dean scoffed. “And then I narrowly escaped death,” Crowley paused and eyed you all, “by hiding in a rat.” “Must have been nice being clean for a change.” You remarked, earning a smirk from the others. “Gave me a break from my work,” Crowley continued, ignoring your comment, “made me realise just how much I hate it. The constant stupid questions the mountains and mountains of paperwork, who wants that? Not me. Not anymore.” “So you decided to hide in a rodent?” Mary asked. “I placed my bets. The Winchester’s come out on top. And I can help, after we put Lucifer in the cage I’ll seal the gates and you’ll never see another demon again...except me, of course. Do we have a deal?” You looked to your Dad who you could see was thinking it through, analysing the pros and cons in his mind. Uncle Dean looked as suspicious as always, but Mary was harder to read. “Okay, fine. But you stay here and you keep quiet.” Uncle Dean lurched forward and slammed a demon blade into Crowley’s hand. It pierced through his skin and into the table, holding his arm in place. Crowley grunted and scowled, watching as you all stood up to gather your things.

Your Dad gave you the same look and you realised he wanted you to stay back. You sighed to yourself, waiting till Mary and Uncle Dean had left the room.  Dad gave you a tight smile before saying what you’d been expecting, “I need you to stay back.” He placed an arm gently on your back and guided you to where Crowley could no longer see or hear.

You shuffled on your feet and attempted to find something convincing or witty to say, but you just stayed quiet with your eyes fixed on the floor. “Y/N, I need you to be safe. Make sure Crowley doesn’t get up to anything.” “How many times are we gonna have these conversations?” You asked, “How many times do I have to save your ass or let you save mine before you realise I’m a Hunter too?” “That’s not what I meant-“ “I’m not giving up on the last hurdle, Dad.” “It’s just with your powers and everything, we don’t know what’ll happen. I can’t risk you being in more danger because we don’t take them seriously.“ “Do you want me to sit around and panic because I don’t know if I’ll see my family again? You want me to spend the rest of my life knowing I could’ve helped or died trying to save them if only I’d have come with you all?” “We don’t plan on dying.“ “And I don’t plan on waiting to find out if you do,” your voice went quiet and your eyes teared up, “I’m sick of people not coming back.“ Dad’s expression and stance softened, he let out a sigh and gently wrapped his arms around your frame. Placing a kiss on the top of your head, he gently rubbed your upper arm with his thumb.“Okay,” he nodded against you, “but you be careful.”

——————

The drive was quiet, everyone consumed by their own thoughts of what might happen. Mary seemed restless, loading and unloading and then reloading her gun in the seat next to you. Dad didn’t look away from the window the entire time, careful not to miss anything, just in case. Uncle Dean watched the road and played no music. And you, you watched the three of them, wondering how you’d ended up here. If anyone had told you a few years back that you’d be driving with your Dad, Uncle and Grandma to a house where there’s an angel helping the presidents girlfriend to have her half-human, half-angel, son-of-Lucifer child you would have laughed in their face. And yet there you were.

When you pulled up outside the house you couldn’t help but admire the scenery despite the situation. It was one of those American lakehouses from the films, with little wooden steps outside and a bungalow-type house just sat comfortably amongst the greenery. The sort of building that should look out of place, but it just works. But, this wasn’t the time to sit and stare, so you got out of the car, noticing how Uncle Dean had almost made it to the door by the time you were out. You followed on, seeing Cas in his usual attire look astonished at your arrival.

“Dean?” Cas said in shock, glancing at the rest of you before turning his attention back to Uncle Dean. “Look, Cas, is this place heavily warded?” “Of course.” “Enough to ward of Lucifer?” Dad added. “Lucifer?” Cas echoed with wide eyes. “Look, you and Kelly taking off was a stupid move. There’s no way Lucifer can get his hands on that kid.” Dad said sternly. “Kelly can’t be moved, she’s in labour.” Cas explained, accompanied by Kelly crying out in pain. Mary turned her head to where the noise had come from and stumbled over her words, “I’ll go make sure she’s okay.”

“How much time do we have?” Cas asked, turning back to look at you. “We don’t know.” You shrugged. Dean then groaned in pain, doubling over as he held his bad knee. “Wait, Dean, let me.” Cas began to heal Dean, but something else caught your eye and a low hum of whispers surrounded your thoughts. A bright shining light, as though a line had been cut through the Earth was stood up on its end just outside. And, as insane as it sounded, it was calling to you. The whispers were seemingly nonsense, inaudible syllables of a dead language, but they were definitely calling you.

You felt your head pulsate with some sort of energy and began to walk towards the light. It was shining and had some movement.

Footsteps sounded as they came to see what you were looking at. Dad and Uncle Dean took a step back and Dad put a hand on your shoulder as though he knew what he was protecting you from. The moment his hand touched you the voices left and it was just a light, no sound came from it. “What is it?” You stammered, glancing back to Cas, but finding your eyes unable to look away. “It’s a rip in time and space.” Cas explained. “Like a doorway?” You asked, taking another step forward and ignoring your Dads hold on you. Sure enough, the sounds came back. Perhaps because you were much closer they became louder, an endless chorus that rebounded inside your mind. You could still hear everything else, but it felt secondary. “B-Be careful.” Dad said in vain as you circled the light. “Exactly like a doorway. Only to an alternate reality.” Cas replies. “Where did it come from?” You said, unsure if the words came out right as you could only just hear your own voice. “Well with the nephilim being brought into the world there’s been an abundance of cosmic energies. The odd rip is bound to happen.”

As though your feet had decided before your mind, you found yourself walking towards the rip, the faint shouts of Dad in your ear as you passed through.

——————

You were met with a grey landscape, bodies scattered about the place in the same way leaves are in the autumn. There were areas where smoke was rising from a bundle of twigs. The floor was a harsh sandy texture, no doubt consisting of rubble and decaying parts of the Earth. But, before you could properly take in the place, you felt your powers. You felt them the same way you had done when you’d gotten angry or when you saved Uncle Dean in the tunnel. Only this time it wasn’t a surge of energy that was gone before you could properly grasp it. Instead, it was a continuous level of something and it was powerful. It felt as though you’d finally understood how to control what these were. You rose your fingers, concentrating on a cloud of smoke. As you danced your hand around the smoke followed suit, putting itself out as you rubbed your finger tips together. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Y/N!” Dad hissed, making you drop your smile and lower your hand, “what the hell were you thinking?!” “Sorry...” You looked down, not sure whether to mention what had happened. You coughed a little and decided to keep quiet, after all, it didn’t seem like the time.

“This Earth is caught in an eternal war between heaven and hell with few humans left behind,” Cas explained, “the child opened this door and he can close it. I have faith.” “Well then you’re a dumbass.” Uncle Dean scoffed before jumping into action, “Guys!” He pointed to where a small number of people were headed towards you. They were heavily armed.Dad and Uncle Dean aimed their guns, but you just watched. Cas held his arms up, “Stop. Don’t shoot.” One man who was a few feet ahead of the others came to a halt, he lowered his face cover and tilted his head. You looked to Uncle Dean who immediately lowered his gun. With a shocked face he stammered, “Bobby?” “Do I know you?” The man grumbled. “Bobby,” Dad said in awe, “it’s us. Sam and Dean. Winchester.” You remembered your Dad mentioning a Bobby before, Bobby Singer. Any time he came up in conversation they spoke as though he raised them, as though he’d be proud of them if he could see them now. “Winchester?” This Bobby repeated in thought, “the only Winchester I ever knew was John.“ “Yeah our father.” Uncle Dean pushed. “Doubt it. He died 40 years ago,” he looked at you suspiciously, “you don’t get many kids round here. Take care of her.” “She can take care of herself, thanks.” You remarked. “Good.” He said, his tone making it hard to tell if it was a compliment or not. You decided to take it as one. “The hell is this place?” Dad turned to Cas. Cas sighed, “This is Earth where you two were never born. A world you never saved.”

—————— 

Going back through the door to your world wasn’t as simple as coming through, at least, not for you it wasn’t. The moment you came into contact with the rip the voices flooded your mind and you clutched your head in pain. They were no longer calling you to come, but to stay. With every step they became angrier and louder and you could feel the blood throbbing in your brain and chest as you began to sway. They screamed in your mind, clawing away at you in a desperate attempt to keep you in that otherworld. You could just about see your world and with one last burst of effort, you stumbled through and fell faint. You woke to the house empty. Not just of people, but of furniture and sound and colour. It was empty. Rising from the cold floorboards, you pulled the hair from covering your eyes.

The crunch of footsteps along the stone path sounded, making you jump into action as you followed the sound. “Dad?” You called, your voice shaking a little as you turned the corner. It was’t Dad...you’d come face to face with Lucifer. And he was smiling right at you. You gulped and took a step back, aware there were no weapons on you. “Wh-“ You paused, not sure what to say. “Well,” he said, “this is a fun surprise. I gotta hand it to you guys you never give up.  Even when you really should.” You frowned a little at the use of “guys”, but spoke anyway, “What do you want?” He chuckled,” You’re right. What should I do? Oh God don’t strike me down! Sam, you gotta stop with the lines.” “What?” You said in confusion, starting to wonder if he had lost it. You turned around to check the others weren’t behind you, and sure enough you were greeted with the same cold and empty house. “Start with the classics.” He shrugged, turning to face someone who should’ve been beside you.

You took a piece of courage and walked right in front of him, “Hey!” He didn’t even blink. You let out a chuckle in spite of yourself, giving him the middle finger, partly to test if he could see you, but mostly because it was a good opportunity. “Well boys, enough of the foreplay. Let’s do this.” He threw an arm up as though casting his powers onto someone, his arm going straight through you. Your smirk fell from your face when you felt his power shaking through your bones. “Real mature,” He tutted, starting to walk to the side of the house, “look boys I’m on the clock, haven’t got all day.” You watched him go, more focused than before, quickly following after him. When you’d reached the corner the rip in time was back, but no voices accompanied it’s presence. “The fuck...” You muttered, following him through.

As you did you were back in the apocalypse-world. “Interesting.” You said, still chasing after the Devil. “Sammy, hey! Where’s your big bro?” Lucifer asked the air. You tried to follow what was going on, but that was too difficult when you could only see or hear one of them. However, it seemed like you had a pretty good grasp of powers in this world. And, this was Lucifer. He had no idea you were there. If this wasn’t an opportunity, then what the hell was? You jumped, taken away from your thoughts, when Lucifer began to shake and stumble backwards. His chest was filled with bullet holes but no bullets appeared to be there. You realised this meant he was winning. Which also meant your family was in danger.

You concentrated hard, willing with all your might, and launched yourself at the devil, your hand turning to a fist as you braced for impact. Instead of his face, you hit the floor straight on and let out a groan. Your hand twisted a little as you did so, spraining the wrist and sending jolts of pain up your arm. “Well shit,” you grumbled, wincing as you pulled yourself off the ground, “let’s try that again.” Lucifer began to move forward and began hitting and punching and kicking someone. “Come on, Dean!” He shouted aggravatingly.

This time you felt of your Dad’s fear, your Uncle’s anger and Cas’ protection over this child. You felt Mary’s desperation to keep her boys safe and you felt your eagerness to show everyone you were capable. You let out a cry and with all your power you pelted the devil square in the face. “Shit!” You shouted on impact, feeling the sprain scream along your hand and arm. You rubbed the wrist with your other hand and watched as Lucifer stumbled in pure shock.

He spoke up after composing himself, “Woah! Who’s this?!” Dean must have been just as confused as he continued by saying, “No seriously who is this?” You smiled and went for a kick to the stomach, making him double over as he did so. Without a dominant hand you went for the shins and the crotch. This had to be buying them time at the very least, right? You felt your powers grow and grow. A surge of energy manifested into lightening as they began to strike down on Lucifer, targeting him and his surroundings.You felt the impact of them on the ground, rumbling the landscape as they crashed into the rubble. Lucifer scrambled to his feet and looked around to try and locate you. You let your pride take over and just a flicker of reality flashed in front of you. The lightening ceased and you caught a glimpse of Dean who turned his attention to you in amazement. You felt Lucifer’s glare on you. But Dean was gone again and so were you. “Y/N?” Lucifer called as he turned to try and find you again, “I saw you! As in Sam’s little baby girl? Well I gotta say this is impressive. You pack quite a punch.” He began to move about the place as if surveying for another glimpse of wherever you were. You moved from where you had been, careful not to abuse your powers to the point where you show yourself again. Through no doing of your own, Lucifer fell to the floor with a flash of red that reminded you of the alarms of the bunker. To your suprise, he chuckled, “Crowley!” You sighed in relief and backed away, realising they were going to seal the doorway. Crowley must have almost completed the spell by now. “Come on Crowley, you realise whatever you try you’re gonna lose.” Lucifer smirked. Just as he said this Crowley appeared in your vision, making you jump back in suprise. His body flashed and collapsed to the ground. You noticed from his stance, realising he must have stabbed himself with the demon-blade. He lay still and Lucifer, for once, looked as shocked as you.

