#seen on a construction site fence

[xiangqiankua]

監視錄影中，工區週邊請勿亂丟垃圾

「就算我這麼說，你還是會做吧」

[softpascalito]

I Baby, I'm Your National Anthem I 2003!DBF!Joel Miller I

Summary: You are back from college for the summer and your family happens to throw the annual Fourth of July Barbecue for your street. Your next-door neighbor and dad's best friend Joel Miller is invited—and you decide to wear a bold outfit. It definitely catches his attention.

Pairing: 2003!DBF!Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 3.3k Tags: Explicit, Smut, Age Difference, Pre-Cordyceps Outbreak, Fourth of July, DBF!Joel, Fingering, P in V Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Pool Sex, Unsafe Sex, Dirty Talk, Biting, Teasing, Making Out, Outdoor Sex, Alcohol (like two beers)

AO3 LINK // Masterlist

notes: i saw one (1) tiktok with this fucking glorious fourth of july outfit and somehow this happened. consider this fanfic to be my application to be invited to your 4th of july party next year (yes, you specifically). enjoy the filth <3 (also highly recommend listening to national anthem by lana while reading!)

The sound of the sprinklers rotating on the lawn in front of your window and the slamming of a truck door alerted you that your father was back with the last minute groceries. You quickly got up, heading out to the driveway to help carry the brown bags.

“Take those first, it’s ice cream for the kids. Don’t want it melting,” he advised as he busied himself with grabbing the cooler off the truck bed, disappearing towards the garden, the fence running along it already decorated with red, white and blue, matching the tablecloths and flags hung from the large tree in your backyard to the porch.

You had just got back from college for the summer and had been more than ready to enjoy your time off as you usually did, by lounging in the sun behind your house or going for a swim in the neighbor’s pool. The honeymoon phase of holidays, before they turned into the unavoidable boredom that followed once all reunions had been completed and, at the same time, reminded you precisely why you’d gotten out of the small neighborhood in Austin at your first chance.

The bag you’d brought home was still on the floor in your room, barely half unpacked. Sitting on top of it was the outfit you had picked out weeks ago—at the precise moment your father had called to let you know it was your family's turn to host your street's traditional barbecue on the Fourth of July.

A blue and white checkered bikini, the bottoms made of much less fabric than you’d ever seen sold in Austin. A pair of shorts that seemed barely bigger, cut low enough to give a peak of the set below—and a crop top, the words ‘Miss America’ splayed across your chest in curved, red letters, complete with two red bows attached to the straps. You were certain that, if your father still had a say in your clothing choices, this would not go—and that was precisely why it was perfect. If your father hated it, so would his best friend.

Joel Miller had been little more than your kind next-door neighbor for years—until you’d come back from college for your first break. Suddenly, you questioned how for years you’d been able to miss the way his shirt strained over his broad shoulders or the small grunts that left him when he was tinkering with his truck in the driveway.

You ignored your father’s muttered comments about your outfit as you returned to the kitchen a few minutes later and busied yourself with the last few preparations.

“It’s what all the girls at college wear.” He shook his head but stayed quiet.

Joel and Sarah arrived a little later than the other guests, greeting your father as they stepped into the backyard and you caught something about a mess-up at the construction site as the two men embraced. You turned your attention towards Sarah, who excitedly asked your opinion about her new sneakers and didn’t run off to join the other kids playing football at the far end of the backyard until you reassured her that they were indeed very cool, throwing in a comment about how you’d seen someone at University wear them—making her positively beam.

You turned towards the house just in time to see Joel’s eyes land on you. Oh boy.

His gaze trailed down your body, tracing your curves, no doubt taking in the shape of your body. It took him a few moments to snap out of it, shifting as his gaze returned to your face before he hesitantly crossed the space between you. The polite, strained expression on his face told you exactly how hard he was trying to keep his eyes from wandering.

“Back from college then?” he asked, clearly keeping the conversation light. Though you did like to think, unlike many others, that he actually wanted to know. That he cared.

“For the summer,” you responded, smiling up at him innocently, still aware of his eyes on you.

“How d’you like it?” Joel placed a hand on his hip, looking at you expectantly.

“It's good. A little exhausting sometimes. Lots of studying.” You grinned as you saw him raise a brow.

“Studying, eh?” There was something twinkling in his eyes, a certain sense of mischief you hadn't seen in him before. “That what all the kids do up there these days?”

“That and a few parties,” you admitted with a small smirk. “You know, finding the balance of life. But college boys are—”

Both your heads flew around as you heard your dad call your name and for a second, your heart felt like it stopped. You'd wanted to tease Joel by talking about college boys, not reveal your love life to your father. But clearly, he hadn't heard. “Get Joel a beer, will you?”

Joel opened his mouth—but then he shook his head. His voice sounded strained as he spoke. “Beer sounds good.”

You led him towards the cooler, reaching down to grab two bottles, handing one to him. A bemused smile played around his lips as he nodded towards the bottle still clutched in your hand. “Your old man letting you sneak beers?”

“He doesn't have to,” you said with a satisfied smirk, grabbing the bottle opener and handing it to him. “Turned twenty-one this spring.”

You could see Joel's hand shaking slightly as he opened his beer before motioning for you to give him yours and doing the same for you. “Quite the gentleman,” you mumbled, taking in the way his green flannel sat a bit too tight around his broad chest.

“You don't know half of it.”

During the afternoon, the light blue sky seemed to be celebrating the holiday as much as the people below it. The barbecue was fired up by your father, the other fathers gathering around as he explained the new, improved features, making you roll your eyes. You drifted back and forth between the adults and the children, joining the latter for a few rounds of football until the sun began to set.

Joel kept his distance and, with a slightly heavy heart, you followed his lead. He was rather quiet but still, you could see his eyes flying towards you occasionally. You began to wonder if you had miscalculated.

When the salad bowl ran low for the second time, you volunteered yourself to head inside to refill it. You had barely placed it on the kitchen counter when you felt him standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the dark wood. His eyes trailed down your form more slowly than before, leaving no doubt in your mind that the outfit had fulfilled its purpose of getting his attention.

“Quite a party.” His gaze was still not meeting yours, lingering on your chest.

“Wait until they bring out the fireworks. My dad bought enough to light up the whole street.” Your voice shook slightly as you spoke.

Joel shook his head, a tiny smile forming on his face as he stepped forward. “Ain’t what I meant.” His hand brushed over your thigh and you sent an anxious glimpse out the window, making sure that you weren't in anyone's line of sight.

“It's a pretty bikini,” Joel mumbled, lowering his voice. His thumb was brushing over the checkered fabric where it peeked out from under your shorts. “Shame you aren't taking a swim in it.”

An involuntary breath left your throat as you felt his free hand coming up to your face, nudging your chin up slightly. You couldn't remember ever being so close to him, your brain going into overdrive as it tried to figure out which part of his face to commit to memory first. Desire burned in your core brighter than ever and between that and the beer possibly clouding your judgment, you bit your lip, sending the man in front of you a shy smile and yet abandoning all care. You'd be back to college in a few weeks. If this went wrong, you'd never have to speak to him again.

“Is that an offer?”

“Damn sure is, darling,” Joel mused, his hand squeezing your hip and you let out a small breath of relief.

You thanked all your lucky stars for the architect who had built your house some 50 years ago—and had clearly taken into account that you would one day need to sneak out the back door with your dads best friend—preferably without being seen. It faced towards the high fence that separated your yard from the Miller’s, making it feel almost too easy for the two of you to sneak off.

You hadn’t even reached the pool when you dropped your shirt and pants to the floor, making Joel whistle lowly behind you. “I was right. It is a fucking pretty bikini.” You felt your cheeks flush at the compliment, his eyes still raking over your body as his clothes joined yours on the floor, leaving him in only his boxers.

You’d seen him shirtless a few times. When you'd brought over something you had borrowed and he was in the pool or the one time you'd been over to help Sarah with some homework and he'd just gotten out of the shower, a beige towel wrapped around his waist. You’d felt like some fucking creep when you had recalled the sight of his naked chest, and the trail of hair leading further down, at night and slipped a hand between your own thighs, thinking that you stood no chance with the man who was frequently whispered about by the single ladies of the neighbourhood, despite rarely showing interest in them.

You lowered yourself into the water and felt it ripple around you as Joel followed. The next moment, he was beside you, pushing you towards the other edge of the pool, strong arms caging you in on either side. You could still hear the party going on behind the fence, voices and music, the smell of barbecue drifting through the air. And a few lights—tiny holes in the fence allowing them to travel through, the warm glow reflecting on the surface of the pool.

Joel growled as he nipped at your skin, hard enough that you already knew it'd leave marks. Good.

“Can't let you go back to college without something to remind you of me,” he muttered and you sucked in a breath in response, the words going straight to your core. His teeth scraped over the notch between your collarbones and you felt a moan begin to travel up your throat. Before it could escape however, Joel's hand clasped firmly over your mouth, forcing you to breathe through your nose as your eyes widened slightly.

“Don't want your dad hearing us, do you?” Joel muttered and indeed you could hear the voice of your father booming through the night air as he delivered some punchline to a no doubt stupid joke. You shook your head softly and that seemed to satisfy Joel because the next moment, his hand left your mouth and began to slide down your body, trailing over it the same way his eyes had earlier tonight. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt his index finger circle drawing shapes on your hip before slipping under your bikini, brushing past your clit and settling between your folds.

“Hard to tell in here but feels like you’re wet for me,” Joel muttered with a grin and you bit your lip, voice hoarse as you tried to keep quiet.

“Took you long enough to notice,” you teased—and the reaction was immediate. He pushed you further against the side of the pool, trapping you with his broad body.

“Watch it.” His index finger moved upwards—and the next moment, your walls were clenching around it, already begging for more. You felt a second finger drawing large circles around your clit again—when a noise on the other side of the fence made both of you pause, heads swiveling around just in time to see a football land on the lawn.

He cursed under his breath, pushing himself off you and dragging you to the end of the pool least visibly from the house. The deck was raised high enough above the water that if you squeezed yourself against the wall, you just may not be seen—especially in the dark. Once he had pushed you into the corner, he was about to follow when your eyes widened. “Joel, the clothes,” you whispered in a panicked voice.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath and crossed the pool in a few strokes, climbing back onto the porch. You watched, holding your breath, as he looked around, finally locating two towels and throwing one over the mixed pile of clothes and wrapping the other around his waist. No second too late, because the next moment one of the men who had marveled at your dads new barbecue earlier strode over the lawn. “Miller, hey! What’re you doing out here?”

Even in the water, you felt your knees go weak. Joel was dripping wet, his cheeks flushed—your only hope was that the other man was either too drunk or too stupid to realize what was happening.

“Heard something thud against the wall.” You heard Joel respond. “Was just taking a shower, Tony spilled his beer all over my shirt earlier.”

The other man let out a small laugh. “Yeah, he’s wasted.” You couldn't see him from where you were standing but you heard him pick up the ball as an idea popped into your head. You shifted slightly, knowing your movement would be visible to Joel, who was still in your sight—and after a moment, you held up your bikini bottoms, smiling innocently. Joel's eyes flickered towards you for a split second—and even in the dark you could see his body tense, adjusting the towel around his waist as the veins on his neck bulged with restraint.

Footsteps told you the other man was leaving, until they paused again. His voice rang through the yard once more. To your horror, it was your name that filled the air. “Do you know where she went? Her father was looking for her I think.”

Joel's face twitched before he forced himself to smile. “No clue. Maybe calling a secret college boyfriend.”

He waited until the man's laughter had drifted away and joined with the noises of the party again before he dropped the towel, his cock straining at the fabric of his boxers.

As soon as he was back in the pool, he was upon you, cowering over you with a hard expression on his face, snatching the small piece of fabric from your hand. “Think it’s fucking funny?” He muttered, his eyes flying over your face. 

The alcohol was definitely having an effect on you because you grinned, nodding weakly. “A little bit.”

Joel actually fucking growled at that.

He made short work of your bikini top, yanking it off to gather your breasts in his large hands, squeezing slightly. “That fucking mouth of yours, darling.”

“Should shut me up,” you muttered back and his eyes briefly searched yours before his mouth was on yours. Neither of you were gentle, much too impatient for soft kisses. His tongue slipped into your mouth, his teeth grazed over your lip and you could feel the vibrations of his groans traveling right from his throat into yours.

When he broke the kiss, you whined in protest, wrapping your own arms around him to pull him closer, making him groan as his still covered cock brushed against your stomach. “Goddamn, baby, you gonna let me fuck you?”

Joel didn't even flinch when you softly bit down on his earlobe. “Like you have to ask, Miller.”

His last name seemed to do as much to him as it did to you because his hands briefly left your sides to yank his boxers down, throwing them carelessly onto the lawn behind you. “Get your ass up here,” he commanded as he hoisted you up and you automatically wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his cock nudge at your entrance.

Joel swallowed and you could see him struggling to restrain himself. “Do you want me to go and get-”

“Got it covered,” you said impatiently before he could even finish the sentence.

“You sure?” He asked again and you nodded impatiently. And then he was finally pushing his hips upwards, his cockhead parting your lips, requesting entrance. You let your body fall into his rhythm, sinking down on him, forcing a whimper from your throat.

You barely heard the shuffling behind the fence and the voices getting more muted as the party seemed to be moved towards the street, further away from you.

“It ain’t your first time, is it, sweetheart?” Joel suddenly piped up, watching your expression carefully and you could distinctly hear the note of concern in his voice. But you shook your head.

“Told you,” you breathed out. “College boys.”

“This gonna be better than any damn college boy,” Joel mumbled, a grunt leaving his throat as he began to thrust up into you properly, driving any worry out of your mind.

“You knew what you were doing to me tonight?” He muttered, causing you to shake your head despite the fact that you knew exactly, even planned, to do it to him. You wanted to give a snarky response, something smart, but you could barely think straight with his cock nestled so deep inside of you.

“Made me hard all throughout dinner, thinking about all the things i could do with you,” Joel answered his own question before changing his angle slightly, his arms wrapped tightly around you. “Fuck, doing so good for me, darling.”

“Joel—” you choked out, feeling the orgasm that had been lingering for what felt like forever now approaching rapidly. “Want you to come inside, please—”

His eyes darkened as he nodded. And then, suddenly a sparkling light reflected in his eyes—followed by a loud bang far above you. The fireworks had started.

It only took a few more thrusts and Joel's finger returning to your clit to send you rushing towards your orgasm, your fingernails scratching over his back so hard that you were certain you were not going to be the only one with something to remember tomorrow.

“Come on,” Joel edged you on. “Show me how pretty you look coming on my cock, baby.”

And you did, groaning as your body tensed, the feeling inside your stomach so similar to the exploding fireworks above, with Joel following suit, obeying your wish and spilling himself deep inside of you as you clung on to him, so content to finally, finally carry him so deep inside, the thought traveling right to your core again as he gathered you in his arms, both of you tilting your heads back enough to watch the sky above sparkle in different colors.

“Happy fourth, Joel.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Happy fucking fourth, darling.”

He gathered the clothes in his arms, whispering promises and praise as he led you up the stairs to his bathroom, having insisted to at least get you clean before letting you sneak back home. His hands brushed over your naked skin, causing you to raise a brow. “I thought we were gonna take a shower?” “Oh, I'm not nearly done with you,” Joel muttered in your ear, causing you to smirk. You reached for your clothes but Joel only gave a small tut. “You’ll get them back. Just not—” He raised the checkered bikini bottom. “This. I’m keeping that.”

thank you for reading! every time you leave a comment, a firework explodes over joel miller fucking in a pool btw :)

[persuasivetfs]

The Prodigal Son Returns

“The future site of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment’s second church. A project funded in part by the Virkov Foundation,” read the sign plastered on the fence that surrounded the closed down Saint Zofia’s Bulgarian Orthodox Church.

Olga Tsanov was conflicted. She was glad to see the male-centered church of her upbringing brought to its knees, even if it was by another male-centered church. When she heard that Father Kiril, the pompous high priest of Saint Zofia’s had even converted to this new Protestant denomination, losing all his priestly status so he could be demoted to the role of a mere usher, Olga had burst into laughter. Yet as happy as she was on the surface, the church’s closure had reopened a fissure in her heart that she once thought closed. She felt it when she saw the icons of the Virgin Mary and Saint Zofia taken down from the comfort of her bedroom window. For at one time in her life, those icons and the saints they represented had been everything to Olga. Foundational even, to the woman she strove to become as an adult: temperate, responsible, compassionate, wise.

So it was a great shock, even to herself, that Olga found herself breaking and entering Saint Zofia’s church in the dead of night. Armed with a pair of bolt cutters, her ex-husband Micheal had left behind in the divorce, she was able to force her way past the surrounding fence and into the back of the church.

Despite every part of her screaming that this was crazy and that there was no point, Olga continued on with her plan, walking through the back office and into the nave.

To her horror much of the renovations had been finished much earlier than she’d expected. The icons as Olga remembered lining the walls had been torn down, and repainted white and beige. The sacred relic, one of the alleged fingers of Saint Zofia herself, too was removed, with only a potted fern left in its place. Even the cupola, the wide dome that had stretched over the congregation, that had depicted Jesus in heaven with the angels and saints was destroyed. Painted white and to her continued surprise somehow flattened despite the lack of long and intensive construction such a job would have required.

It left this church, the site where Olga’s devotion once dwelled into an empty shell, sucked dry of meaning.

At least all the male saints were gone, Olga could be happy with, and even Jesus himself was only depicted by a plain wooden cross rather than the twisted face of pain writhing about like Olga was used to. But without all its art, the church looked like an office building with sandalwood pews and stone altar. What kind of god would be worshipped here?

“Stunning isn’t it?”

A man was standing alone in the darkness, making Olga twist her head around.

“What are you doing here?” Olga asked, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“Examining the Lord’s fine work in one of His newest sacred places. Same as you,” the man answered, with a thick Italian-American accent, pulling himself away from the wall and walking towards her.

Wearing formal dress shoes and a refined dark suit, the stranger came to stand next to her, his body faintly gleaming under the glow of the moonlight.

“So tell me Olga Tsanov. What are you doing in one of our churches so late at night?” He asked, his eyes casting a fiendish glimmer upon her. She shivered.

“How do you know my name? What are you, a stalker?” Olga asked defensively. The man simply laughed, making her take a hesitant step back.

“The Lord knows all that happens in His churches and all who happens to enter them. And your name and address happened to be on the registry the Orthodox Church left behind,” he explained, his voice shifting from megalomaniacal supervillain to down to earth youth pastor from one line to the next.

It left Olga unsure where she stood with this man. Was he planning on calling the police on her? Or was he just toying with her?

“I was just leaving. I’ve seen what I needed to see,” Olga blustered, walking off. The door to the back office suddenly slammed shut ahead of her. She turned her head back to the priest whose smile filled her with dread.

“Did you really think you could leave that easily?”

“What do you want, priest?” Olga asked, snarkily, trying not to let her fear show. She was used to the old wooden doors of the church slamming shut whenever the wind blew, but this priest was unsettling. She didn’t even hear him breathing and yet there he was, lingering in the shadows as if waiting for her.