You tore tour eyes from the body, remembering the plan to lock Lucifer in, and raced to the light in time to get back. You felt the warmth and energy of the doorway as you ran through it’s break in space.

—————— You gasped, sitting up in panic and breathing heavy. “Y/N? Hey, you okay?” Mary called, she was sat with Kelly in the bed next to you. Kelly has sweat pouring down her forehead and was screaming in pain. You winced sympathetically before jumping from the bed, managing a nod to them as you raced to where the light was. Your head throbbed and your hand felt swollen and bruised, but you had to make sure they made it back.  You watched as Dad and Uncle Dean staggered out of the other-world. Their eyes fell on you, your Dad racing over the moment he caught his balance. “Hey, hey. You okay?” “How the hell did you do that?” Uncle Dean asked, but you couldn’t even begin to describe it. “...Not sure.” You admitted, watching where the light was fading and unable to look away. Cas appeared just then, breathing heavily and bruised.

Before anyone could react a hand shot from out of the rip, sending an angel-blade straight into Cas’ chest. “No!” Uncle Dean shouted in panic. You gasped, tears forming in your eyes as you watched your friend fall to the floor. Lucifer was stood proudly behind him. Cas was limp and lifeless. You saw Mary appear at your sides in your peripheral vision and reluctantly looked away from Cas. Mary threw you a sad smile before turning to each of you. .“I love you.” She said, taking her last look. Then you realised what she was going to do.

Just as the light began to flicker away, Mary grabbed hold of Lucifer by the collar and shoved him back through the doorway, taking herself with him. “Mom!” Dad and Uncle Dean cried, sprinting after her. You watched as the light faded away to nothing, leaving behind a seamless landscape as though it was never there. The two of them halted  in front of where it had been, unable to doing anything. Dad composed himself as much as he could and ran back to the house, no doubt to check on Kelly. You watched with teary eyes as your Uncle fell to his knees over his friend, his back hunched in mourning. “De?” You whispered gingerly, taking a step towards where he knelt. “Don’t,” he snapped, not even looking up from Cas’ lifeless body, “just go.” Your feet began to backtrack and a few tears fell down your cheeks, but you couldn’t leave him like that. Even if he told you to. Instead, you knelt down next to him, resting your head on his shoulder and softly whispering, “No.” Uncle Dean turned and glared at you, but his eyes began to water and his lip trembled. He saw the tears running down your crestfallen face and let his tough gaze soften away to honesty. With a helpless breath in, he softly sighed, wrapped his arms around you, pulled you in close and rested his chin gently on the top of your head as he tried not to shake.

Part 25 (The End)

Masterlist I do not own these images (Tag list after cut )

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wild flower, chapter one (shalaska) 1/10 - freyja

A/N: Hi! This is my first time posting here, so please be gentle! All I know is that no one was going to write my shalaska cowboy AU for me. Also if anyone is interested in betaing… please. Let me know.

🌼

“Wild women are an unexplainable spark of life. They ooze freedom and seek awareness, they belong to nobody but themselves, yet give a piece of who they are to everyone they meet. If you have met one, hold on to her, she’ll allow you into her chaos, but she’ll also show you her magic.”

🌼

Alaska has always been fascinated with bandits.

Bandits, criminals, gangs - anyone with a bounty on their head. Not that the bounty or even the criminality of it all attracted her - no, it was the freedom.

Alaska has also always been wealthy.

These two constants do not go well together.

As a child, the contrast was easier to navigate, as her only duties were her lessons, and the rest of her time was spent however she wanted to spend it. Her wildness was enacted through imaginary horses and people to shoot, drawing from the tales of her father’s friends from the West. She had grass stains on her skirts constantly, and although her mother berated her for her unladylike play, it could be chalked up to just that: play.

As she got older, the contrast was too much. She was in polite society, she needed to find a husband, and she was the lady of the household. She had to give up one, wealth or freedom, and only one made sense to let go of. It wasn’t a hard choice, anyway - she’d stopped believing in running wild on the frontier somewhere around her mother’s death.

Which is why, when her father tells her she’ll be visiting her uncle in Colorado for the summer, the thrill she might have gotten as a child is absent in the place of a sickening dread that sits in her stomach like a dead weight.

“He’s invited you,” he’d said to a stunned Alaska over breakfast one morning. “And I thought you could use the fresh air - God knows this city is starting to smell now that it’s thawing.”

Alaska had pressed her lips together, frowning at him. “I don’t–”

“I told him you would love to go,” her father had interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “This is a great way to find someone wealthy to marry, since the options here clearly aren’t up to your standards.”

The snide comment hadn’t gone past her, and she’d lapsed back into silence, unable to argue and tell him that her ‘standards’ won’t ever be met, so tough luck. That wasn’t an option, especially considering her father’s newspaper wasn’t selling as much now that the war was over.

This visit is her last chance to find a husband wealthy enough to make it worth it, and she knows that she needs to return to her father with a ring on her finger.

Now, she sits on the train to Coady, heart heavy with her resolution. She looks out the window to take her mind off of the sick feeling in her stomach, clenching her fist in the folds of her skirt. It’s easy to get lost in the pale browns and greens of the plains, easy to feel comfort in the mountains that look blue in the distance. It’s easier to think that maybe she’ll find a man she really loves if he comes from a place that looks like this.

She nearly laughs at herself. Unlikely.

🌸

Alaska has been in Colorado a week, and there has been no mention of a ball, or even of a dinner. She hasn’t seen another person besides her uncle and his servants - and even then, it’s mostly been his servants. If it isn’t mealtime, her uncle is locked in his office, going over papers and sending out letters at least twice a day.

Alaska has picked up enough of the servants’ whispered gossip to understand that his plantation has been slowly going under in the eight years it’s been since the war, and her uncle has now been reduced to scraping the bottom of the barrel for his income. She isn’t sympathetic - it’s deserved.

Things, however, are getting a little boring.

She sighs, turning over in bed and staring at the stars through the large window in her room, the wind blowing the linen curtains in a hypnotizing manner. Three months of nothing, and she won’t even get a husband out of it.

No husband. She allows herself a moment to pretend like it was a possibility, something like longing trapping itself in her throat.

She’s just closing her eyes to sleep when the sound of a horse galloping towards the house makes them shoot open, a man shouting her uncle’s name as the horse’s hoofbeats slow to a stop.

“Thunder!” the man bellows. He begins pounding on the door, each knock seemingly louder than the last. “Philip Thunder, get your ass out here!”

Alaska slips out of bed, heart pounding, and kneels beside the window. She’s at a decent enough angle that she can see the man clearly, his horse standing a few feet behind him. It’s hard to see in the darkness, but it’s clear he isn’t a gentleman, with a dusty gallon hat on his head that shields his face and a dirty jacket to match. There’s a long rifle hooked onto his horse, and her eyes widen at the sight.

The door swings open, and her uncle emerges with a lantern, looking hunted. “Be quiet!” he snaps in a hushed whisper, and Alaska has to strain to hear him. “You’re going to wake the whole household.”

“They know,” the man says simply, ignoring her uncle. He has a thick accent, and it’s jarring next to her uncle’s harsh New York vowels. Her uncle’s arm sags at the news, lowering the lantern so that their faces are barely lit. Alaska hisses in frustration, narrowing her eyes to try and read their expressions.

“Needles?” her uncle says, voice even quieter. Alaska risks poking her head out the window a little bit in order to hear better, holding her breath in fear of being caught.

“No, the fuckin’ Pope,” the man sneers. “Who the fuck else?”

Her uncle’s response is drowned out by the locusts buzzing in the trees. There’s a long period of silence, and Alaska can hear her heart beating in her ears, adrenaline running through her veins in response to listening to a conversation she shouldn’t. What the hell was going on?

“So?” the man prompts, stepping closer to her uncle. “What do you suggest we do?”

There’s a pause as her uncle visibly takes a breath. “Come here tomorrow at supper,” he says, voice a little stronger now. “Bring Solomon. We can make a plan then.”

“Didn’t you hear me? Needles is onto us, which means–”

“I know!” Her uncle snaps, posture stiffening. “Trust me, I’m well aware. I can’t make a plan right now. Give me a day, and we’ll discuss the rest tomorrow. I promise we’ll get out of this.”

“If we don’t,” the man says, voice low, “Needles isn’t the one you need to watch out for.” And with that, he steps back, walking back to his horse. “Expect us at six,” he says as he swings up on his horse, and with that, he gallops away, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. Her uncle stands there for a long time, staring in the direction he went even after he’s no longer visible. All Alaska can hear is the locusts’ chirping.

Her uncle, finally, turns to go inside, and she ducks under the window sill as the lantern light swings over the side of the house. She listens as he opens the door, muttering something incomprehensible, and shuts it behind him. The stairs creak as he returns to his room, and she doesn’t let herself relax until she hears his door close quietly.

She sags against the wall, brushing the hair sticking to her face away and plucking at her nightgown, battling the humidity and her own sweat. She looks at the bed, but she doesn’t think she’s going to be able to sleep, not with the heat and certainly not after what just happened.

It was a gang. It couldn’t be anything else - it wasn’t any sort of legal business, judging by the other man’s appearance. Her uncle was dealing with bandits and criminals, probably to help him out of whatever debt he’s put himself into in order to keep this place afloat.

A fission of excitement runs through her even through the fear and apprehension, and she can’t help but think that at least something is happening. Even if it’s putting everyone in the house’s lives at risk.

You can’t trust a bandit. They’re lawless, and the law exists for a reason: to keep people sane. Who knows what these men will do to her uncle if this Needles ends up finding them?

Who knows what Needles is going to do to them if he ends up finding them?

The thrill is fading away now, giving way to real fear. This is real. Bandits are real, but they’re not like what Alaska dreamed them up to be as a child. They kill people, innocent or not, and they steal whatever they want. They live like animals and call it freedom.

They’re all these things, and they’re coming to dine with them at her uncle’s like they’re family friends.

Alaska is definitely not getting any sleep tonight.

🌼

Dinner is awkward.

It’s spent in silence, the dirty, roughed up men clearly unsure of how to behave at a proper dining table and her uncle silent with embarrassment over it. There are four of them, all with scruffy beards and pistols on their belts, with the clear leader sitting to her uncle’s right.

One of the men coughs, and Alaska jumps at the sudden noise.

“Jesus,” she mutters to herself, ignoring her uncle’s sharp look and instead setting down her fork. She looks at Philip, plastering as pleasant and unassuming a smile she can muster over her face. “May I be excused?”

The leader of the group, Cassidy, slumps in relief. “Thank God,” he says loudly, and she recognizes his voice as the man her uncle had spoken to last night. “We can get some business done.”

Her uncle gives him a disbelieving look, and Alaska tries to look like she doesn’t have a clue as to what he’s talking about. Cassidy raises his hands in silent apology, and her uncle sighs, rubbing his eyes. He looks stressed out of his mind.

“You can go, Alaska,” he says, having lost any sense of decorum with Cassidy’s language.

Alaska nods at him, and then she’s out of the dining room in a second.

She slips out the door with a quiet notice to one of the servants, intent on walking her anxieties out around the grounds and hoping that she’ll tire herself out to the point of becoming calm. With half a mind to ride a little before the sun sets, she decides to head towards the stables, well away from anything happening inside the house.

Expecting to be alone once she reaches the stables, Alaska nearly screams as she runs into a woman leaning against one of the stalls, petting Poundcake’s nose.

“Jesus!” Alaska yelps, and the woman snaps to attention, hand at her hip in the blink of an eye. She lets her hand hover there, eyes wary as she stares at Alaska.

“I’m so sorry,” Alaska says, raising her hands up in apology. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The woman frowns at her, seemingly confused. Her hand drifts away from her hip, and Alaska’s eyes follow it, briefly distracted by the tight pants she’s wearing. It’s scandalous, and Alaska is beginning to understand why.

“I really didn’t mean to interrupt,” Alaska says into the tense silence, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from the woman’s hips and to her face.

“Interrupt?” The woman asks, still frowning. She’s relaxing, however, and Alaska feels strangely gratified by it.

“Your stable work,” Alaska says. “You’re the stablehand, right?”

The woman’s eyebrows twitch up before her lips twist up into a smirk. The expression suits her. “Right. Well, I’m not bothered.” She gives Alaska a clear once over, her smirk only growing. “Not at all.”

Alaska feels a flush crawl up her neck, her dress suddenly feeling a little warm. “Great,” she says, awkward. “I came - I just needed to get out of the house.”

“Let me guess: a man?”

Alaska snorts, even as the reminder makes something unpleasant churn in her stomach. “More like several.” The woman just smiles, revealing a small gap between her teeth. It’s strangely endearing. Alaska quickly shoves the thought away, afraid of it leading to more dangerous ones, and instead takes the opportunity to examine the woman’s strange outfit.

She looks more like a cattle rustler than a stablehand, with her wide brimmed hat and dark overcoat, but Alaska supposes things are different out west. Her hair is down, reaching the middle of her shoulder blades and blowing attractively in the wind. It’s so dark that, when paired with her dark hat, her face appears almost ghostly.

She’s beautiful, with her high cheekbones and plump lips, but there’s something about her that puts Alaska on edge.