“It’s not about what I want, it's about what the Lord can provide you, my child,” the stranger said cryptically, taking a step forward against the polished wooden floor.

“I’m fine, thank you. I was already raised in one penis-centeic religion, I don’t need another,” Olga bristled, turning away from him. She stepped to the altar and wiped her hand along its marble surface. Father Kiril had once struck her on the side of the head for touching it. The act of a woman who didn't yet know her place. Olga gritted her teeth.

Despite her reverence for saints like Zofia or the Virgin, Olga had never fit inside the restrictive environment of her church. For only men and boys were allowed to read the Epistles or hold the communion cloth or serve at the altar. If Olga wanted to serve God, she was told, she should wait until she could become a nun, otherwise her sex had marked her as morally inferior and less “clean” to do the tasks of men in the church. Even female saints like Zofia or the Virgin had to take on the role of a subordinated wife and mother before the power of the penis and this had enraged her.

“But Olga, the word of God is open to all people, men and women. It is only true that we have different roles in the world as decreed by the Lord,” the pastor explained, stepping next to her at the altar.

“Yes, for men are biologically created to be brutish and violent and disgusting and cruel, while women are biologically smarter, kinder, and weaker to men and thus men's perpetual victims. I’ve known enough of that from my pig of an ex-husband,” Olga said bitterly.

“So why did you come here my child? If the ‘penis-centeic religion’ as you called it in your childhood was so distressing?”

“I… I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to serve the Lord. To reach people. To even be a voice for the Wentworth Falls Bulgarian community. It just never felt like I could because of who I was. Because the woman my people wanted me to be, that submissive housewife and mother could never exist,” Olga explained, suddenly feeling more casual and open with this priest about her private thoughts than she had any good sense to.

An oddly satisfying sense of warmth had begun to flow into her, lowering her defences. Her muscles loosened, her shoulders eased. The warmth left her feeling like a ball of wet clay, ready to be remolded.

“While we are all meant to be equal brothers and sisters before the eyes of the Lord, maybe a different path would be beneficial to you. We do need a pastor for this community in line with the Bulgarians,” the pastor said but frankly Olga was finding it difficult to care. The comforting sensations made Olga feel too good to think, too good to protest.

Then as the rivers of comfort flowed in and out of her body, Olga felt from within her a pulsating energy radiating out from her vagina. Her labia throbbed, releasing wave after wave of pleasure, as her clitoris began to enlarge, expanding outward as skin grew in and out over Olga’s lips.

Then with a lurch, Olga felt her vagina close up and disappear and in its place, a penis and a pair of gradually dropping balls.

“This can’t be happening. What are you doing to me?” Olga demanded to know only to quickly become horrified at the deep masculine voice that left her lips.

The priest laughed.

More changes were overcoming her body, twisting and reshaping Olga Tsanov into a form unrecognisable. Her signature long straw blonde hair was shrinking back inside her head, only stopping at the crown of her head before turning a dark brown. Then across her face and forearms, the hair that had disappeared from the top of her head re-emerged, forming a tightly sculpted beard and mustache. As her hair shifted so did the bones in her face, giving her a pointier chin and higher cheekbones, while her crow’s feet and wrinkles wiped away, giving Olga a youthful glow she hadn’t had since her late 20s.

This youthfulness soon extended to the rest of her body, leaving her feeling energized and excited.

Eager to witness what came next, Olga ripped out of her dress shirt to be amazed at the cobblestone abs that were forming. Her breasts, once saggy with fat and age, had in their new youth and new burst of testosterone firmed up with muscle. In fact much of her body, from her triceps to her thighs were packing on muscle. Not enough to make a bodybuilder blush, but enough to gain noticeable attention should she wear a tight-fitting shirt.

“You look wonderful, Olga, absolutely wonderful,” the priest said with a chef’s kiss, before putting his arm around Olga’s shoulders and laughing.

At any other time Olga would have pushed the man away and thought him a pervert, but now his touch had a sense of comradery. Just bros being bros.

“I knew you’d make a wonderful man. I just knew,” the priest positively declared.

“But how is this possible- I-��� the stranger shushed her.

“But first I believe a new name is in order. Let’s try Boris on for size. Introduce yourself,” the stranger commanded with a clap of his hands.

”Hello, I’m Boris Tsanov,” Boris introduced, her voice deep and refined.

It was strange just a moment ago she could have sworn her name was Olga, but that name like much of her past was fading away like a disappearing dream soon to be forgotten.

“Outstanding, Boris. Now, let’s think about your past for a moment. Who is Boris Tsanov?” the priest asked. Boris took a deep breath.

“I’m the head of Women and Gender studies at the Wentworth Falls Community college. I’m 39, divorced, agnostic, and a proud biological woman, or at least I thought I was,” Boris said, confused at how his words were not matching up with his new body.

“No, I don’t think that sounds like you Boris,” the stranger said, shaking his head.

“I think you’re 28, recently graduated from divinity school and ready to spread the true word of God to the masses and trusting me Pastor Agosti as your friend and mentor,” the stranger explained. Except he wasn’t a stranger, was he? He was Nico Agosti, a trusted advisor and confidante, who had guided Boris through years of divine education and study, helping mold him into the proud Christian he was today, eager to save the Bulgarian masses as he himself had been saved. Except, wasn’t he a woman or at the very least used to be married to a man? Wouldn’t that be a sin?

“Pastor Agosti,” Boris nervously addressed. “I trust you and everything you say, but I’m still so confused. I used to venerate Saint Zofia and the Virgin Mary so highly and sought to be like them in every way. How does that make sense if I’m a man?”

“Oh my sweet brother. You weren’t looking to be those saintly women,” Pastor Agosti said, sympathetically, hiding his glee. Boris, unsure, scratched at his temple.

“You were looking to marry a saintly woman: Pious, dependable, temperate, and wise. The perfect wife and mother and you were lucky enough to find her. One of the youngest priests of our congregation but the only one among us bachelors to be married,” Pastor Agosti said, shaking Borris’s shoulder in admiration. Boris Tsanov smiled warmly.

While before when he thought of his spouse, he thought of swarthy and loud-mouthed Micheal, now in his head all he could picture was sweet and homely Miranda. She was everything Boris ever wanted in a woman and he was grateful to have her. At that moment, Miranda was likely asleep across the street, having been saying her bedtime prayers before Boris had left to check on the church. She was so supportive, having dropped everything to take care of the house while Borris continued to work on his divinity degree. He would in return reward her with a lifetime of devotion and many future children who would help spread the Lord’s message as he did.

Still there were a few buzzing questions about his head. How had construction finished so quickly? Why did Boris leave the Orthodox Church for this Protestant denomination? Where did these bolt cutters he held on his person come from?

All these he wished to ask, but Nico waved them all away promising they’d all be answered once Boris was exposed to the “Divinity” as he called it as had all the priests of the church before him. Before they left, Nico was kind enough to make him put on a white dress shirt in just his size, so no one could get any strange ideas of what was going on in there.

Yet while Boris was leaving with more questions than answers he was satisfied knowing he was on the path to lead more people to God just as he had been. There were always more wayward souls that needed saving.

[bennett-ametyst]

For the meme, I present:

The self indulgent tf armada AU where everyone lives in Rome, the Daje AU (part 1)

(Translations under the cut)

🟥🟨🟥🟨🟥🟨🟥🟨🟥

Optimus Prime (25 yo)

-Follows the literature course in Sapienza (the BIGgest uni in Rome)

-Popular among this peers for his "Boy Next Door" charm, his idealism, and the lecture notes which offers for free (most of the time students sell their notes), and his good looks

-"Education is the right of all sentient beings"

-Politically engaged, organize protests and events for the faculty

-Despite this, he is extremely shy

-Has a backpack with an embarassing amount of pockets and useful things

-He did judo, but stopped at blue belt

-He's a tutor to high school students for classical subjects

-Few know this, but he attended the ITIS in Tor Sapienza (a zone in east Rome, unrelated to the university) with Megatron, when they often fought (people in ITIS fight a lot)

-Now he moved to Tufello (a chill zone in north Rome)

Red Alert (24 yo)

-He follows and does medicine at Policlinico (famed hospital and also were Sapienza's medicine courses are)

-Childhood friend of Optimus and Jetfire

-No one ever saw him sleep (medicine students have the most insane schedules, even if the degree course lasts 7 years)

-He doesn't accept less than 27/30 (exam votes)

-Miraculously on time with the exams schedule

-"Imagine how cool it must be living near Uni" (he took an apartment, dormitories aren't really a thing here)

-Since he lives near, they always assign him night shifts

-Consuming inhuman amounts of coffee has made him nearly immune to caffeine, so he purposely invented a more powerful distillate to stay awake

-Sometimes he tells about his special internship at Tivoli's hospital, he remembers it like a Vietnam flashback

-Always pissed off 24/7, but under all of that he cares a lot about his friends

-During the exam period, he smokes like a chimney ("I'll stop when I get that degree")

Jetfire (24 yo) (I think I'm in love with this drawing)

-He follows the philosophy course in Sapienza (literature's same faculty, the name is literally called "literature and philosophy")

-Optimus' best friend since forever

-He lives in Tufello since he was born

-Part of the Young Communist Front and the Congregation of Stoners at Uni

-Once he starts talking about the fight against capitalism, no one can stop him

-He always has a few grams of weed hidden somewere, (where the police will never find it)

-Every situation is a good situation to start stadium choirs (stadium choirs don't always have to do with football)

-On campus he dresses colorfully, but he has a battle outfit specific for protests (he's the one who brings fumogens)

-He's always seen on the Pratone (big ass lawn at the campus were students rest) smoking weed or playing SOAD on his acoustic guitar, nobody knows if he actually goes to class.

-Was an AS Roma die-hard fan before the Captain Totti left, now he pretends he doesn't care about the team (holding back tears)

-He attended the Liceo Artistico at Ripetta (art high school in the center), he wanted to do the painter, however the fact that in Italy this work sector it is not taken seriously or protected at all in which you can't do what you want or studied for a living or else you'll end up under a bridge, the other option it's taking orders from a company to make deceptive graphics, was enough to radicalize him.

-He had an accident with his scooter, breaking both his left leg and the muretto* of his house (for some obscure reason the scooter remained intact and I cant find an english word for *low walls we use with fences)

Smokescreen (26 yo)

-He follows engineering in Roma 3 (another big university in Rome but they forgot to change from the default name)

-Always doing internships at construction sites, "It's to gain experience" he says

-He lives in Rione Testaccio, here he spends Saturday evenings in the movida with his friends or the other workers

-"What are those idiots doing? The next rains will destroy everything" (looking at workers trying to fix something the wrong way)

-He did the professional high school, probably the only one in class that was committed to learning

-Gymbro with a almost infinite set of skills as mason, mechanic, and nutritionist

-"How much do you bench press?"

-Despite his rough appearance, he's a cinnamon roll ready for everything for his friends, expressing it in small jobs in his field, personalized training plans and telling them they should have a healthier lifestyle over every single problem they have (especially Red Alert and Jetfire)

-When Jetfire crashed with his scooter, he fixed his muretto, in exchange Jet would quit smoking for at least 6 months (he didn't succeed)

-His daily routine: 5:30 wake up; 6:00 breakfast with an apple and cappuccino; 6:30 jogging around Mount Testaccio; 7:07 bus up to the construction site; 7:45 coffee with the other workers; 8:00 to 12:00 internship work; 12:15 square pizza for lunch from Pinuccio; 13:00-16:00 course lessons at San Paolo; 18:30 gym; 20:00 dinner with 200g of pasta and rotisserie chicken; 21:00 herbal tea and then sleep.

-Bonus: he doesn't have a car, he always prefers public transport, it's "less stressful" (if course, he lives in the center)

[kimberly40]

Grave houses, also called a grave shelters, were sometimes seen in the South, especially Appalachian areas, to protect loved ones’ graves from the elements and grave robbers. They usually resemble small houses with peaked roofs, and could be made of logs, lumber, stones or brick.

Grave houses are believed to be of European origin where house-tombs in Catholic countries were widespread. Most of the surviving grave houses can be found the in Appalachia, upper South and southeastern parts of the United States.

As soon as the burial was complete, some mountain folk constructed a grave house or grave shelter to cover the grave to provide extra protection from rain, snow and sleet. They were usually constructed in family cemeteries and covered little more than the length and width of the burial site. The typical grave house was rectangular with open sides, picket fencing and gables at the head and foot of the grave. Most of them were enclosed structures so that animals and grave robbers would not disturb the departed. Some grave houses varied from having low latticed houses resembling doll houses to some made out of rock with a tin roof.

Not much is known about the original purpose of grave houses but one can rationalize aside from superstition that they served to keep livestock and wild animals off the grave, provide shade for visiting family members, maintain a memorial to our loved ones and give comfort and a home to the dearly departed spirit. Some grave houses may contain more than one grave.

Today, grave houses of Appalachia are vanishing. Most of the grave houses constructed in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries have decayed, disappeared or have been torn down. Long past family cemeteries that have been isolated and forgotten have disappeared from the landscape due to neglect and overgrowth of foliage.

References:

•James K. Crissman, Death and Dying in Central Appalachia: Changing Attitudes and Practices (1994).

•M. Ruth Little, Sticks and Stones: Three Centuries of North Carolina Gravemarkers (1998).

•Mildred J. Miller and Pat M. Crooks, Time Is, Time Was: Gravestone Art, Burial Customs and History: Iredell County, North Carolina (1990).

[goldkirk]

Places I’ve successfully used my rollator so far

• some of the sidewalks, not all, and they’re usually not equal quality on both sides of the street if sidewalks even exist on a street at all

• Target (except the numbers inside the elevator don’t at all match the numbers of the floors in the shopping center? They’re off by like 3 in any direction? So that went wrong the first couple of times, and it wasn’t just me who hit the wrong floor lol). I was able to get everywhere but some areas were tight maneuvering and I caught my wheels on edges. Idk how people get through those spots on the borrow-able scooters that are wide and long

• QFC. No notes. Zero issues using the rollator there or in its parking lot. Thanks QFC

• the construction zone detour, which led through some spots with no curb cuts and also narrowed sidewalks in places due to fencing and equipment

• Barnes and Noble, which was fully accessible and had a surprisingly huge elevator (I assume for loading book carts and pallets from the shipment-receiving basement level or something)

• the creek walk outside the retirement community that’s wide and fully paved with even smooth concrete. Delightful except for that one guy who stared directly in my eyes for the whole seven seconds I walked into and out of his view from his living room (I assume?) window while I kept checking to see if he was in fact still staring me down. Like what do you think I’m doing that requires you to watch without even a break. Do you think I’m gonna rob you or something just because I’m doing something weird for my age dude

• the intersection by my apartment building. yeesh. Those crosswalks are bad on foot so it was an extra-rattle-y ride with the rollator (but less work thab crossing without it!)

Places I need to try using it still

• the Light Rail, I just am waiting till I need to use it to run an errand next

• the bus system, I already need to run an errand via it but I cannot for the life of me find an answer to what you’re supposed to do if you’re not specifically in a wheelchair but you’re using a wheeled device that’s bigger than a tiny wire mesh rolling shopping bin. So at this point I’m just hoping and praying for a minimally full bus when I do go and a bus driver who can tell me if I need to strap it in or fold it or just hold it or what. Like it’s not a wheelchair or a baby stroller. What are the rules. What is the expectation. I have searched websites and YouTube and Reddit and tumblr and I still haven’t found an answer 🥴.

• Eliott Bay Book Company. This place has internet sites saying it’s wheelchair accessible. I’m confused. I haven’t seen an elevator in it and there’s steps to get in and steps to get up to the second floor and the aisles seemed like some of the corners might be hard, and impossible when it’s crowded. I have doubts. I’d love to find a secret elevator or something but I can’t find the information anywhere on their actual website or Yelp or whatever, it just says “accessible” sooo?

• Parks. I need to figure out which parks are passable with a rollator and which trails or paths are too narrow for it.

• the library. I know it’s accessible already, so it should be simpler than many places. they’re still dealing with that ransomware attack though so I’m not using them frequently aside from though Libby rn

• Pike Place Market. Internet says it’s accessible. my personal experience says I’m willing to be surprised and I’ll be happy if I do see full accessibility. But also that I’ve had a hard time navigating that place when it’s not like, empty, just on two feet soooooo. I’m guessing it’s going to be very hit or miss despite there being some elevators just because of tight areas and weird floor changes and stuff. I do hope I’m pleasantly shocked though when I go!

• the craft store. any craft store. I need yarn and I haven’t been able to make my mind up about it so I need to just go in a store and physically experience the yarn skeins and choose. I don’t expect to have issues there but it might be an adventure in terms of bussing and walking over lol, we’ll see

[final-girl96]

Broken World: Chapter Ten

We watched Rick and Glenn as they ran through the streets towards the construction site that was blocked off by a chain linked fence. The plan had been to get the box truck that was sitting there. They would find a way to distract the walkers, and then Rick would back into the loading bay for us to get in. It all started to go wrong when it started to rain. The guts that were spread onto the coats they were wearing started to get washed off.

We all let out the breath that we had been holding when we saw they got to the truck safely. "Where are they going? They can't leave us here!" Andrea said when she saw them driving the opposite way. "They need to get them away from us," I said, rolling my eyes. Andrea had the habit of assuming things. I wasn't the biggest fan of hers, but she wasn't bad all the time, at least not from what I have seen since I've been with the group.

Not long after, we heard a car alarm blaring through the city. The walkers down on the street were all turning and slowly moving towards the sound. Then the radio in T-Dogs hands started to crackle. "Loading docks. Get ready!" Glenn's voice came through. Everyone grabbed their bags and started to make it for the door. "T-Dog, you got Merle?" He stopped, dug into his pocket, and made his way back to Merle.

I started down the stairs but stopped once I heard Merle yelling in frustration about T-Dog doing something. I turned around and ran back out onto the roof. "What's going on?" I asked. T looked at me, "I dropped the damn key!" I closed my eyes and sighed. "Go." I looked at him, and he shook his head. "I'll be fine. Just go. Chain that door so walkers can't get up here. I'll figure it out, and we'll make it back to camp on our own somehow."

"You can't…" I raised my hand and cut him off. "Go! Just go, or you won't make it!" He hesitated for a second before leaving. The door closed, and I heard him chaining the door and padlocking it. Not even five minutes after he left, walkers were pushing against the door. I walked over, pulling my knife and jamming into the heads of the ones trying to push their heads through the gap. After I got as many as I could I went back over to Merle who hasn't stopped bitching.

"That fucker dropped that fuckig key on purpose!" He was pulling on the cuffs where they were hooked to the pipe. "Shut the fuck up Merel! And stop pulling on that. It's not going to do anything. You know this already." I started digging into my pockets to see if I had a key on me. "Shit. Look, the precinct isn't too far from here, maybe like…five or six blocks. I can make my way there quickly and get back. I'm sure there are handcuff keys there and if not, then I'm sure there is something I can bring back to break those cuffs."