“What?” the woman says, tilting her head. “Is there something on my face?”

“You’re beautiful,” Alaska blurts out, and then her heart stops. “I mean no, wait, no, I mean–”

“What’s your name?” the woman cuts in, and Alaska grabs onto the question like a lifeline.

“Alaska,” she says in relief.

“Pleasure,” the woman says, smirking again. There’s a brief pause before she lets out a huff of laughter. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

Alaska laughs. “Knowing the stablehands isn’t exactly my priority,” she says, allowing her own smirk to come through. “But now it seems like it should have been.”

The woman smiles slowly, her expression softening. Alaska feels something flutter in her stomach at the thought that she may have caused the shift. “You sure know how to flatter a girl,” the woman says. There’s a moment in which she just looks at Alaska, eyes darting across her face. “Sharon Needles.”

Alaska’s heart stops, smirk falling off of her face in an instant. “Needles?” she repeats faintly, even though Sharon had been perfectly clear. “You’re Needles? I thought–”

“I was a man?” Sharon says archly, annoyance flickering across her face. “You’re not the first.”

“Your poster,” Alaska says slowly, feeling incredibly stupid. The stablehand? Really? “It was hanging at the train station.”

Sharon sighs, eyes rolling up to the sky. “Stupid,” she mutters, seemingly to herself, and then, louder: “I’ll never rob an artist again. Those bastards have no fucking money and an eye for detail.”

“I don’t know, that chin is pretty memorable,” Alaska says before she can think about it, and there’s a second of frozen shock before Sharon starts to laugh.

“I like you,” Sharon says approvingly. “You’ve got balls.”

Alaska really, really shouldn’t be flattered. “Thanks,” she drawls, and she takes a step back. Her sense of danger is heightening, despite Sharon’s calm and her surprising humor. With the stories Alaska had heard, she had pictured bandits to be no-nonsense men with hearts of steel, cold blooded killers and thieves that were too good to be caught. Sharon doesn’t seem to be fitting any of those descriptors.

She should really run, warn her uncle while she still has some time. But some sick part of her is intrigued, attracted to this woman, and she can’t bring herself to shout like she should.

“Why are you here?” she asks again, even though she already knows the answer.

“We have some business with Mr. Solomon ____” Sharon says, and it’s like a curtain’s been drawn over her face. The twinkle in her eyes has turned into something like a spark of anger. “He’s been plotting something, and I intend to nip it in the fucking bud.” She shifts a little, her coat moving to reveal a leather holster at her hip. It feels like the air gets twenty degrees colder.

Alaska feels like she can barely breathe. She takes a step back.

The ‘Solomon isn’t here’ gets caught in her throat, another part of the sentence catching her attention. “‘We’?”

A slow smirk spreads across Sharon’s face. “Oops,” she says. “I’ve always had a hard time keeping secrets.” And quick as a rattlesnake, she draws her pistol and fires it once into the air. Alaska flinches violently at the sound of it, breath coming in strange stutters as adrenaline rushes through her. A responding gunshot sounds somewhere in the distance, along with growing shouts.

Alaska runs.

She flies up the hill, Sharon’s laugh chasing her like some sort of nightmare, whoops and hollers echoing off of the valley walls from all directions. She’s halfway to the house when a horse suddenly shoots past her, and she trips over her skirt in shock, falling to her hands and knees with a painful jolt. She looks up to see Sharon riding it, heading somewhere to the left of the house.

It’s stupid to feel betrayed. She’d talked to Sharon for less than ten minutes, and Sharon hadn’t even tried to hide who she was. Hell, Alaska had given her the only lie she told.

It’s stupid, and Alaska shoves the feeling aside. There are more important things to be worrying about.

She scrambles to her feet and keeps running, ignoring the temptation to flee the other way.

She bursts into the house, turning and slamming the door shut behind her, locking it. She turns to see her uncle, Cassidy, and the other men all emerging from the office, guns drawn and looking hunted.

“Alaska?” her uncle says, frowning. “Did you see something out there?”

“No,” she lies, because she can’t tell him that she was too fucking entranced by Sharon Needles to do anything. “But I heard something.”

“We all fucking heard something,” one of the men snaps, referring to the sound of pounding hooves, and distant shouts surrounding the house.

“Jesus Christ,” Cassidy says, pointing his gun alternately between the windows and the door. He sounds accusatory, like he blames her uncle for what’s going down, and Alaska finds herself half agreeing.

She shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t - her uncle shouldn’t have invited her here when he was at risk. It was - it was wrong. Anger boils up within her, and it feels better than fear, so she grabs onto it. “What were you guys even doing?” she cries.

Her uncle looks at her, wide eyed. He looks guilty, but Alaska is far past forgiveness, not when gunshots can be heard just outside the house. “I’m sorry, Alaska,” he says, brow furrowed. “I didn’t think it would get this out of hand.”

“You had wanted criminals over for dinner,” Alaska snaps. “How can you - how - ?” She’s tripping over her words, just like she always does when she’s upset, and it’s only making her angrier.

Her uncle grimaces, but before he can respond a sudden pounding on the door has everyone falling into a tense silence. The hoofbeats have stopped - it’s completely silent. They all point their guns at the door.

“Open up, motherfuckers!” a voice shouts.

Someone shoots the lock off, and the door slowly swings open. They all wait with baited breath. Cassidy steps forward, lining his gun up. Alaska takes several steps back, nearly going into the office, breathing so hard she feels like she’s going to be sick.

There are two beats of silence.

Her uncle frowns, gun lowering a little in his confusion. “Wh–”

Two deafening shots echo from the windows on either side of them, shattering the glass, and two of the five men drop dead. Alaska can’t help the scream she lets out, flinching wildly.

“Fuck!” Cassidy shouts, making an aborted attempt to go towards one of the bodies before remembering that he still needs to be on his guard. “Jesus shit!”

The door is kicked open suddenly, making Alaska jump. The woman that stands in the doorway is tall, with sharp features and an amused smirk. Alaska recognizes her from the other poster that had been beside Sharon’s, the unusual name catching her attention more than Sharon’s.

Detox.

“Where’s Solomon?” Detox says, pointing right back at Cassidy.

He doesn’t answer, and she takes another step forward. “I said–”

“He’s not here.” Sharon steps out from behind Detox, gun drawn and smug smirk still firmly in place. “He’s smarter than that.”

“Surprising,” Detox says, and Sharon snorts. She hasn’t bothered to raise her gun, and Alaska wants to scream at her uncle or the other man to do something.

“He wouldn’t be the annoyance that he is if he wasn’t.” Sharon says before pointing her gun at Alaska’s uncle almost lazily, like it had been an afterthought. It makes Alaska’s blood boil, both at Sharon’s arrogance and her uncle for feeding into it by being an idiot.

Sharon glances at the right window and jerks her head.

A shot rings out, and Cassidy’s last man drops nearly instantaneously with a cry of pain, and Alaska jumps again, unable to keep herself from squeaking, a little. It’s a harsh reminder of the steel trap that Sharon has them in, and Alaska hates that she needed her memory jogged.

Two women slide into the house through the windows, one hispanic and a little heavier, and the other white and stick thin, face covered in freckles. They both wear their hair in two braids, honey blonde and brown respectively, and they both look like they’re having the time of their lives.

“Alright,” Sharon says, using her gun to talk like an extension of her hand. Her blasé tone is disconcerting, and Alaska shrinks further into the office. “You’ve got two choices: tell us where Solomon is, or,” she holds up her gun and shrugs.

Both Cassidy and Alaska’s uncle remain silent, Cassidy staring Sharon in the face and her uncle twisting around to look at Alaska.

She wills him to turn back around, to stop drawing attention to her already mediocre hiding spot, but he starts to mouth something instead, nodding his head towards the office. After two times, she understands: burn it.

“What are you doing?” the woman with brown braids asks, voice harsher that Alaska would have guessed.

Sharon looks at her for the first time since she’s entered the house. Alaska feels frozen under her stare.

“Alaska!” her uncle snaps, and it works: she snaps out of it, adrenaline flooding her body and moving as quickly as she possibly can.

She steps back into the office and slams the door shut behind her, locking it with shaking hands. Terrifying shouts and bangs immediately start as soon as the lock slides into place, but they’re muffled, and Alaska knows she has limited time to do what her uncle needs before they find a way in.

She turns to the desk, eyes moving from place to place without direction before finally landing on the map lying across the desk, ink marks scattered all over it. She rushes to the desk to pick it up, and after a moment of examining it, she knows that what her uncle needs her to do is destroy it.

It’s a map detailing the location of a camp, presumably Solomon’s, and possible escape routes and alternate locations. If Sharon got her hands on this, the camp would be completely fucked. She would win whatever rivalry is going on between the two gangs with ease, and Solomon and her uncle would have no chance.

Alaska reaches for the lantern to burn the map in, but she hesitates. Would it be terrible if they got the map? It would end the rivalry, and it isn’t like her uncle isn’t already in as much danger as he could be in. He isn’t living in this camp, and Alaska couldn’t give a fuck about Solomon or Cassidy.

But does she want Sharon to win?

She stares at it, doing her best to memorize the map and the twisting ink paths. Keeping the map whole isn’t an option, but she thinks - she needs to have some leverage, here. If something should happen to her, who she wants to win regardless, she needs to have something that makes her useful.

She isn’t nearly as familiar with it as she’d like to be when a thud suddenly rattles the door to the office, making her jump nearly ten feet in the air. The door thuds again, the hinges rattling, and Alaska starts folding the map so that it can fit into the lantern, shoving it into the flame just as the door flies open and strong hands grab her from behind.

Alaska screams, kicking and trying to hit her assailant with her elbows.

“Jesus Christ,” someone hisses, and Alaska thinks she recognizes the voice as Detox’s. She flings her elbow back again, newly desperate, only to have it caught by one of Detox’s hands. Detox grabs her other arm as well, and Alaska’s arms are soon twisted around her back in such a way that she can’t move them no matter how hard she tries.

It’s utterly terrifying, and Alaska can’t help but let out a little sob as Detox forces her out of the office and into the parlor, where the brunette woman with the twin braids has Cassidy on his knees. Her uncle is nowhere to be seen.

“Where is–” she starts, voice growing into a shout, but Sharon cuts her off, her own tone surprisingly heated.

“Bastard got away,” she says, scowling. “I’m not sure how, considering how many of us there are, but he’s fucking gone.”

“Thank God,” Alaska says, relieved. She ignores the feeling of being abandoned. One of them had to get away, had to be able to get the law. It just happened to be him. “Thank fucking God.”

Sharon’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s no way a lady should speak,” she says, and the blonde woman snickers. Alaska glares at her.

“I’m not exactly going to give you the respect of polite society,” she snarls. “Now let me go!” She jerks fruitlessly at Detox’s grip, and Sharon laughs, coming closer. Alaska wants to hurt her, wants to make her feel as scared and angry as she is right now.

“We can’t let you go,” Sharon says, fake pouting. “Sorry. But your uncle had you do something in that office, and with him gone, you’re our only shot at finding out just what it was.”

Alaska falls silent, unable to think of a comeback that won’t put her at risk in one way or another. She needs to know something to prove herself too valuable to kill. But because she knows something, she’s going to be taken away. She’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, and Sharon is both Charbydis and Scylla.

Alaska settles for glaring at Sharon, who only grins back. Alaska does not think about how the gap in her teeth still makes her stomach flutter.

Sharon turns away, smile fading in favor of a more serious look. She looks at the brunette woman. “Morgan, shoot Cassidy. We need to leave.”

“What?” Cassidy splutters, eyes wide. Alaska is surprised to see him reduced to such a mess. “I don’t–”

“Shut up,” Sharon sneers, walking over to and kicking him in the stomach. He curls in on himself, wheezing, and Alaska winces in sympathy. “We don’t need to hear your side of the story. I’ve already heard three different girls’, and frankly, I’m exhausted.”

Morgan suddenly pistol whips Cassidy across the face, and he drops like a brick, groaning. She spits on him.

“Make it quick, Morgan,” Sharon says sharply. “The law’s already crawling up my ass as it is, and Thunder’s gonna return with the entire fucking Union.”

“No problem,” Morgan says, and she shoots him twice.

They’re not kind shots - one in the knee and the other in his stomach. The scream he lets out raises the hair on Alaska’s arms, and she feels a terror like she’s never known before. She thinks briefly about jerking away and running, but she feels rooted to the spot, staring down at Cassidy’s writhing body. Not like she’d actually escape Detox, anyway.

Another shot makes her jump, and Cassidy falls limp. “I said make it quick,” Sharon says, tucking her gun back into her belt. Alaska hadn’t even seen her move.

“I missed,” Morgan shrugs, but she doesn’t sound apologetic about it.

“Sure,” Sharon says doubtfully, but there’s a strange affection in her tone that undermines any reprimand. Her gaze suddenly lands on Alaska, and she’s back to smirking. “Excuse her,” she says. “She hasn’t been out in a while.”

“Rude,” Morgan snorts. She tucks her two pistols into their holsters, spinning them as she does.

“We need to go,” Detox says. Alaska tries not to cringe away from the voice close to her ear. She wants to retain at least some dignity.

“You’re right,” Sharon says. “Sorry. Got distracted.” She winks at Alaska, and Alaska’s stomach squirms with hatred and an unwilling attraction. She blames her childhood fanaticism.

They exit the house quickly, swinging up onto their horses, Morgan and the other woman speeding away immediately. Detox and Alaska still remain on foot, Alaska’s arms beginning to go numb with how far they’re strained behind her.

“Detox,” Sharon calls from on top of an enormous black Friesian. “She can go with me.”

“What? Why?” Alaska asks harshly as Detox leads her over.

“A little bonding never hurt anyone,” Sharon answers, smirking. Detox swings Alaska up behind her with an alarming ease, and Alaska balances herself, nearly falling off immediately.

Sharon looks at the house and then at Detox, and as Alaska is debating the pros and cons of sliding off the horse and running, she says something that makes Alaska’s blood run cold.

“Burn it.”

“No,” Alaska breathes. But something in her can’t wait to see it in flames.

Sharon eggs her horse into a gallop just as the flames catch onto one of the windowsills, and Alaska stares at the house until she can’t anymore, the orange of the flames burned into the backs of her eyelids.

Loss and relief shouldn’t be felt so soon after one another.

[mithrasisgay]

Lights

@tyrias-library Hope it’s okay to tag you, even though this doesn’t fullfill a prompt!

On AO3

SUMMARY: The pirates of the Chimaera are well aware what eerie lights on the Open Sea mean - Krait. Their prisoners using these lights to wave down ships, begging for help. Every sailor worth their salt knows to avoid these dreaded towers, for their own good.

The fog lies heavy on the surface of the Unending Ocean, making navigation fort he Chimaera nigh impossible. The ship glides slowly through the waves, as distant thunder cracks, lighting up the impenetrable blanket of mist.

“Lights! Lights on the Horizon!” calls Cariyen, the ship’s only Sylvari from the Crow’s Nest, then swings over the small platform’s railings and descends the mast. “Starboard side, Captain.” She elaborates, when she is down on the main deck.

Captain Asha Gaets, flanked by her loyal First Mate Snezz, is already peering through her spyglass, brows furrowed as she strains to make out anything. “I see ‘em. Very faint. Think they’re moving a little.” She says, lowering the spyglass from her eye and looking down to her asuran companion. “Mh, bad idea, Captain.” Snezz remarks. “We’re too far out to be encountering anything friendly.” “I know.” Asha responds. “Krait.” “Those lights mean that they have prisoners, trying to wave down ships.” Snezz speaks up a little, as the crew gathers around. “We’d do best to avoid them, unless we want to join them in their cages.”

“Prisoners?” a sharp voice enter the conversation, as Farris Nightrunner, a young Charr, squeezes her way through the small crowd. “Boss, we gotta help them. Who knows what the greasy snakes are doing to them!” “That’s a terrible-…” Snezz begins, but is cut off quickly by Farris’ growl. “Coward! If we leave them, their blood’s on our hands. Your hands!” she snarls at the small Asura, who does not even flinch. “These waters are their domain, Farris.” He calmly argues. “If we engage, we will all suffer their fate. There’s courage, and there’s recklessness.” “Are you calling me a fool, you sniveling runt? You might run from a challenge, but we-…” Farris stops mid-sentence, interrupted by the Captain firing a gunshot into the skies.

“Good thing that decision isn’t up to you two.” Asha says, stowing her flintlock on her belt again. Snezz looks up to her with hope in his eyes, but she only graces him with a crooked grin. “Farris, you’re right. We’re going in.” “Captain-…” “No. Zip it up, Snezz.” Asha raises her hand for emphasis. “I’m not leaving these people.” A brief beat of silence occurs, in which Snezz leans back against the mast and huffs in exasperation, wondering how Asha Gaets even stayed alive before she met him, but elects not to further defy his Captain. Not out of respect, but because he knows her well enough to understand when she won’t budge on a decision.

“Cariyen, Liamu, Farris and Auri.” Asha calls again. “I want you with me on a rowboat. Snezz, you have command of the ship. Bring us in, but stay out of visual range.” “Aye.” Snezz says, and makes his way to the wheel. One of their deckhands is already pushing in a crate for him to stand on, while another two begin lowering the rowboat. Asha steps forward, her striketeam in tow. Her eyes narrow as she gazes at the lights.

 --

There’s a tense silence among the rowboat’s passengers, as it approaches the Krait Deeps. Asha sits in front, staring on ahead, while the two Charr, Farris and her mother Auri are busy rowing behind her. Cariyen, the Sylvari is behind them, carrying a magical light in her hands to illuminate their immediate vicinity. At the back end of the boat sits Liamu, the tiny asuran necromancer, currently in the process of summoning a selection of horrors to aid in the fight to come.

“Cariyen.” Asha says, and the Sylvari snuffs out her light. She looks up, now much closer to the lights she’d spotted and feels oddly nostalgic, reminded of the glowing pods in the Pale Tree’s boughs she used to look upon from below. But that is where the similarities end. The closer the rowboat gets to the Deeps, the more the area’s eeriness is replaced by horror. Pained cries pierce the silence, the sound of whips and hateful voices taunting. Farris’ upper lip pulls back in a snarl.

“Get ready.” Asha order in a hushed whisper and draws her rifle. A splashing sound briefly draws her attention, but it’s just Liamu’s minions jumping overboard and swimming ahead. The group holds their breath and listens. Minutes go by, and Asha’s gaze rests on Liamu’s face.

The little woman has her eyes closed, and an expression of deep concentration on her features. “Twenty, maybe more.” She reports. “There will be many under the surface. I am drawing their attention to my minions.” “Cause some chaos.” Asha orders. “Once they’re busy with your little friends, we jump into the fray.” Liamu nods, digging a tooth into her lower lip, as she coordinates several individual undead at once.

An angry hiss sounds, then a battle cry and a cacophony of combat noises breaks loose. Asha stands up in the boat. “Auri, element of surprise.” The Mesmer nods and hands her oar to Farris. The air distorts around the boat as she raises her hands, channeling her magic, cloaking the group in a veil of invisibility. “Let’s give ‘em hell.” Asha growls and steps off the boat, just as it comes to a stop on the Deeps’ surface gangplanks.

The rest of the team follows her, Cariyen leaving last and pulling the boat onto the wooden planks. They stick close together, watching Liamu’s minions maiming and being maimed by their serpent enemies. Asha assumes a crouching position and levels her rifle on the largest Krait she can see, aiming directly for his head. When her shot rings out, her invisibility falls off her in a flash of purple magic. A barrage of bright blue arrows arches over her head and comes down on the Krait with the fury of a god. The group swarms out from behind their Captain. Cariyen seeks high ground, while raining her magical arrows down on the enemy. A cloud of toxic locusts ascends the tower, gathering around the heads of a group of Krait that were about to come to their brethren’s aid. Shrill cries fill the air, broken up and distorted by time itself warping and twisting from Aurelia Sharpwit’s shield. Clockhands made of ethereal light spin in reverse, rewinding the Krait into their previous positions, opening them up to attack. That attack being a jet of fire from the mouth of Farris’ flamethrower. Those that do not immediately die, shriek and try to slither away, into the water, but Auri’s magic freezes them in motion and her daughter’s flames consume them entirely.

While the battle on the central platform rages, Asha makes her way upward, rifle at the ready. The prisoners are all in the upper levels of the tower, locked up in crude cages. There are some stragglers in her way, most of which she can dispatch at range, or punt off the ledge with the butt of her rifle.

“Help! Please! Please help Quaggan!” cries a prisoner as Asha approaches the first set of cages. They’re unguarded, as most of the Krait are currently down, fighting her crew. Only one of them has movement inside, a little quaggan, all alone. Left and right are only putrefying corpses, picked at by birds. Asha rushes over, pulling her crowbar out of her backpack, and getting to work on levering the cage open. “Don’tcha worry. That’s why we’re here.” She assures the prisoner inside. The poor quaggan is beaten and bruised, and holding one of its hands close to its chest, clearly broken. It takes her some elbow grease, but Asha manages to wedge the doors open, and the quaggan limps out, fearfully looking up at its savior.

“It’s okay. Stick with me. My friends are distracting the Krait.” Asha explains. “I’m going further up. There’s more prisoners there.” “Quaggan will follow you.” They reply. “Too wounded. Nowhere else to go.” “I’ve got a ship. We’ll patch you up and take you home.” Asha promises as she moves on up, mindful to reduce her speed, so the quaggan can keep up with her.

Another voice addresses her as soon as she comes in view of the next set of cages, one platform up. “Hey, you! Let me out right now!” demands an Asura, with enough spirit in her to rattle at her cage’s bars. She wears black and red, tattered, but still very much recognizable as Inquest. Asha pauses, but shakes her head and jogs over to her, then gets to work on the door. “How’d someone like you end up so far from Maguuma?” she asks while she works, and the Asura huffs and puffs for a moment before responding. “We were on our way to Orr. That’s all I’m classified to tell you.” “You the only survivor?” Asha inquires, and the door creaks open under her assault with the crowbar. “I think so. I haven’t seen any of my krewemates.” The Asura steps out of the cage and Asha positions herself protectively between her and the quaggan. “Great. Well, I saved you, which means you owe me. So keep your mouth shut while I free the other prisoners and we all get to go home alive.” She states and moves on the next cage. Inside is a humanoid creature Asha cannot discern. They’re blue, but clearly breathing, clad in a full-face mask and adorned with a pair of luminescent wings.

“She’s put up a good fight.” The Asura comments. “And the Krait pressured her tenfold for that.” “She’s alive, though.” Asha says and gets to work on the door. “That’s enough for me.” “Quaggan knows her.” The quaggan adds. “She got captured near Quaggan’s home.” “When?” Asha asks. “Quaggan does not remember.”

“They were here when I was locked up. So, more than a week ago.” The Asura contributes. “Hey, do you have a ship or something? I’m not a good swimmer.” “I do. She’s circling the Deeps just outside of view.” Asha responds and gets the door open. She casts her crowbar aside and crouches down to inspect the creature. She looks horrible. There are deep gashes all over her arms and back, likely caused by bladed whips. Her wings have holes and the left one’s main bone is completely shattered, as if intentionally crushed. Under the creature’s heavily damaged armor, Asha gets a glimpse of greenish black flesh, an ugly infection, or a necrotic curse. She presses two fingers against the creature’s neck, feeling a slow, but steady pulse. Relying entirely on the mechanical exoskeleton around her left arm, Asha lifts the creature up and takes her out of the cage.

The rest of her team is luckily just ascending the planks. “Ah, good. We’ve got wounded.” Asha says and hands the creature over to Cariyen. “You and the Quaggan can go back to the boat and row over to the Chimaera. Tell Snezz to bring ‘er in, then take care of these two. Be ready for more wounded. The rest of you, spread out and gather any survivors on the central platform. Me and my new friend here will establish a perimeter.”

While she speaks, Asha pulls one of her pistols from her belt and hands it to the Asura she freed. “Don’t try anything funny. You’re outnumbered.” She hisses to her as she passes. “C’mon.”

Cariyen, and the Quaggan accompany them down to the platform, before getting on the boat. “I will see you soon, Captain. Be safe.” The Sylvari says, before grabbing the oars and starting to make her way back to the ship. “You too.” Asha calls after her, then turns back to the Asura.

“What a massacre.” She comments, as she steps over the piled up Krait bodies, burned, pierced and rotted away by Liamu’s magic. “They deserve worse.” Asha simply justifies. “You don’t look too hurt.” “I’m not.” The Asura admits. “They were too busy beating the living daylights out of my neighbor. I thought I could use that to slip away, but… Where would I go?” “Fair.” Asha says. “You got a name?”

The Asura hesitates visibly. “It’s Mhido.”

--

It took a good twenty minutes to reach the ship, but once she is back on the Chimaera, with Asha’s command passed on to Snezz, Cariyen has time to care for the wounded. She already cast a mild regeneration spell on the quaggan’s superficial wounds while on her way back. “Let me see your hand.” She asks, and the small creature shyly extends their arm to her. It causes them obvious pain, so Cariyen already has a numbing spell ready on her fingertips when she makes skin contact. The bone is, thankfully, cleanly broken. Cariyen closes her eyes, gently nudging the bone back into its regular place, and funnels healing into the quaggan’s body. Both bone fragments slowly connect again, a fragile connection, but with time and care, the injury would mend fully. She puts the arm in a splint and wraps it in a bandage for good measure.