"You're gonna just leave me here to die!" He was still pulling on the handcuffs, trying to get free. "Look, Dixon, I wouldn't have stayed behind if I wanted to let you die!" He wasn't listening, and more walkers were trying to push through the door. "Why the hell did ya stay behind anyway?! You don't give a damn about me!" He was right. I could care less what happens to him. "I might not give a shit about you, but I do give a shit about Daryl even after all these years."

That was true as well. I do still care about Daryl even after what happened between us. I knew what would happen if Daryl came back from his hunting to find out that his brother was left on a roof in an infected filled city. Merel was his family even if he was an asshole. "Look, I'm going to go get the keys. Just sit here and be quiet so you don't attract more walkers!"

"I don't need your fucking help! You did this to me! Daryl will never forgive you for this!" I rolled my eyes and kicked the tools that were left behind towards him. "Then figure it out yourself asshole!" I flipped him the finger and stormed towards the other door on the other side of the roof. "You fucking bitch! You'll regret this!" I ignored him and slammed the door shut.

I had no idea where these stairs led to, but it had to be somewhere that would get me out of here. Because no matter how big of an asshole Merle is, I couldn't just leave him handcuffed to a roof. It was inhumane and cruel. I slowly and quietly made my way down the stairs and through offices and hallways, finding my way out into an alleyway.

Once I got my bearings on where I was actually I was, I made my way towards the precinct. I had to put down a few walkers on the way, but I was lucky enough that I didn't run into a large group of them. By the time I got there and got upstairs, the sky was starting to get dark. I was able to find keys for the handcuffs and grabbed a few more things while I was there. I had a small war with myself whether I should wait until morning to go back to the roof or go back now.

I looked out the tall floor to ceiling windows and made my decision. It was still light enough that I would be able to see it, and it shouldn't take too long for me to get back. Well, as long as I didn't run into any trouble, I would be there by the time it gets fully dark. I picked my pack up, swung it over my back, and started making my way back. I did run into more walkers on the way back, but it wasn't anything I couldn't take care of.

When I got back up to the department store, I made my way back inside the way I came. I walked back through the offices and halls, then up the stairs. When I pushed the door open and walked out onto the roof, I was knocked off balance by a body slamming into me. I stumbled backward into the wall beside the door. Before I could recover, my head was slammed against the wall a few times until my vision started to get fuzzy around the edges. "Fuck you." Was the last thing I heard before everything went black.

[bookwormscififan]

The Phoenix

Read on AO3!

A/N: A fire burned down Mad and Mare's apartment, taking Mad with it. Just when Mare thought Mad was gone forever, the dark purple gem he'd given him began to glow. Basically I had this idea to align Mad with a phoenix.

Mare stared, mouth open, at the burning building before him.

He’d been out to a business meeting, whistling down the street after ensuring Mad would be safe alone. The meeting had gone terribly, and he walked home comforted by the idea of returning to Mad, who would make his day much better.

Then he’d seen the smoke. Rising into the sky above the apartment buildings in the street, the grey cloud swirled into the blue beyond. Mare was curious until he realised the smoke was coming from a few blocks away, in the direction of the apartment building where he lived with Mad.

He had run home with lightning speed, narrowly avoiding a few cars and pedestrians, to see the orange tongues licking at the walls of his apartment building, the largest flames appearing to come from the window of Mare and Mad’s apartment.

The horror of realising Mad could be in there, helpless, stuck Mare’s feet into the ground, and he raised a hand over his mouth as tears burned at the corners of his eyes. His eyes searched the crowds, scanning the faces in search of Mad, and a sob forced its way out of his throat when he couldn’t see him.

Mare whimpered as firefighters tried in vain to put out the fire, watching paramedics carry charred bodies from the wreckage. His heart ached as the floors were cleared, sounds of reporters muffled as his heartbeat drummed in his ears.

Finally, they brought the last person out, charred remains lying on a stretcher. Mare reached out blindly, looking past the burned skin for defining features, hands finding the purple gem clasped in the burned hand and letting the calm façade shatter as he reached the conclusion: this was Mad’s body, Mad was dead.

People told him the fire had started a floor above his apartment; someone had left the gas on and lit a match. The fire had quickly travelled through the building, engulfing everything in flames within an hour. By the time emergency services had reached their apartment, Mad had been in the fire too long to save.

They’d compensated Mare for everything that was lost to the fire, returning the ash-covered items that could be salvaged. While repairs were being worked on the building, Mare had been provided a place to stay, but he still returned to the building daily to grieve over Mad.

The purple gem began to glow a week after the fire. Mare felt the warmth seep into his skin before he saw the light, sitting up in bed with a gasp before running out of the room, tugging on his shoes before dashing out of the apartment.

He stood outside the apartment complex, breathing heavy as he slipped through a gap in the construction fence to get into the site. Digging his key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and swiftly climbed the many flights of stairs to his apartment.

The lock on the door had warped in the fire, but the builders had left it unlocked so they could repair the inside. Mare silently thanked the builders as he pushed the door open, stepping into the remaining soot and ash of the apartment.

“Mad?” He asked, voice quivering as he searched the area, heart aching at the sight of the destroyed furniture and decorations. He let out a whimper when he spotted the charred books in the bookshelf on the wall, once pale ash wood now blackened cinders.

The gem in his hand seemed to glow warmer as he turned toward their room, and his feet numbly traced a path through the remains of the apartment.

Mare hissed, dropping the gem when he entered their room, a purple burn marking his palm. Blowing on the blistered skin, Mare looked around the room, ignoring the wreckage of the place he found the most joy.

The burned hand moved to his jumping heart at seeing the shape under the black covers, stumbling through broken flooring to fall onto the bed, grasping desperately at the sheets to throw them off the mattress and uncover the pale expanse of skin curled in the centre.

“Mad,” he breathed, reaching forward to brush away dark hair from his forehead, letting out a breathless chuckle when Mad shifted, brows flickering before deep brown eyes opened, squinting in the dim light at Mare.

“Mare?” His voice was husky, like he’d breathed a lot of smoke, and laced with drowsiness. He lifted his hand, covered in ashes, and cupped Mare’s cheek, wiping his tears with his thumb and smearing ash over the skin.

Mare didn’t speak, lip trembling as he pressed his hands to either side of Mad’s head and pulled him up into a deep kiss, hands trailing down to Mad’s shoulders to pull him closer and deepen the kiss, feeling the flakiness of ashes all over his form.

“How did you…?” He gasped, breaking the kiss to look into Mad’s eyes. Mad smiled, a corner of his mouth pulling up slightly as he leaned back. His eyes searched the room, landing on the gem on the ground, and he pointed at it.

“That gem,” he began. “It allowed me to come back. I woke up here, where I’d died.” He looked at his hands, squished into the small space between them, watching as the ashes on his skin ignited, thin tongues of flame licking at the air around them.

“Fire…” Mare breathed, entranced by the sight, reaching forward to touch the flames, chuckling when he didn’t get burned.

“I won’t stay dead for long,” Mad stated, turning his hands before snapping his fingers and extinguishing the flames. “I keep coming back. I tested it the first time I came back: I died and came back. Mare, I think the gem made me immortal.”

Mare stared at the gem on the ground, frowning as he tried to understand what Mad was saying. He had given Mad the gem as a gift six months after they’d started dating, and it had always had some sort of emotional connection between them.

Mare, having some powers of his own, had always feared Mad dying. The gem, he assumed, must have interpreted his fears, and now Mad was alive again, potentially never to die.

“Like a phoenix…” he finished his thought in a whisper, gaze returning to Mad as a smile spread across his face. Before Mad could ask any questions, Mare grabbed his face again and brought him back into a kiss, holding him close before pulling away, laughing at his blush.

“My phoenix.” When Mad blushed again, Mare just kissed him more, pushing him down onto the bed and continuing to kiss him senseless.  

------

@brokentimewatch @iamvegorott

[forunholy]

min pechaya wattanamontree. thirty-six. cis woman. she/her. ┊┊ MALEE CHANTHARA, better known as agent BASILISK has been with cerberus corp as an eo since 2012 and is LEVEL I. BEING BURIED ALIVE IN A CONSTRUCTION ZONE has gifted them PETRIFICATION, though LOSS OF BODILY FEELING FROM OVERUSE has also been noted. when they aren’t protecting the tri-state area, they are fond of ONLINE SHOPPING and are never seen without A BRAND NEW HERMES BAG. civilians think they are AFFECTIONATE & ADAPTABLE, but some of the other agents see them as ABSENT-MINDED & MATERIALISTIC. cerberus corp should consider the fact that their last mission status was SUCCESSFUL, DESPITE INJURING A CIVILIAN when giving out the next one. ┊

001.  GENERAL

name:  malee chanthara. nicknames:  may. age:  thirty-six. date of birth:  october 15th, 1987 zodiac:  libra.

place of birth: bronx, new york. current residence:  soho, manhattan. gender:  cis woman. pronouns:  she/her. sexuality:  bisexual. occupation:  level i agent.

faceclaim:  min pechaya wattanamontree. height:  5'4". tattoos:  several; a rose on her left shoulder blade, a heart behind her ear, & destiny written in the inner-part of her middle finger. piercings:  two on right & left ear, belly button.

positive traits:  happy, easygoing, optimistic, fashionable, caring, flexible, playful. negative traits:  vain, forgetful, nonchalant, catty, self-indulgent, daft, lazy. mbti: efsp - the entertainer. likes: fashion, money, relaxing, tea, smiling. anything sparkly. dislikes:  uptight people, overworking, her powers, beer. fears: hurting someone, being left alone, being poor. hobbies:  shopping, drinking, avoiding her job, making new friends. habits:  biting her lips, playing with her hair.

002.  EXTRA ORDINARY

near death experience…  malee wasn't born with much. it's the classic tale, a deadbeat dad and a mother who had a train of men coming in and out of the house attempting to fit that role. her mother taught her that men were objects, used for their money and protection, and that a blossoming young girl like her should remember that. she wasn't the smartest, not bright enough to second think her mother's words despite the two of them never escaping their one bedroom apartment until malee left on her own. she barely passed high school before getting a job at a club. her pretty smile and charming voice made her good money as a bottle girl, pretty and confident enough to land herself somewhere high-rollers went. the problem was, they loved her too much. wanted her to drink on the clock and stick around for the fun. she wasn't brave enough to say no, often taking the subway home to her shitty apartment, passing by that same damn construction sight on her walk home.

her twenty-dollar heels took her far, but one night was enough for the base to snap, losing her balance and already being tipsy from the drinking. she didn't even realize anyone was following her until she was pushed into the construction site, her body and the broken fence falling to the ground. malee doesn't remember who wanted to hurt her, what businessman she pissed off, if they were paranoid she'd spill the secrets she knew about all of them. everyone was the same. married men feeling up the young bottle girl and offering to take her home. most of them took 'no' well enough, but maybe he didn't. she can barely keep her eyes open, exhausted and intoxicated, only trying to fight back when her body was picked up and thrown into the some kind of wet liquid on the ground, her screams for help muffled by something poured on her, weighing her down until it felt impossible to move.

power… its a miracle she lived, her body found in the only semi-dried concrete the next morning. though she brought to the hospital, her odds weren't great, unconcious on a hospital bed and only waiting for the doctors to call it. but she wakes up, throat hoarse and calling for a nurse. her whole body is stiff and it feels as if she's still buried, panicked and anxious. she lets out a sigh of relief as the on-call nurse walks in, only to watch her stop just as their eyes meet. frozen, right in place, each and every one of the older woman's features growing grey and her skin forming cracks. the rest is a blur, and she only faintly remembers the blindfold put over her eyes as cerberus agents take her away.

petrification. the ability to turn anyone into stone. initially, malee is unable to control it, whispers of a medusa-like creature heard around town and for a few months, contained and blindfolded in a cell. eventually they let her out, decided her skills could be of use to them. it's no longer eye contact that can hurt someone, it's her touch, her very thoughts that can isolate the objects around her, able to distinguish what a look of death and a mere glance can do. people, animals, anything being in her sight. it doesn't always kill someone when applying the right amount of pressure, but rather freezes them in place, enough to trap them for a short time.

drawbacks / vulnerabilities… perhaps it's all in her head, but she finds herself growing weak in the midst of intense missions. the weight she felt years ago, the inability to move, is something that remains fresh in her memory, relived when she overuses her powers. though killing people, leaving the effects of petrification permanent, is something she's entirely capable of, malee has no desire to kill anyone. if anyone remained petrified for too long, it's harder for her to reverse the effects, leaving some of her victims paralyzed in parts of their body.

(if applicable)  cerberus corp… her history with cerberus is a long, and slightly painful one. it begins as their captor, an out of control threat that nobody knew how to contain. she'll never forget the whispers. if they should knife out her eyes or if it would be better to get rid of her quickly. when they let her out, she didn't know how to meet anyone's eyes, not that most would spare her a glance. she was the outsider, not an agent and not a prisoner. but rather a test subject. she didn't audition, because there wasn't any other place she could go. eventually she was trained and made to be a hero, coined beautiful but deadly. her face looked great in the photo-ops, the media praising her restraint and poise. she's made the decision to let go of what was done to her, how badly she was burned. though, she refuses to put on any god-awful costume they design for her, unless it's imported from milan.

codename… they toyed with the idea of medusa. but malee was entirely opposed to it, begging the higher-up's at cerberus that she was far too charming and pretty to be deemed a snake-bearing stone-killer. she knows medusa was wronged deeply, but... it all felt far too cliche. though, the alternative only unsettles her. instead of bearing the snakes in her hair, she's become the leader of them, basilisk, leader of the serpents. malee would prefer to be adressed by her name.

003.  WANTED CONNECTIONS

friends!! best friends!! unlikely friends!!

agents who hate her. agents who love her. she doesn't really look down on anyone, because a power is a power right? for a level i, she's very eccentric and a little too chill. probably spends her time at the office on her computer shopping.

okk the sweet girl thing is only a BIT of a facade, i promise. that said, i'd love to see someone who can push her buttons and show that she's not just sweet and pretty on camera.

exes, hookups, flings

maybe an agent that's assigned to keep an eye on her? she's all sparkles and full of praise on the outside and according to anyone outside of cerberus, but considering her past, she'll always be deemed as somewhat of a threat if she were to lose control.

[winterpinetrees]

Project Excalibur (The Gap Years part 16)

June 24th 2019

Project Excalibur Ruins, NV

This one is longer than usual. Think of it as a mid-season finale! I will warn you that this place is not a place of honor. They’re going into a bioweapon lab. 

……..

It’s pitch black outside the Jeep as they drive past the last military checkpoint. Marin is saving his strength for later, and all of the lights are off for the sake of secrecy. Thousands of stars fill the sky above them, but their ghostly light doesn’t reach the ground. Marin doesn’t seem to mind though. Elves must have outstanding night vision. Clay can hardly see the rifle in his white-knucled grip. He usually loves the night, but he feels like a prey animal this evening. 

Once, at the end of Sophmore year, he climbed the steel skeleton of a construction site with a few friends that Sierra and Brian had never met. They’d hauled themselves up the I-beams until the city lights shone out to the water and his hands were covered with rust. The view was nothing like from his father’s penthouse in New York City. No glass separated him from the world, just a hundred feet of distance he’d covered with his own two legs. His perspective shifted again when he heard sirens and looked down to see a few of those city lights flashing red and blue on the street underneath them. Someone must have seen the group from below, silhouetted against the light-polluted sky. Surprise is a different emotion than fear though. He hadn’t been too worried. 

Clay tries to reach for that courage now as they approach the ruins. This fear is a physical force driving him to run. When Clay saw those police cars, time seemed to slow. He didn’t panic, but his muscles didn’t lock either. Suddenly it was easy to put his hands where they needed to go, and he knew that if he tried, he could slip past the fences and disappear into the urban maze. Now though, the only thought in his mind is a burning need to leave this place.

Nothing valued is here.

His palms are sweating so much that the rifle nearly slips out of his hands. Clay forces himself to speak. “Are we sure about this?”

Brian shifts in his seat and looks right at him. Clay can barely see him raise an eyebrow. Clay is usually the brave one of that pair. 

Thankfully, Sierra replies. “Clay’s right. Something’s really off about this”. 

Zerada tells them to hold on a moment. She’s hardly more than a dark shadow against the galaxy, but she sits in the passenger seat with her feet up on the dashboard. Clay knows that she’s ditched the heels for leather boots that lace up to her knees and wears athletic clothes in a strange elven style. The humans, in contrast, all wear gray sweatpants tucked into their socks and sweatshirts with the hoodies pulled tightly around their faces. They also wear paper masks to keep radioactive sand out of their lungs. These are nuclear ruins, after all. 

After a moment the elf sighs “There’s an avoidance charm to keep away wilders. A few more miles and you’d both be fighting to stop the car”. She looks back at them and her amber eyes flash. Clay feels his blood cool and his thoughts tick back into place. 

The glow gives her face a skeletal look, “of course, this proves that there is something in the ruins after all”.

The road leading up to the abandoned site is gravel and dirt and the Jeep shakes more and more as they approach. It’s been ten years since what was reported as a critical failure with the reactor caused a meltdown and an evacuation, and the road has already been reclaimed by the desert. Sierra tells a different story though. Project Excalibur was a transparent codename for a different project. Human scientists were trying to understand a lost elven sword that had been found in the Alaskan tundra. Elves ran in one night and damaged the reactor themselves, breaking every camera as though the images had been corrupted by gamma radiation and charming or killing the witnesses. Thirty scientists and staff died the night of the disaster, and most of the bodies were never found. Dozens more died of radiation poisoning in the weeks afterward. The environmental effects were nowhere near as bad as Chernobyl, but the human toll was far higher. Sierra says that American physics has barely begun to recover. She takes out a flashlight and holds it in her teeth while reading a map. They’ll approach from the side to avoid main entrances. 

After a few more minutes, they take a turn and go completely off road. Sierra’s magic detector reaches a fever pitch, but the Geiger counter goes silent. They’ve entered the elven base, and it has been shielded against radiation.  Marin parks the car behind a building that Clay can barely see and they all step out into the dirt. The glowing eyes of the elves shine like beacons in the dark. Brian points a flashlight at the ground, and something shines like broken glass bottles against the dirt. Sierra drops to one knee and places a hand on the ground. 

“Is this…trinitite?” She asks, letting the colorful shards run through her fingers. “That doesn’t make any sense. There wasn’t a fireball here. The sand shouldn’t have melted,” she explains. 

Clay looks over at Brian’s magical pistol. The detailing is deep green, and so is a lot of the glass. The building behind them has a few scorch marks. Did Marin say that his mother was part of the strike on the base? Sierra had confronted him on that first afternoon after the battle, but he doesn’t remember much from after the nobleman died. 

Marin plants his quarterstaff in the ground and looks into the distance. He wears elven gear as well, with his hair tied back in a bun and his hands wrapped like a boxer. He looks regal, for once. Zerada moves to stand behind him, and the light reflects off of the long daggers that she has sheathed along her wrists. She looks dangerous, as always. There’s a gleam in her eye even when she isn’t using her magic, and Clay is relieved that she is targeting Brian instead of him. The elves whisper to eachother in another language and gather them to leave. 