Then, she turns to the unconscious creature. Her hands brush lightly over her whip marks, closing the open wounds and rejuvenating her body’s natural regenerative powers. Likely awakened by that energy, the creature jolts and grabs Cariyen by the wrist. “Where am I?” she asks in a sharp, heavily accented voice, attempting to sound menacing, but her fear shimmers through. “Be at ease.” Cariyen soothes. “You are safe. We attacked the Krait Deeps you were held in and rescued you. You are badly injured. Will you let me mend you?” A few seconds pass, and the creature’s grip loosens. “You defeated the Krait?” “Not alone. My crew and I did.” Cariyen responds and gently frees her hand from the creature’s. “I have to set your bones straight before I can mend them. This will hurt.” “Do not hold back. I can endure.” The creature says and Cariyen gets to work on the mangled wing. It is entirely limp, and the creature is likely unable to move it at all. One by one, Cariyen reconstructs the shattered bone, making her way from the base to the tip of the limb. The entire time, the creature is completely silent, only the odd, sharp inhale hinting that she feels pain. “What were you seeking among the Krait?” she eventually asks, while Cariyen begins mending the wing. “Their victims. We saw the lights from afar and decided to intervene.” The Sylvari explains. “In exchange for what?”

Cariyen pauses and looks up at the creature’s mask. “We did not do this for a reward.” She states and the creature falls silent again, in quiet contemplation of what altruism might be.

The sounds of a second rowboat being returned to the ship has Cariyen looking up. The Inquest Asura, Farris and a number of freed prisoners step onto the deck, in varying degrees on injury and weariness. There is more work to do.

[seeingstarks]

I posted 382 times in 2022

That's 273 more posts than 2021!

42 posts created (11%)

340 posts reblogged (89%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@waveblazer

@omg-im-such-a-masochist

@baysexuality

@lghockey

@theworldofotps

I tagged 350 of my posts in 2022

Only 8% of my posts had no tags

#wwe - 55 posts

#aew - 33 posts

#all elite wrestling - 28 posts

#liv morgan - 20 posts

#harley quinn - 20 posts

#fellow writers work - 19 posts

#the sandman - 15 posts

#john constantine - 15 posts

#shotzi blackheart - 14 posts

#poison ivy - 14 posts

Longest Tag: 106 characters

#lmfao i can't even watch till tmrw but i see him and i'm hoping 🥺 that this masked man is him so much 💕

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

john constantine/zari tarazi moodboard

likes/reblogs are appreciated, feel free to use just don't remove the credit. <3

42 notes - Posted January 12, 2022

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR STEAL ANY OF MY WRITING, LIKES/REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED. REQUESTS ARE OPEN FOR DRABBLES & MOODBOARDS!

#4

Wonderfully Worried || JW: Dominion Fluff

Summary : You and Ian Malcolm have been together for a few months now and despite actually being there with him physically, the thought of no longer having him by your side at all causes a lot of worry.

Pairing : old! (but still hot) ian malcolm x female reader

Warnings : slight mentions/talk of de*th (a), shock, fear, bugs, car crash, fire

Word Count : 1,098 words

A/N : . Jurassic World: Dominion spoilers through entire post . After watching the film, I just had to write this! <3 It's kind of obvious what scene inspired this, heh. Reblogs are very much appreciated! No stealing my work!

Tag List : @josiewrites

You were helping Ian press buttons on the panel, hoping that the correct combination of numbers would do the trick in order for Ellie, Alan, and Maisie to reach safety. Luckily, all of that button mashing seemed to work out just fine.

Afterwards, you and the group got in a car together only to realize there were oversized locusts falling from the sky, on fire. You sat in the passenger seat of the vehicle across from Ian who was sitting in the drivers seat. Ellie and Alan sat in the back with Maisie in the middle.

Ian looked quite panicked at the situation happening quite before his eyes, "That's Bananas."

You yelped as the falling locusts caused the vehicle to crash as it teetered you took a few deep breaths while Maisie seemed like the only one with anything helpful to say. The car flipped upside down as she started to cry.

Your vision was a bit blurry as you glanced over at Malcolm, reaching your hand out toward his as the two of you linked your hands together.

A gentle chuckle escaped your lips when looking over at Ian's confused expression as he stepped out of the wrecked vehicle along with the others. He seemed surprised to see his old pals along with some new faces.

Loud stomping from a dinosaur was heard from afar as Alan and Owen both said, "Don't move." You accidentally stepped on a branch while hiding behind Ian, scared that the dinosaur would somehow see you before the rest of the group. The dinosaur looked like a T-Rex but it's frame was much larger. Alan explained to the group that the species is called an Gigantosaurus.

A gasp nearly escaped from your lips as your mouth opened wide but before you could make any noise, Ian pressed his lips against yours while both of your hearts beated rapidly against each other. Your chest pressed up against his, the moment becoming more heated by the second but unfortunately more pressing matters were at play.

"Go to safety." He told you before you ran off with the rest of the group and up the ladder. Ian stayed behind and hid in the flipped over car, the foot of the Gigantosaurus mere inches away from crushing him.

A thud was heard as the Gigantosaurus gnawed through the metal ladder like it was nothing, Kayla encouraged Maisie to keep climbing as the others soon followed.

The Gigantosaurus roared in all of there faces, including yours. Fear took over your body, unable to move as you stood still and watched Ian risk his life for a second time in a row. You didn't want to see the love of your life die.

He threw the fire locust on a stick into the dinosaurs mouth and it seemed to get the job done. Ian slipped while going up the ladder and luckily Alan was still there to save him because you were in pure shock, still inert until he finally made it up the ladder safely.

After a bunch of stunning blows to the dinosaur from the group, it finally left you and the others alone.

You took this opportunity to catch a few breaths.

The group chatted for a bit as Ian stood beside Kayla on one side of a white table and you on the other, he began to unbutton his shirt while Kayla shook her head no at Ian. Your cheeks grew warm at the sight of Malcolm, you wanted to tear the shirt off of Ian right then and there but it wasn't exactly the best time or place.

"Y/N, you feeling alright?" That all too familiar voice asked you in a cocky tone. You were staring at him unknowingly and gnawing at your lower lip so hard that it left an indent on the bottom. Ian had already buttoned his shirt up which was disappointing to say the least.

"Yeah, I'm feeling alright... thanks for calming me down out there." You winked gently over at him although your heart was still beating fast.

You and Ian Malcolm had met a few years back and wanted to work together on taking Biosyn down. Being younger than him has never phased the two of you.

Kayla walked over toward Ian as you walked toward Owen, making small talk. Ian stared at you and admired all of your features, getting lost in your beauty. Kayla grinned just a bit, "Wish I had a woman that looked at me like that, true love right there."

Tears began to run down your face as the emotions from recent events finally hit you. Ian had been through so many near death experiences and most of them were just stories to you, experiencing them first hand brought a whole new feeling and not a good one at that.

Owen frowned, you had helped him train the raptors in the past and he didn't want to see one of his friends in pain. He pulled you into a side hug, "I'm always gonna be here for you, Y/N. I promise. Take care now and if that Rambo dude ever treats you wrong... let's just see how much he likes a raptor bite to the ass."

Shaking your head, you chuckled at Owen's comment. He always knew how to put a smile on your face even on the darkest of days. "Thanks for helping me feel better, I'll catch up with you all in a few." He nodded and waited for Kayla to finish her conversation with Ian.

As soon as Ian noticed the tear stains on your cheeks, he rushed over and pulled you in for a huge bear hug.

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51 notes - Posted July 16, 2022

#3

Love Bites Back || TWD Drabble

Summary : Two men in your life, one at Alexandria, and the other a proud leader of the saviors. Who would you choose?

Pairing : Fem Reader x Daryl Dixon x Negan Smith

Warnings : blood, vomit, weapons, cursing, sickness, guns, liqour, pain-killers, and smut if you wince.

A/N : Been a long time since I wrote something but I came up with this little drabble and thought it would be fun to share. There is no exact set timeline for this but roughly based around season 6-7. Keep hateful comments to yourselves please, likes/reblogs are appreciated. No stealing my work. I'm not the best at writing, bare with me. Enjoy. <3

Bitten mere hours before, weakness began to take over, each movement proving to be a challenge. Raising up your crossbow, aiming to shoot the walkers, only to discover there are no arrows to be found. Daryl took you out often for hunting lessons, he was the one who taught you how to use the crossbow. Daryl sighed when approaching you, he took notice that you looked quite pale. Aiming for the heads of the undead, he shot them before retrieving his own arrows. "You're burning up, Y/N." Daryl pressed his palm against your forehead, feeling the warmth building up on your skin, sweat drenching your clothing but there was no way in hell you would be telling Daryl that you got bit just from attempting to save someone that turned out to be a savior, well if you wanted to call Negan that. Negan had been surrounded by ten walkers, sure he would be able to handle them all on his own but you wanted to help out.

Gunshots could be heard in the distance, Daryl told you to leave it be. You were in no shape to fight, let alone walk. Daryl helped you get on the back of his motorcycle before he hopped on the front of it. "We'll go hunting in a few days. Left some traps out so the walkers don't get to the food first." He insisted, the loud hum of his engine could be heard while more walkers were left in the dust.

"Daryl, I'm fine." You grunted when he went over a bump in the road, hitting your arm in just the wrong way. Not wanting to tell Daryl you were bitten, you set the crossbow over your arm with a wince.

Sooner or later, he would be able to tell that something is up with you. The familiar southern-accent of his drawing deep before the next words came out of his mouth, "What's wrong, Y/N? The last time you looked at me that way was well when..."

Swiftly placing your finger upon his lips, you gently grinned while glancing up and down at Daryl. "When we drunk-fucked and tied each other up?" You asked him innocently, gripping onto his shoulders as if your life depended on it, your stomach doing back flips, and it wasn't just because you brought up your past relationship with Daryl.

"I'm feeling ill..." Finally admitting this, Daryl slowed down some to check up on you. "Taking the leather jacket off would help." Daryl responded with snark in his comment. Hesitant to take the leather jacket off, you did it anyways. Negan gifted you one identical to his, except your name was spelled in italics along the leather backing.

Daryl eventually stopped his motorcycle completely, covering his tracks after the fact. Then he glanced over at you with worry in his eyes. Flinching when he helped you remove the jacket, no knowledge of what he was going to say about your current infection from one of the walkers. Tears began to roll down your face, knowing what had to be done in order for your survival. You were bitten directly below the elbow, trying your damnest to hide the bite for as long as possible. The sight of blood never seemed to bother you but the idea of having your own arm chopped off was something completely different.

"Y/N... why didn't you tell me about this sooner!?" Daryl questioned, holding your arm out which revealed the bite mark, "How on earth did this even happen- I thought you knew better." Frowning at his words, you didn't like when Daryl raised his voice at you which rarely ever happened. He knew your past had been rough aswell. Shrugging, "I don't know D, saw someone surrounded by walkers and didn't think twice. When getting closer, it turned out that Negan didn't need saving and it was just a trick to get me closer to him..." Sighing, the next words coming out of your mouth would be hard for Daryl to hear.

*earlier that day*

Negan wasn't letting you go that easy. You took five of the walkers and he took the other five. Swinging Lucille around in his hand proved to be no problem when taking the walkers out. You thought that five was no big deal for you aswell, usually being able to take that many down on your own.

With hitched breathing, you spoke out, "Four down and one to go. No big deal." Speaking to yourself, Negan raised his eyebrow as he watched how things went down. The two of you definitely had a past with each other aswell. Going to Alexandria on your own was a risk but if the people of Alexandria saw Negan and the other saviors trying to sneak on base, all shots would be fired.

It took a long time before warming up to Rick and the others, over the years they started to trust you. Allow you to make runs while being supervised. You would write to Negan with every chance you got, trying not to get caught. Telling him how much supplies Alexandria had left or were hiding. You told him about the guns they were hiding aswell.

Deep down in your gut you felt like this was wrong. On one end, you didn't want to betray Negan because he was the one that saved you before meeting Daryl. Negan fed you and took care of you, all you had to do was keep watch and make sure no one was double-crossing Negan, seemed easy enough. On the other hand, with each hunting lesson and run you did with Daryl, you felt yourself growing closer to him each time.

You didn't want to choose between the saviors or the people of Alexandria but Negan had told you that there would have to be a decision made down the road. Part of you just wanted Rick and Negan to get along and make peace but there wasn't a high possibility of that ever happening.

On one of your runs, you and Daryl stumbled upon some rope and left-over liqour, as the two of you had packed up your bags, the light-bulb went off in your head, putting two and two together. Although you and Daryl don't talk about that night often, it was definitely something special the two of you had shared in the past. Once sobering up, you cuddled half the day away.

Negan could tell you were struggling with the walker, a grimace mixed with his signature grin sprawled across his face while watching you. You couldn't tell if he actually got a kick out of seeing you struggle like this. Your knife had fallen out of the pouch and Negan had stolen your arrows before all this happened. You could have reached for the arrow to stab the walker in the head. "I'm going to fucking kill you when this is-ouch!" A loud scream parted your lips as you felt the walker tearing into your flesh.

Fear took over as you crawled away from the rotten creature, tears rolling down your face. Negan luckily caught on, he walked over and bashed it's head in before the walker could have done more damage then was already done.

"Now, what was that you were saying 'bout killing me? Little ol' you is gonna kill me with a crossbow? Knew I had a reason for stealing them." Once again, Negan swung Lucille around while speaking with you, the man standing before you struck fear into whatever was left of your soul.

Rolling your eyes at Negan, you had little time or effort in putting up with his shit. "Just shut up and give me your shirt."

"Knew one of these days you would wanna see me shirtless, sweet face." A groan escaped from your lips, hearing the nickname Negan gave you. Negan tore the cloth on his shirt, throwing it in your direction.

Bleeding out, you swiftly wrapped the cloth around your wound, tying it tightly. "Fucking hell, Negan. Stealing my arrows? Are you really that fuckin' low?" Seething in anger, you stumbled up off the ground, holding your wound, eventually you heard the engine of Daryl's motorcycle in the distance.

"Go, now. Before my cover is blown and Daryl sees you." You pushed Negan away but the little force didn't even make him move an inch. "Oh, and also I hate you so much."

"I hate you too." Negan embraced you, pulling you in for one long and passionate kiss. It felt much needed, being away from him this long proved to be difficult. Sure, Negan would leave you for dead but something small inside of you cared for this man.

*currently that day*

"Negan could have saved me like he did with the others. He watched the walker bite me and just stood there, D. I get that he is a monster but one would think that even Negan cared about my well-being."

See the full post

63 notes - Posted April 23, 2022

#2

Gold, Baby, Solid Gold.

Summary : Sully could never take the hint about you having feelings for him so one night in your shared hotel room, you decide to wear a golden dress in attempts to get his attention.

Pairing : unchartedfilm!sully x f!reader

Warnings : swearing, pet names (princess/babygirl), oral (f recieving), face riding, fingering, cum talk, french kissing

Word Count : 1,589 words

A/N : This is Uncharted film based after the main events of the film happened. Alludes to a few spoilers, I had a really fun time writing this because I've literally watched the film 100 times already and Uncharted 4 is basically all I play now. Enjoy! Likes/Reblogs are appreciated! No stealing my work!

Going with Sully on adventures had definitely been different than going on them with Nathan. You viewed Nathan as a brother figure even though he already has one. Sully never seemed to get it through his thick skull that you actually developed feelings for him. Being around Sully caused your heart to skip beats and butterflies would flutter around in your stomach.

Sully’s a cockroach when it comes to gold.

Braddock's voice rung through your ears even hours later. You were grateful for Sully saving Nate instead of grabbing his satchel of gold. You always viewed Sully as the 'save himself only' type of guy so his actions today caught you by surprise. The sun went down and Sully would be back toward the hotel soon.

Nate knew how you felt about Sully so he decided to head back early while you and Sully stayed the night at the hotel. Quite ironically, he was busy picking up some Papa John's for a late night snack. You had warned him not to go back after smashing the glass toward the location earlier. When did Sully actually ever listen to you though? He never seemed to get the hint of you having feelings for him.

The cat meowed at the edge of the bed wanting attention. You pet his cat before standing up and opening your bag up. Holding up the golden dress that glimmered along with the lighting, a smile spread along your lips. You were saving the outfit for an undercover mission but you didn't know when you would be alone with Sully again and him actually being in a good mood for once.

Entering the washroom, you pinned your hair up while slipping your clothing off and the golden dress put on afterwards fit your figure perfectly and admired it aswell.

I’m literally in a Papa John’s right now.

You practically screeched when hearing Sully speak through the phone. "Did you uh- butt dial me again? What did Nate say about keeping so many apps open?" You questioned Sully with a chuckle.

Sully proceeded to order the pizza for you two before hearing your voice. "I'll be there in ten." Sully informed, you didn't know who seemed to talk more, you or him.

"You don't need Tinder around tonight..." Mumbling up against the speaker while your cheeks tinted red. "What was that?" He questioned while picking up the pizza and entering his car. "Uh, nothing-" You hung up the phone before giving Sully the chance to answer.

While waiting for his return, you pulled out your makeup pouch and applied some red lipstick along with other makeup that complimented your skin tone.

If we find the gold, we find him too.

You waited patiently at the doorway for Sully to arrive. Pairing your golden dress along with some black combat boots. Heels would be the obvious choice but you were aiming for comfort tonight. Hearing the door knob turn, you jumped up in excitement and ran toward the bed, trying your best to look sexy.

Sully held the pizza in his hands with his phone sitting on top of the box, he nearly dropped both on the floor when seeing you all dressed up just to impress him in hopes that he would now take the hint.

"Wow, Y/N. You look stunning." His eyes wandered along your body briefly, "Really been paying attention to how much I love gold, huh?" You nodded, the smile creeping across your lips again.

"Hey, listen... Sully, I need to tell you something." You sat up on the bed and looked him in the eyes. "Maybe it will be easier to hear when sitting down." You added.

Sully listened and sat down at the edge of the bed beside you. "What is it, Y/N? Did someone steal my stuff again? Wouldn't be the first time." You shook your head at him, "No, silly."

"I... well wanted to tell you that I have had feelings for you quite a long time now. Well... just a few months but-" You were finding it hard to form sentences, actually confessing this to Sully instead of infront of your mirror while alone was different. He was actually here and listening to you, being respectful. What if he doesn't like you? The thoughts starting to make your head spin while sweat started to form on your palms. Great.

"I really really like you, Sully." You eventually got out as his hazel eyes met with yours. He placed his hand on yours, rubbing his thumb up against it before responding. "I really really like you aswell, Y/N. For a long time now but I was nervous because of my reputation with women in the past. I didn't want to ruin something before we even started it, but yes I do have feelings for you."

Sully telling you this felt like a breath of fresh air, he felt the same way toward you. Getting caught up in the moment, you placed your arms on his shoulders while he positioned his arms on your hips and waist.

"Mm, dressed up in gold all for me? I love it, babygirl." Sully teasingly whispered in your ear before placing his lips against yours.

The kiss deepened as you parted your lips for him to enter his tongue in your mouth. The two of you battled for dominance while kissing, twirling your tongues around with one another. A moan escaped your lips at the sudden thought of him using his tongue on you in other ways.

Sully took his lips off yours and took a deep breath. "I must be fantastic at kissing if I already have you moaning." He teased with a wink.

Rolling your eyes at him with a chuckle, you glanced at his lips before looking at all of his other features. "No clue what you're talking about. The pizza is gonna get cold if we wait any longer."

See the full post

64 notes - Posted April 28, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Time Flies, Drunk Ties || TWD Drabble

Summary : A normal supply run with Daryl turns into something much more.

Pairing : Fem Reader x Daryl Dixon

Warnings : talk of killing/blood, weapons, drinking, alcohol, unprotected sex, self pleasure, anal, rope play

A/N : This is what happened when the reader/Daryl got drunk together one night. I hope everyone enjoys this. Likes/Reblogs are appreciated. <3 Might be the last thing I write for awhile, my anxiety is bad. Editing requests are open though. Feel free to dm/send in an ask! <3 No stealing my work either! I'm aware that this isn't the best writing ever. There is no exact set timeline for this but roughly based around season 6-7 before Love Bites Back || TWD Drabble.

This morning you were supposed to meet up with Negan but Daryl had insisted on you joining with him on a run for supplies. You didn't really see the point in doing supply runs anymore but it kept Negan happy and he didn't kill as many people when you were around him. Who were you kidding... Negan killed your friends in cold blood directly infront of you.

Packing up the last bit of things before heading out of Alexandria for the day, you grabbed some bottled water, canned goods, and your lucky knives. One could never go wrong with bringing knives. Sure, you had one pistol full on ammo with the crossbow over your shoulder aswell.

Daryl often commented about how long you took when having to leave and actually do something. He waited for you on his motorcycle while you hugged your friends goodbye. With walkers roaming around nearly ever corner along with other dangers, you never knew what goodbye would be your very last.

"Goodbye Rick, I think I'm gonna miss you the most." You grinned up at him gently before setting your hand in his hair and messing with it. His cheeks crinkled up while beginning to smile as he shook his head at you.

"Guess this is payback for messing up your hair that one time." Rick teased, you rolled your eyes up at the man before saying goodbye to Carol.

"I think Pookie over there is starting to catch butterflies in his stomach for you." Glancing back toward the gate, you saw Daryl on his motorcycle while catching a look at you every once in awhile. Both him and Negan caused butterflies in your own stomach, all for different reasons.

"N-no-" Stuttering, you shook your head while staring down at your combat boots. "Daryl doesn't like me that way, does he?" Cheeks growing warm at the thought of Daryl sharing the same feelings as you.

Carol shrugged, "Maybe he does. If you have to ask the question, then the answer is probably yes. Now get goin' before he decides to leave you behind." All jokes aside, you knew that Daryl would never do that.

Making your way toward Daryl, a smile spread along your lips while throwing one leg over his motorcycle along with the other. "Let's get going, slow-poke."

"Mhm, I'm the one that is slow." Daryl responded, two members of Alexandria opened up the gate as you and Daryl went through.

*a few hours later*

"Where are we heading?" Questioning him as you looked around only to see walkers surrounding both sides of the dirt road.

"Straight. Saw an old shack a couple of miles ahead, we'll be safe there for tonight."

Along the way, you and Daryl found food for the others at home and some more water. The most interesting thing the two of you found though was some rope and liqour.

The whole ride seemed rather quiet and long. You were hoping to get more out of today. Sighing loud as you hopped off his motorcycle and went into the shack, Daryl followed close behind you.

"What's wrong now?" Daryl questioned as he raised an eyebrow up at you while resting his back up against some wood.

"Nothing, D... Just- I've been sexually frustrated ever since waking up this morning. Getting off is hard when the only moans you hear are those of the walkers." With a huff, you threw your bag on the ground which caused the beer bottles to roll out along with some rope the two of you found earlier that day.

Daryl glanced up and down at you, trying to make out if you were joking around this time or not. He never grew close to anyone, the only reason he stops by Alexandria is to make sure you are safe and well taken care of.

"Hmm," Daryl hummed as your eyes met with his, "Guess we will have to fix this problem of yours then." Just hearing his southern-accent was enough to make your panties wet.

Things started to become more handsy after downing two beers each. Straddling his clothed thigh, you needed even more friction. "Daryl, please. I want your big D..."

Daryl shook his head, wanting to see how long the whining and begging would be able to go on for but what he didn't know about you was the fact you enjoyed being bratty and getting your way.

Smirk growing across your lips, you rid yourself from the jeans and t-shirt.

"What are ya' gonna do if I touch myself, D? Hmm?" You taunted all while slipping your hand down your panties, beginning to pleasure yourself.

Moments later, the buldge grew even larger in his pants. "Fuck, I've had enough of this." With swift moments, Daryl lifted you up and pinned you against the wall.

"I knew that you were slow."

See the full post

67 notes - Posted April 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[rex101111]

Following Orders.

Rating: E

Warning: Gore, blood, body horror, Mentioned attempted suicide, Holocaust mentions, civilians getting shot by nazi soldiers (the usual awful things).

Right so I recently got into The Magnus Archives so I had to contribute something :D blame @imbeccablee she introduced me to it. You should check it out it’s REALLY fun if you into horror and podcasts and horror podcasts :D

Anyway enjoy!

"Statement of; Johan Hess. Regarding an encounter in France during his time in the German army around the Normandy landings.

Statement Originally taken: December 15th, 1981

Recording by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute.

Statement begins;"  

-_-

The phrase "I was just following orders" is the emptiest thing a soldier could say. It is a pathetic, cowardly attempt to dodge responsibility by pinning it on your superiors. You throw away your choice, the option that you could have done different, by claiming you had no choice at all from the moment you placed yourself in uniform and became just another face in a firing line.

Of course I shot those civilians, I was following orders.

Of course I burned that house down, I was following orders.

Everyone was following orders, everyone was shooting each other and walking in lockstep as they were told to march, march forward onto hell and onto death and onto the enemy's bullets and bayonets without a thought.

We were all just. Following orders.

It's the excuse, and that it all it will ever be, an excuse, given by soldiers in the Great War when questioned about the mustard gas in the trenches. It's the answer you'll get from the soldiers that came back from Vietnam with mud between their fingers and blood in their teeth.

And it was the excuse I used, every single day of my life, from the moment I joined the German Military during World War Two. It is the excuse I use to get up from my bed in the morning, the one I used when I hugged my wife and had to convince myself I had the right to say that I loved her, the one I used day in and day out even after the true scope of what the Fuhrer had done to the morals of my country and the values we held dear.

I know it is a lie, that the cause for that war was corrupt and cruel from the very beginning, I have always known, but that lie is the only reason I managed to keep the barrel of my gun out of my mouth after we saw the...footage.

Have you ever seen pictures of the survivors of the death camps? Those gaunt figures with their bones nearly sticking out of their skin? Bodies, dressed in filthy rags, so emaciated that they barely appeared to be human? Their eyes filled with pain and fear?

How about film? Even in black and white, the way they moved, as if struggling against the wind lest it folded them in two, spoke to the depth of the horror and cruelty those people endured.

My people did that, my countrymen did that to those people. My neighbors and friends dragged them out of their homes, shaved them bald, starved them, beat them, put them into rooms filled with death, stripped them of everything that made them human until all was left was a massive hole in the ground filled with meat and blood.