They walk onward with Marin and Sierra in the front. Marin, because he can use his illusions to create the appearance of light that only they can see, and Sierra, because she’s memorized the layout of this place. Also, they want to see it coming if she turns on them. Brian holds his baseball bat in the center and Clay and Zerada bring up the rear. Sierra’s footsteps are louder than the other four combined. The ground slopes upwards as they approach the center, and the false-light can’t quite match the real thing. It reminds him of the world just before the total eclipse he saw two summers ago. For a few moments, everything was sharp and gray, and the abandoned base looks about the same. He can see some signs of life though, little things that someone less familiar with ruins would miss. There’s desire paths in the dirt and the door handles are clean. 

Eventually they stand in front of a perfectly intact side door. A sign beside it reads Project Excalibur in faded letters and then something else in what Clay now recognizes as the Lazarin alphabet. The elven name, probably. Brian asks what the sign says. 

The prince looks at it for a moment. “The first word is ‘project’ in Lazarin. The second word is old Mercurali or something like it. Diasu. I think it means ‘to separate’, but it might be supposed to stay untranslated”. 

“So it’s named after some archaic thing just like Project Excalibur?” He replies.

Clay’s never thought about it that way. Sierra reaches for the door. Clay shouts for her to stop, but Zerada shoots him a glare. 

“You really think they’ve set an alarm? No human can get within a mile,”

Sierra pulls the door, pauses when Marin says that a sign in Lazarin says “push”, and then pushes it. The door is locked. 

Brian points his bat at the door. “Are we breaking in?” Clay does know how to pick simple locks, but this door is not simple. 

“No. I’m going to go around,” Marin replies. 

He disappears in an instant and moments later the door swings open from inside. 

“So can you break into anywhere by switching between worlds?” Clay asks.

Marin shakes his head, then pauses. “Unless there’s one- an anti-magic zone, then technically yes. But it can be detected”.

He lifts a hand, “so you just blew our cover?”

“I doubt it. They’ve built a matching base in our world,” he explains, “but there wasn’t anyone nearby. I’m good at illusions, too”. Marin looks at Zerada as if she is the one judging. 

Brian is shocked. “A matching base? Then they really must have been working here for a while”. 

And with that, they’re in. A central air system churns furiously above them and the humans all take off their masks. Clay hesitates though. It’s best to keep air circulating when dealing with an airborne disease. The original purpose was to keep radiation out of his lungs, but he wonders. It’s a hallway like any other. The walls are gray and mostly undecorated, and as they walk the hallway splits into many more nondescript corridors. Clay almost expects to see his friends from last year's internship gathered around a water fountain. Instead, the halls are empty but clean. 

Marin reads out the signs as they pass. Processing. Storage. Clay supplies technical terms when Marin doesn’t know the English words. Electron Microscope. The corridors are lit by electric lights that glow bluer than most human ones. Much of the lab must have needed to be rebuilt. Sierra said that an entire underground section was collapsed to contain the radiation, and he guesses that elves have their own building standards. A stairwell is blocked off with a rope around the handle. Several doors lead to storage rooms full of boxes labeled with tiny writing. 

Further down, a doorway is marked with a jagged circular symbol in blood red. Marin places a hand by it and explains that it means biohazard. Sierra quips that she likes the human symbol more. Clay agrees. The label by the door reads Observation Ward. Clay’s hand hovers over the handle. He grabs it and pulls, shocked by the quiet click when it swings open. Are elves so used to “going around” doors that they just don’t lock things? He swings the rifle over his shoulder and into his hands. Another hallway lies ahead with gray doors on either side. Were these offices, once? The doors are too close together. He imagines scientists with stacks of paper walking the halls and drinking bad coffee in the mornings. How many lived expecting elves to stop their research? How many were surprised?

Sierra lets out a strangled gasp behind him. He turns, raising the rifle’s sights to his eyes, and sees Zerada drag her into the Observation Ward with a hand over her mouth. The elf glares at him and Clay hears her voice in his mind. There is someone outside. Stay silent. Marin has always been better at hiding light than sound. Clay creeps backward and drops to one knee for a more stable shot. A young elf in a pale green uniform walks down the hallway and continues on without pausing. Unlike many ruins he’s found, these halls do not echo, and she is quickly out of earshot. Clay lets the rifle fall to his side and reaches for a door handle to pull himself back up. The internal lock shakes, but the handle does not turn. He stands and peers through a small window into a half-lit closet, and Clay Shepard sees precisely what the elves have been observing. 

His reflection, a sharp, long face with light brown eyes behind glasses, stares back at him. It’s hard to look through glass at something dark from a place that is light. That’s actually the principle that two-way mirrors are built on. Clay cups a hand over the glass and tries to see beyond himself. The room is maybe eight feet long and six feet wide, or about the dimensions of an old prison cell. He decides to keep that comparison. There is a toilet in one corner and a cot in the other. The cell is the first place in this lab that isn’t perfectly clean.

Clay doesn’t just trespass for the thrill. The purpose of exploring is discovery. Clay has found beautiful, mysterious things, but he also knows the shock and shame of putting the pieces together and not liking the answer. Sometimes the shattered glass on the ground is trinitite, and sometimes he kicks a spent bullet with his boot and knows to leave while he still can. Clay hesitates as he brings the flashlight to the little window, but he was never going to be able to walk away. He also already knows what he will see. There is a young man on the cot in the cell. He wears a hospital gown and his head is shaved, but he has a tattoo of a crescent moon on one arm. The man stirs when the beam of light passes over him. 

“What are you looking at?” Brian is calling for him. 

The dying man in the cell lifts himself up. There are little raised circles across most of his body. Clay reaches for an explanation, acne or something, that doesn’t spell certain doom, but every preteen that’s a little too smart has their creepy fixation. Sierra loves nuclear accidents, Brian will talk for hours about the worst wars in history, and Clay always had an interest in plagues. He loved how they spread and hide and kill, and how societies fought (pretty unsuccessfully, until about a century ago) the biggest killer in history. He went as a plague doctor for his last real halloween. 

He never thought it was as bad as Brian’s wikipedia history though. The fight against disease is a victorious story after all. Vaccination was discovered in the 1700s, then there was germ theory and antibiotics and the triumphant end of smallpox, that ancient killer, in 1980. His family, as corrupt as they are, did their part in that fight. Clay switches off the flashlight as if he can shove what he’s learned back into the darkness. He reaches for the mask in his pocket but remembers that this disease doesn’t spread by air. Or at least it didn’t spread by air before. 

“You all need to see this,” he says gravely. 

Sierra lifts her own light to the window and gasps. “There’s a person,” she looks around. “Is that what they’re observing? Already?” 

Their horror is just disgust and pity, though. They don’t know what those raised circles mean. Why should they? It was eradicated twenty years before they were even born. 

“He has smallpox, guys”.

They recognize the name, but it doesn’t carry as much weight as he feels like it should. “The disease that killed ninety percent of the indigenous population of the Americas, which was fully eradicated a few decades ago, is a bioweapon now”. 

That gets more of a reaction out of the group. 

“We should have expected the Mercurali to use disease,” Marin snarls.

 Zerada turns to look at him, and it might be the first time that Clay has seen her look confused. “Enkidu wasn’t killed by disease. It was a targeted strike that looked like disease”. 

He’ll have to ask about that later. Clay paces the hallway and looks into a few nearby cells. Each one holds a human being at a different stage of the same familiar disease. The air circulation system sounds even louder. What good is a doomsday plague if it only spreads by touch? It’s not like Clay was ever vaccinated against a virus that was eradicated generations ago, and the elves have probably modified it enough to make old immunity useless. This is a nuclear physics lab, not a sealed containment area. Brian’s damn quest could have just killed them all. 

“We need to stop this,” Clay says stupidly. What he means to say is “we need to leave”.

“So now you-” Brian thankfully stops himself from spilling the secret of their conversation, “So now you want to be a hero?” 

“I don’t want to die of smallpox, so yes!”

“Is there something fragile here?” Sierra asks, “Like, some fancy tech that they need?”

“We could cut the power supply,” he suggests. 

Marin shakes his head. “Power can be sent between worlds, or generated through magic”.

Zerada gives him a look of pity “And this can’t be the only lab,”

It’s like he’s stealing money from his father again. Nothing they can do here will change anything. They can’t even free the prisoners because they’re infected with a deadly disease that the world is no longer prepared to fight. 

Brian shakes him out of it. “Damaging this place will still delay them, right? I say we smash something important looking and then get out”.

And so they do. It’s not like breaking the place will make anything worse, right? They’re already enemies of the elven state. They leave the observation ward and stalk through windowless halls until they find a room called Sample Storage. That room is actually locked though, and blinking lights from sensors and cameras stare back at them through the glass. 

“I looked at the map. We’re pretty close to the main entrance,” Sierra adds. “Brian, break the door. It’s refrigerated inside and maybe we’ll ruin everything. Then we run”. 

He has quite the swing, but the door looks reinforced. He looks back to Clay. “Maybe the concussion rifle would work better?” 

That seems reasonable. Clay lifts the gun to his eyes, plants his feet, and fires at the edge. The reinforced door dents on the first shot, distorts on the second, and the seal breaks on the third. Cold air hisses out at them through the crack and then they’re running for the exit. 

Clay knows how to run. He’s been on the cross country team since middle school, but his real hobby is more difficult to put on a college application. He’s a freerunner, parkour’s more artistic variant. It’s an odd hobby for a billionaire’s son, but when Clay runs through the featureless halls of this biohazard site, he imagines the utility tunnels underneath. A large building is a bit like a body. They both require maintenance, and aren’t as secure against invaders as people like to think. Rust and blood both taste like iron when you trip and need to figure out just how hurt you are. When a building dies, it falls apart and becomes home to new life until someone in a suit remembers that the city stretches beyond the chain coffee stores and high-rise condos. This place is steel and glass and smells like antiseptic. It’s more honest about the horrors than anything his father pays to keep running.