 And I allowed it to happen, me and every other soldier in that army when we put on those uniforms. As we swept through Europe like a hive of locusts, stripping the land bare and dragging people kicking and screaming from their homes and gave Hitler and his sycophants more power and territory. I was not one of those animals, those soulless demons of the SS, but the blood on my hands was the same as the blood on theirs.

 Both of us allowed those terrors to happen. The only difference between them and I is that they did of that all directly, with full knowledge of what would happen to those poor Jews and Blacks and anyone deemed lesser. I was a fool, placing my fingers in my ears and refusing to see things as they were.

 My fellow soldiers were the same, high on patriotic fervor that blinded them to what our fatherland had become. I didn't join the Wehrmacht to kill people, though I knew that it would be asked of me, I joined because the thought of my friends and family dying out there alone made me sick. I wanted to do my part, and every article in the newspaper and every poster on the streets and every speech on the radio convinced me that my part was to hold a gun and shot until I was either dead or we won.

 Even as we turned on the Russians and operation Barbarossa failed miserably, even as the Americans started landing on the beaches of France, even as more and more of my fellow soldiers died around me, I was convinced that I needed to do my part.

 That all changed in a single night.

 I was stationed in France, near the Eawy forest, on June 13, a week after the Allies began landing on Normandy. I was sent to France almost as soon as I finished my training, almost two years previous, and had been to many places in that time. France is a beautiful place, its cities gleamed and its nature spanned wide and far in many places.

 It pained me in a way I refuse to say out loud to have to visit this place with guns and tanks.

 I was a part of a unit made to combat partisans and French rebels hiding in the forest, rooting out encampments between the trees and keeping the local population in line and stop them from thinking to do anything as foolish as fighting back.

 My unit passed through many villages in the forests of France, burning and pillaging as we went. Our commander, Heinrich Werner, was a vicious man who believed the word of Hitler down to his bones. He ordered us to take every Jewish civilian we could find in every village we passed, gather them in the town square, and shoot them were they stood.

 He often complained aloud at how unsatisfied he was at his position and placement, only growing louder as news of the Americans landing on the beaches reached us and we all stayed put. I suspect he exercised this cruelty to prove himself in some way, to show he should be fighting the allies instead of hunting in the forest for rebels with rusty weapons. If that was true than he failed miserably, and only grew more and more cruel as time wore on.

 Man, woman, child, elder, Werner wanted them all dead to the last. It mattered not that they screamed or begged, his voice was calm and steely as he ordered us to bring our rifles to bare.

 And no matter how they screamed and pleaded and cried, we all did as he said, we all followed our orders.

 None of us hesitated, none of us questioned, none of us were shot for disobedience. Every time, we lined up our rifles, steadied our grip, and pulled our triggers as one. You never appreciate how loud a gunshot could be until you put your hands on an actual firearm. Movies will try, but the sheer noise a gun makes when you tell it to help you take a life is something that can't be replicated.

 Imagine a wall of noise, slamming into the center of your chest. For a split second, every single one of your bones rattle inside your flesh. The liquid in your eyes shivers from the shock, blurring your world for a long moment.

 And then, nothing. Your shot echoes out, slowly dying in the air, but all you hear is nothing. The world is a void of sound and noise, the shot ringing in your ears is gone almost as soon as it arrived. When you are part of a firing line, you not only have to suffer the shock from your own weapon, but the weapons to your sides as well, walls of the noise crushing you from all directions at once.

 It deafens you, even after your ears either adjust to the noise or are so damaged by constant gunfire that it no longer stings, those walls of noise steal every sound from the world for a few moments.

 Just long enough for you to hear the bodies of your targets fall to the earth. You shot someone while they stand and they fall apart from the bottom up. First their legs give out, lacking the strength to hold up the weight, and then they slump forward or backwards, laying on the ground as if their strings were cut.

 The thud of flesh hitting the ground, be it mud or cobblestone or bricks, is unavoidable. You can't escape it. Even if you fill the air with so much noise and fire and death that you can't even hear your thoughts from the lead all around you, you can always feel the moment someone hits the ground and begins staining it with blood.

 And if your bullet is the one that caused it, the thud echoes. It reverberates through your chest and lodges itself between your lungs, and for a long time after you hear it with every breath you manage to pull.

 The nights after we raided a village were always quiet after that, each of us making sure not to look each other in the eyes as we ate our rations and crawled into our sleeping bags.

 Until one night, when Werner started screaming at us to get up, "On your feet! Everyone in uniform! NOW! EVERYONE OF YOU GET UP!" I remember those words exactly, even after all those years, like he had just shouted them right in my ear. It was the first time I ever heard anything other than cold satisfaction or cruel excitement from the man. This time, every single word he spoke was quivering with shock, even as he tried to hide it with his orders.

 It was a rush of people in the dark, elbowing me and hissing at me to hurry up as I shook the sleep from my bones and put my uniform on in a near blind panic. I was the last to get ready and follow the rest of the soldiers to the center of our makeshift camp.

 I was not very close with many of the soldiers in my unit, despite how long we spent together. I was never an overtly social person even back home, so I exceled at making sure I never stepped on anyone's toes, but suffice it to say no one there considered me a friend and I extended them the same courtesy.

 None of that made the sight of a mangled pile of body parts any less shocking to me. Least of all because I recognized the soldier it had once been. It was Karl, one of the riflemen that always seemed to be the most eager to file into a firing line when Werner started barking orders.

 He was pulled apart like an old doll, each of his limbs bleeding profusely from ragged stumps on the torso they were arranged on, with his head on the very top of the pile as some sort of vicious centerpiece.

 And his face. His face was the worst of it, instead of a blank stare like that of a drowning fish, or the twist of dying agony and terror I had so grown used to over the two years of my service, instead his face was the very picture of fathomless sorrow. His eyes were as if on the verge of weeping, his mouth closed in a mournful grimace.

 I felt myself drawn into those eyes, the clear blue of it glinting in the moonlight as I stared. I could swear they were filling up with unshed tears as I continued to gaze in numb horror and felt a deep, shredding dread cutting up the pit of my stomach.

 I could hear more than a few of my fellows retching at the sight, and I was barely able to hold back my own bile as Karl's blood continued to pool around the flesh of his mangled corpse.

 Werner was pacing back and forth, breathing heavily through his nose as he glared at us. "Who did this?" He asked us, voice trembling with some mix of anger and fear. "One of you must have heard something, did anyone see?"

 We all looked at each other uneasily, none of us having heard a thing before Werner had started screaming. He started shouting at us again, calling us all idiots, pathetic excuses for soldiers if someone could just walk into our camp and kill one of our own and get away with it.

 He continued shouting meaningless insults for another full minute, wildly gesturing with every word as he seemed to try and wring out his own fear, before he stopped abruptly, leaning his ears towards the deep, dark woods.

 We did the same, and all of us flinched at once when a deep, loud noise rumbled from between the tree trunks. Nothing human could have made that sound, and I heard no animal capable of anything like it either. It was something between the growl of a bear and the dying gasp of our many victims, echoing with a mix of anger and hate, and it made the dread in my stomach burn more and more brightly.

 Werner snapped at us once more, barking at us to gather our rifles and flashlights, and to march with him into the woods to hunt down whatever was, "making a fool of him." His face was twisted with anger and denial, as if the murder of his soldier and the noise was accusing him of something, and his pride was refusing to take it laying down.

 It said something of German Military discipline when there was only a short moment of hesitation before we all began to gather our equipment, all of us defaulting to the one thing our basic training had drilled into our heads in the face of this horror.

 We followed our orders.

 Again, I had fallen a bit behind, only one of the other soldiers, Wilhelm, waiting for me for a moment before continuing on to the group gathering in front of the woods with Werner. My hands were still shaking from the pile of body parts, unable to stop myself from stealing glances at it as I gathered my things.

 As I finished attaching the bayonet to my rifle, something caught my eye near what was once Karl. A piece of paper, resting on the palm of one of the hands, not flying off in the breeze despite the fingers being spread open.

 I walked over to the paper almost without thinking, the sounds of Werner shouting orders and warnings to the other soldiers sounding muffled, as if through water. With every step I took towards it, Werner sounded further and further away, finally falling silent as I stood right next to the outstretched, severed palm of my fellow soldier.

 It was a note, on it a single word, scrawled in French, the letters scratched and thin.

 I learned more than a little French back at home, my mother being from Paris, and the word on that note was unmistakable.

 In the beginning, the Jews we executed merely whimpered at us, begging for their lives. As time wore on, as the French people became more emboldened by the resistance and the allies pushing us back, they began shouting at us in rage and anger.

 They shouted many things, but one word kept repeating, over and over, the children screaming first, before their parents joined in. The word echoing in my ears even as the gunshots died on the wind.

 The same word on that note, the letters changing color from ink black to a familiar red as I stared at it, burning themselves in my mind as the note started to bleed from them.

 Monsters.    

 I was suddenly wrenched from my trance when I heard Wilhelm calling out to me, the rest of the unit, 29 men in all including myself, Wilhelm and Werner, already deep in the woods. I looked back at Karl's palm for a moment, and saw that it was empty.

 I shook my head and followed Wilhelm's call, barely hearing Werner shouting marching orders at the head of the party. I took a breath and marched forward with clenched teeth, feeling the woods swallow me whole.

 Forests at night were a terrible thing. Without the sunlight filtering through the canopy, they were utterly pitch black in every direction, only the occasional ray of light from the moon piercing through to barely illuminate anything.

 You could hear every little sound in the night, owls flying between branches, insects and lizards scrabbling up the bark, the trees attempting to deafen you while you were blind. Only the solid footfalls of my unit walking together gave me some sense of place, and whenever I looked away, the dark seemed to stretch out for miles.

 The Eawy Forest is one of the largest in France, over six and a half thousand hectares of forest, a border of trees on the northern edge of Pays de Bray. You could literally walk for miles, hours, weeks in these woods if you got turned around. And in the dark, the trees stretch out into the abyss no matter how hard you look.

 You could hide a body in these woods, and it would be months before anyone found what was left of it. There could be an enemy hiding behind every trunk, every errant bush, and the possibility of that seemed to finally enter Werner's head as we walked on and into the woods.

 More than once, a loud snap would sound from a direction, and every one of us would whip our rifles to shot whatever made the foolish decision to be alive and moving within our sight. Every time, there was nothing, and Werner would growl at us to keep our wits and keep marching, his voice losing more and more of its edge with each repetition.

 I don't know how long we moved through those pitch black trees, at some point my mind was panicking over why we hadn't seen the sun yet, thinking we must have walked for hours now.

 Me feet ached, but I dared not complain, not even as a matter of discipline, but more that the thought struck me that if something in these woods heard me admit a weakness, it would be the last thing I would ever do.

 And so we walked, deeper and deeper, almost in a trance, not a single one of us daring to speak a word, fingers tight around our weapons. In that silence, I noticed the sounds of the woods stopped as well. Wilhelm looking over his shoulder at me, a ray of moon light illuminating his face just enough for me to catch the worry in his pinched brow.

 I could only shrug helplessly at whatever silent question he threw at me, and he turned away with a silent grimace.

 All of a sudden, we stopped, Werner having apparently seen something and ordered a halt. One by one, the unit began to spread out wide and forward, with me at the very back I could only see why when the motion reached me about a minute or so later.

 We reached a clearing, large enough to fit all thirty of us and still leave room to spread our arms out. The moon was shining brightly, perfectly lighting up the clearing even though it had almost completely waned.

 I looked around at the rest of the unit, seeing them all stare ahead at something at the far end of the clearing, all of them still perfectly silent with Werner the furthest in. I leaned my head up to see what it was, not trusting my voice enough to risk breaking whatever heavy silence had fallen on us all with a question, and then felt the bile rise again in my throat as I caught the smell.

 The acrid scent of old, stagnant blood filled the air. Every breath I took was laced with the pungent odor of rotting, fetid meat, and the source was right in front of me, but I could not see. Images of torn city streets flashed in my mind, bodies strewn about haphazardly and left to bleed and rot in the sun, crows and maggots picking at their flesh.

Some force of morbid curiosity pulled me forward, the same mindless walk that led me to the note in Karl's hand, and I was about 10 feet away from Werner when I saw what he was staring at.

 And saw him shaking like a leaf in the wind, whimpering like a child.

 It was a pool, about 30 feet wide and stretching out into the dark of the forest, it's surface calm and smooth as glass, and the moon light blooming in the clearing reflected of it perfectly.

 The smell, fetid and stagnant and rotten, was the strongest right at the lip of the pool, and the moonlight made it impossible to miss the deep, red color of the water.

 No, not water, the more I looked the more I was certain that not a single drop of water was in that pool. The bile rose in my throat and burned it as I stared at this huge pool of blood, smelling of decay and sorrow so strongly it nearly knocked me off feet, and so thick I could not see through it.

 I desperately wanted to look away, to hold my nose and turn on my heel and flee from this place with all my might, but I was rooted to the spot. Despite my horror, something else rose in my chest, a crushing feeling of guilt stuck itself between my lungs and stopped me from breathing, and tears started welling up in my eyes as I continued to stare at this massive pool of red.

 A Knowing grew in my head, a certainty that would have dragged me to my knees had I been able to move. I spilt this blood, I filled this pool to the brim with every trigger I pulled, I couldn't look away, I had no right to look away. All I could do was weep and feel the bile I could not vomit churn in the back of my throat.

 I could vaguely hear the soldiers around me whimpering along with Werner and myself, some of them whispering desperate apologies and gagging on their own vomit as we stared at this pool of gore we all made.

 After what felt like an eternity of begging for forgiveness and staring unblinking at that pool of blood, the glass like surface of the pool began to ripple outwards from the center, something moving just below the blood.

 The ripples began inching closer and closer to the edge of the pool, closer to us, before stopping dead and vanishing all at once. We all fell silent and held our breaths as we stared at where the ripples were, waiting for…something.

 Almost without warning, an arm shot out of the crimson pool, and started clawing at the grass. Before we could fully understand what we were seeing, a second arm joined the first, and together they started pulling at the ground, dragging something, someone, out of the blood.

 It stood up slowly, painfully, blood dripping off in rivulets and pooling near its feet instead of sinking into the ground. It was barely the size of a child, limbs thin and muscles emaciated. They wore bloody rags, the cloth sticking to its skin, through which I could see bones nearly bulging out, bent at odd angles.

 Its hair was shaved in irregular patterns, and what hair it had was soaked with blood like the rest of it. It kept its head down, taking deep, ragged breaths. Every inch of me was screaming at me to run, that what I was seeing was wrong, that staying where I was meant death in every sense.

 But I did not move, the Knowing that told me I made the pool told me that this is where I needed to be, and I could do nothing but stay, and wait.

 It raised its head, and it wore the face of a child, the face of every child. The face of every child I saw while I went to school, the face of every child I saw dragged kicking and screaming to the trains, the face of every child I saw at the far end of my rifle.

 Its eyes were a deep brown flecked with red, mud on a rainy battlefield, and the sheer depth of hatred in its eyes made me feel like someone was ripping me in two. It hated us, this thing from the pool, hated us all, personally, on the deepest level possible. It hated me, for everything that I was, everything that I am, for everything that I ever did in that pointless, cruel war.

 Its jaw started twitching, wrenching open with a sickening sound of stretching flesh, and a sound began coming out of its throat, slowly forming into a word.

 I knew the word before it said it, before it scowled at us and its face twisted into an overwhelming expression of sheer rage. I could feel the word burning in my mind as it took a deep, wet breath between its blood stained, jagged, broken teeth.

 Monsters.

 It spoke with the voice of a little girl, word dry and ragged in the air like it hadn't had a drop of water for years, and it echoed deep into the woods and deep in my bones and I could not argue with it at all.

 It said it again, and again, and again, the same word, the same accusation, over and over and over.

 It called us monsters, in French, in German, in Hebrew, and more and more and even when it spoke in a language I had never heard before I knew what it said, knew every implication and every nuance and every inch of hate in the words it used.

 And I knew, know, that it, that she, was right.

 We were monsters, every single one of one of us, and we had earned the hate in her eyes. Every. Last. Inch of it.

 I felt myself fall to my knees, tears of shame and fear and sorrow running down my face as the words flowed through my blood and strangled my heart. I heard the soldiers around me do the same, their whimpers replaced with broken sobbing as the words sank into the trees behind us and went on, on into the wind until all was silent again.

 She stood there for a moment, sweeping a hateful, furious scowl all around the clearing as she took us all in. And she scoffed, but said nothing in response to the weeping and sobbing of the men, cowards, monsters, around her.

 She began walking forward, her steps landing in a loud squelch of wet dirt, the blood dripping off her form never seeming to end as she closed the distance between her and the sobbing mess that was Heinrich Werner.

 She stood in front of the bawling man for a long moment, staring down at him as he fell apart under her burning hateful gaze. He said nothing intelligible, all he could manage was a long string of blubbering and tear soaked pleas for mercy. His voice went on and on, growing more and more hoarse until I was sure I started to see blood mix with his spit from the strain and yet he kept begging her. Begging her to spare him.

 Even as she ripped off his right arm, gripping it with boney fingers and slowly ripping the flesh away from him he continued to beg.

 She ripped off his other arm, his legs, cut open his stomach to let his entrails spread across the grass, and yet he kept begging.

 She grabbed his head with both hands, her broken teeth grinding together as she started to pull, and only then did he stopped begging, and started screaming.

 His head screamed and screamed, even as the last strips of flesh connecting his neck to his skull snapped away with a wet sound. It screamed and screamed and screamed, the sound ringing in my ears and rattling the teeth in my head, before she crushed it between her palms, the gore of Werner flying off in odd directions, spraying me and the other soldiers in blood and liquids I dare not name.

 She grabbed the body parts she pulled from Werner, and dragged them to the pool, tossing them into the deep, dark red with a careless gesture. The ripples died almost as soon as they started, the opaque blood swallowing the meat ravenously until nothing remained.

 And then she went to Wilhelm, and the begging, the tearing, the screaming, it all started again.

And again with the next.

 And the next.

 And the next.

 All around me the soldiers begged and then screamed and then were devoured by the pool as she ripped them apart one by one. I could not move, not to run, not to look over my shoulder to see her claiming her pound of flesh from us. All I could do was sit on my knees, the tears continuing to fall down my face, and wait.

 Soon, the last soldier screamed their last behind me, and she walked passed me to TOSS the meat into the pool. She stood in front of it for a long moment, the wind whispering between us as I waited.

 Slowly, painfully slowly, she turned to face me, the hate in her eyes burning just as brightly as when she first emerged. She pinned me down, stopping my shaking and crying and even my breathing as her face twisted into a soundless snarl.

 I blinked and she was right in front of me.

 She waited, waited for me to beg, to scream, to plead.

 I opened and closed my mouth, trying to say the same as the rest of my unit, but my voice refused to leave my throat to say them. I was a monster, just like they were, I deserved no less and no more than what she did to them.

 But when I finally spoke, when my voice finally formed into words, all I could manage was a sob.

 I took one last breath, and using strength I did not have, by the force of a will I did not deserve, I looked right into her eyes, her burning, piercing eyes, and said, "I'm sorry."

 No excuses, no begging, no pleading for mercy or cries of fear. Nothing more than apology, weightless and pointless in the face of my sins, but it was all I could manage to say.

 For a moment, for a single second, the hate in her eyes were replaced with shock, her face dropping the burning scowl she's had from the beginning. I could see her for the first time, truly see the young girl behind the gore and blood that called us all monsters with such conviction. And the guilt sunk in my chest again, and the Knowing came back and told me that I did this to her, and more tears fell again.

 As soon as that Knowing passed through my mind, the hate returned to her eyes, twice hot and making my heart drop to the bottom of my stomach, before I could say another word, a plea or another worthless apology, her fingers clenched the flesh of my shoulder and pulled, ripping my arm without a hint of resistance.

 The pain blitzed through every inch of me, burning so bright I couldn't even scream, but the urge to do so blared in my mind so brightly it nearly blinded me. Before I could even fully comprehend the pain, she grabbed me by the collar of my uniform shirt, and started beating me furiously about the head and face.

 She did so soundlessly, no grunts of exertion, no growls of anger, but in the brief moment before she landed each blow, I could see her face. The scowl was still there, still as accusing and raging as it had been since the beginning. But between her beating my face to a pulp I could see something reflecting the moon light off her cheeks, and in the delirium of pain I realized they were tears.

 The beating went on for what felt like hours, but soon she dropped my bloodied form on the grass. She looked down at me like I was a piece of filth stuck to her shoe, face impassive as I spat red stained spit and teeth on the ground.

 My vision began to blur, but before oblivion could embrace me fully, she grabbed me by the shortened hair on my bleeding scalp and began dragging me towards the pool. I dared not struggle, knowing, Knowing, that she was pulling me to a fate I deserved.

 I think I managed one more blood soaked apology before I blacked out, but I was never sure.

 Next thing I remember; I was in a field hospital in the village of Ventes-Saint-Remy, with a missing arm and nearly my entire body covered in bandages. My head especially was heavily wrapped in gauze with the exception of a single eye.

 A nurse was the first thing that I was able to focus on, she was speaking to me in calming, gentle French, asking for my name.

 Without thinking, I answered in French, and she smiled at me with kindness I will never deserve.

 I did not tell her I was a German soldier, and she did not think I was. Apparently I was found in the woods by a couple of young boys, naked as the day I was born and covered in wounds. That was months ago.

 It was December, she told me with a grateful and tearful smile, and the Germans were losing.

 If you asked me why I didn't tell her who I truly was, or what had happened to me, the only answer I could give you is that I was a coward. That I am a coward. But whatever the reason was, I spent the rest of the war in that hospital, slowly regaining my strength under the care of that nurse.

 Her name was Irene, and her kindness and heart were more than I will ever deserve.

 As the war ended, I found my way back to Germany, and saw my home in ruins. I did not live in Berlin or anywhere that far east, so I was somehow spared having Stalin and his Soviets watching my every move.

 But I never forgot that night in the forest, where my whole company payed the price they owed for being monsters. I spent years waiting for a court martial, or for someone to unearth some document that proved I was the unit that burned lives and towns in France and for an angry mob to demand my head.

 But it never came, it was like I never fired a gun or served in the army a day in my life. Whenever I asked my parents about it, they acted like I spoke nonsense, that I never spent a day in France, much less as a member of the Wehrmacht. They said my injuries were because of some car accident, or the result of a building fire, every time I asked they were confused as to why I didn't remember and refused to speak further of the matter.

 I started to believe that perhaps I imagined it all, that perhaps my nightmare in the French forest was just that. A nightmare.

 Years passed, I started a family, had children, and tried to ignore that alien feeling of guilt that sliced up my stomach whenever I passed a Jewish temple. It was a nightmare, it had to be, and that was what I was able to convince myself.

 Until the pictures started coming out, until the trial in Israel began appearing in the newspapers. Until footage of the full scale of what would be known as the Holocaust became public knowledge.

 I went to a newly opened museum in my home town, and with every display, with every picture, with every frame of film, the terror I remember from that night returned to me in full force.

 Gaunt figures, broken teeth, shaved heads, every one of them a reminder of that blood filled night in the forest.

 I can still remember that moment, that instant where I recognized a face in a group photo, a young girl in rags. The face nearly made me vomit in the hall, but when I saw the caption of the picture, saying it was taken in France, I collapsed then and there and rushed to a hospital.

 I never told my family the truth that I could no longer deny. Not my wife, not my children, not my grandchildren. Even as I had irrevocable prove of the punishment I had suffered, I could never find the courage to admit to the ones I loved that I was a monster.

 I spent the last few years applying myself to charities for the survivors of what my people did. I spent back breaking hours in soup kitchens and rallies, I devoted every second I had to make the apology I breathed in the forest air mean something.

 It was never enough, even as people received help and money and hugged me so fiercely I thought they would snap me in half it was never enough. And I never told a soul that I wore the same uniform as those that treated them like animals.

 Until today.

 Understand, I did not come here for absolution, or aide, this was simply a long needed confession from me. It is getting harder and harder to get out of bed, my wife passed away years back, and my children and their children barely keep in touch with me anymore.

 I have run out of excuses, I can no longer hide behind the orders that told me to commit such horrible sins. I will forever be a monster, no amount of charity or apologies will change that, but me being a coward? That is something firmly within my control.

 I do not expect you to find anything, or even believe this crazy, one armed man who suddenly appeared on your doorstep. That's okay, giving me a chance to write this story down, even if no one will ever read it, was more than enough.

 Thank you, all the same. And for the tea.

 It may seem small to you, but to a monster like me? It's more than I will ever deserve.

-_-

"Statement ends. Johan Hess died two months after giving this statement, so any chance of a personal follow up is impossible as this point.

 Further, considering that he recounted events that happens forty years previous, even Gertrude could not find much with what little investigation she did. According to German Military records that have survived from the French Occupation, no unit such as the one that Hess claimed he belonged to ever existed, at least not anywhere near Eawy Forest.

 In fact, there is indeed no document stating that Mr. Hess served during the war at all, so nobody remembering he went to France is no big surprise.

 There is a picture of him included in the statement, which does show an extensive amount of injuries to his face along with a missing left arm, but that hardly proves anything. Finding anything about any building fires or car accidents that could have given him those injuries have also turned up nothing.

 He didn't lie about his contributions to charity work to support Holocaust survivors, and there was a report of him being rushed to the hospital after collapsing in a museum, but that's where anything solid about what is said in this statement stops.

 I would dismiss this report entirely, if not for one thing regarding his death. The death itself was not as…visceral as what had allegedly happened to his unit, simply a heart attack in his sleep. But his neighbor, who had reported his death to the police and called an ambulance, found something clenched in his hand.

 It was a note, written in French. The neighbor, as well as the rest of the tenets in the building where Mr. Hess was staying, does not speak a word of French, and handwriting analysis determined that Mr. Hess did not write it himself. Translated, it reads as follows:

 Not a monster. Not anymore.

 End Recording."