Maybe that honesty is why he keeps thinking of the end of this world. Brian once explained that the word apocalypse comes from the Greek for unveiling. Decay is like an old friend to him, but the rest of the world doesn’t see how quickly the dust and radiation can creep in. Doesn’t he want an unveiling? An alien invasion is such a clean end. He imagines every dark secret revealed before the world as he knows is replaced with something better. He’s no fool though. If conquest ever improved things, then his family wouldn’t be a fraction as rich. He also wouldn’t have learned how to break into ruins if this world was capable of clean endings.

Clay didn’t stay with his friends and face the police on that warm night two years ago because of loyalty or courage. He stood with them because he was just starting to learn about power, and he knew that his father, as terrible as he may be, would bail him out. He bet that old James Shepard would bail his friends out too just to keep all of them quiet. Hell, he’d pay off the entire police force to keep his second son from disgracing the family name. Looking over the city, he’d realized that his father’s name could be a shield if he learned how to use it. Two years later, he has. Power and privilege are old and simple. When this plague is unleashed, his friends with spray paint on their hands will be more likely to end up in a mass grave than any Shepard, Whitaker, or Bracken. They pass a few uniformed elves who turn as they pass but then return to their own business as an illusion seizes them. What are elven commoners like? Marin says that they mind their own business and handle their own affairs, but that can’t be strictly true. Is there graffiti in the elven capital? Is it encouraged or erased? 

They pass through a deceptively human foyer and exit into the night. They turn their flashlights back on and Sierra points them back to the car. As always, Clay turns to look back. He swings his light in a lazy arc at the desolate main entrance and nearly falls to his knees. A message, in English but also something far deeper, burns itself into his mind. 

This is a message. Pay attention to it! Sending this message is important to us. We are a powerful culture. 

You feel proud of discovering a secret. This place is not a place of honor. No highly esteemed deed is commemorated here. Nothing valued is here.

What is here is dangerous and repulsive to you. This message is a warning about danger.

The danger is unleashed only if you travel into the place that has been abandoned. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.

Leave this place. 

Leave this place. Leave this place. He feels Zerada’s protective magic again and the same fear passes like a freight train inches beside him. He is nothing compared to it, just another human boy who must be kept out from underfoot until it is his time to die. Clay turns off his flashlight. This time, he runs with his friends to hide in the dark. 

……………

Can you tell I first imagined this while quarantined nearly four years ago? Because I did.

Smallpox doesn’t exist anymore. If you do not think often about the fact that we got rid of smallpox, you really should. 

If Old Lazarin is Latin, then Old Mercurali is Akkadian. Marin was close with his translation though! The real meaning is “to thresh”.

The bolded message is a modified version of the Sandia National Laboratories nuclear warning message. 

And that’s Clay’s moment of perspective-changing elf trauma done! It’ll be a bit before Sierra and Brian get theirs.

[postapocalypsemalone]

⋙ WHEN? between 11:30AM and 2:00PM ⋙ WHERE? the streets of new york city ⋙ WHO? one-shot

When things go wrong, they go properly wrong. 

They had been focused throughout the morning. Fear nor trepidation moved them, only determination and steadfastness accompanied their words as they told their team what to do, where they'd go, and what to look for. And despite the danger of what they were to set out to do — not even specifically their mission, but stepping out onto the streets always brought with it a high risk simply due to circumstances — the team was in as high spirits as the situation would let it be. They knew their mission, Mal was confident they were up to task; their route had been cleared as being horde-free prior to this moment, and what stragglers they’d cross, they would be able to handle as a team.

And so they’d come upon their destination well enough. They’d been quick, taking no unnecessary risks, working like a well-oiled machine, keeping an eye on each other as two people of the team scoured the destination for all the items needed, fuel, machine parts, and anything else important that they came across as a bonus. Another person stayed with the trolleys while the remainder of the team kept their eyes out of any chompers and dispose of them where necessary, so the rest of the team could keep themselves focused on grabbing as many supplies as they could find. Mal, having been one of the lookouts, had been called in when the trolleys had been all but filled and they were ready to head out.

For all the danger that the streets of — what’s left of — Manhattan had to offer, they’d only seen a handful of chompers in the hours it took them to get to their destination, gather everything they could and then some, and start on the track back to the Wexley. And throughout, that handful just didn’t sit right with Mal. Sure, they had scouted ahead of time, and sure, they could just be lucky. But it was too few, and it went too easy. It wasn’t until they rounded a corner into a street that had been clear just hours previous that Mal quickly stepped back, right back into the team. Without words, Mal had gestured for quiet, ordering a reroute. But their loot was heavy and the streets of New York City weren’t meant for navigating carts that heavy and so quietly. When one of the trolleys’ wheels got stuck in a pothole, Mal headed to back to aid pulling it out.

And then their status was requested over the walkie talkie she carried on her person.

Time stopped as Mal looked up slowly at the rest of her team, and on their faces she could read the same sinking dread that dropped low in her stomach. “Run.” It was the only thing she thought to say as the entire horde turned, as though puppeteered by a single mind, and within a blink, were out like wolves for blood. “Now!” Mal made one, two, three more attempts to dislodge the trolley before giving up, taking her own advice and running after the rest of her team. The other trolley tipped over, spilling all its contents, and without even thinking, Mal grabbed the arm going to try to upright it and dragged them along with them. The others had already rounded a corner and were out of sight, and their eyes scanned along the street. Within a split second, the roaring and growling behind them, Mal guided the two of them towards a fenced construction site and, getting to the edge of it, immediately crouched down to help their teammate over the top of it. With a jump, Mal’s hands wrapped around the top of the bar, ignoring the pricks of wire cutting the inside of their palms. “Don’t stand there, run!” Mal roared at their waiting teammate, heaving themself up with gritted teeth.

She was crouched on the top of it when a group of chompers slammed into the fence, and it was all she could do to not fall face first to the group, instead managing to slow her inevitable fall by holding onto the bar, feet dropping against the other side of the fence and falling backwards into the construction site.

Darkness. Silence. Mal doesn’t know how much time has passed, and for a long moment, she wonders if she’s dead. If this is what death is — dark, quiet, rest. Sound is the first thing to return to her, softly at first, as though the volume of the world is raised tick by tick. Clanging, roaring, moaning. As her eyes parse daylight through her cortices once more, the sting of it makes her flinch, raising her hand to shield her eyes against the bright but cold spring sun; it is then that the reality of her situation comes rushing into her understanding. The clanging is the fence — flimsy-looking now — holding back the assault of chompers, the ones in the back practically pressing the ones at the front through the linked wire like sausage through a meat grinder.

Initially it’s shock that freezes them in place, staring at the decaying humanoid figures all but breaking down the fence between them. The shock wears off, however, and with an iron grip, Mal gathers everything in herself to get up and recover who she can of her team. But moving proves far harder than anticipated; even the slightest of movements has her inadvertently cry out in pain before gritting her teeth, and it takes her a few long seconds to locate the issue.

When losing her balance, she hadn’t simply fallen back onto the ground and had the wind knocked out of her. Bloodied and scratched up hands wrap around the rebar sticking out of her stomach area, and she feels her heart rate increase, breathing becoming more and more laboured as adrenaline explodes throughout her veins. “Fuck!” they cry out, the adrenaline working instantly, every inch of their body already trembling from it, their mind racing. “Fuck, fuck!”

Adrenaline is a funny thing, though; for anyone not used to the effects on body and mind, it can very easily lead to worsening a situation. But Mal and adrenaline are old friends, and as it pumps throughout their veins, there’s a stillness that overcomes them, their breathing slowing to a deliberate in-out-in-out. This is an impossible situation, and it’d be all too easy to stay where they are until the fence inevitably gives way to the chompers’ unending and ravenous force and be torn apart, if they were still alive by that point. It’d be so easy to let go, to give up, to just be done with it. She’s earned her rest by now, hasn’t she? Her life has lasted long enough, she’s been done with it long before this moment — staying a little too long under the surface of the water in her bathtub, until lungs burn and beg for the release of carbon dioxide.

There’s no Charlie to take them out of that mindset now. There’s no Ash to show them all the things they have yet to learn and teach in equal measures. There’s no Rosie and her diner, there’s no Lolly with her smile and perfume, there’s no resident that they need to surface for and pretend they hadn’t been on the edge. There’s no Mr. W squeezing their shoulder in a display of reassurance and affection.

But that’s right, they’re not here. They’re not here, but they are still out there. They’re out there and they don’t deserve to lose a whole group of people without ever knowing what happened. Whatever thoughts of accepting the situation, of greeting the violent end passively and melting into the silent nothing thereafter that had swam through their mind, it’s cut away by duty. Whatever her life means to her, or how little rather, there are people who deserve more than that.

So Mal puts her feet under her, one hand on the floor and the other wrapped around the top of the bloodied rebar. Steeling their mind in anticipation, they push and pull as hard as they can, crying out in a pain that nearly blinds them, white, hot, setting every nerve in their body aflame, leaving just enough faculties to keep pushing. If you’d told her she spent there, lifting herself off that rebar, for as long as the universe is old, she would’ve believed it. But then it’s over and her knees hit the floor hard, hands keeping her from falling forward. Muscle-bound arms tremble, shake, and give as she collapses on the cement, breathing hard.

Mal, get up. Their mind thrashes inside an unresponsive body. Mal, get up. They watch the fence bulge inward, more and more, with each push and surge of the chompers, viscera on the floor near their face where the ones at the front had been partially minced by all the ones behind them.

Mal, get up!

Their arms are the first to finally respond to the screaming of their mind. It takes an eternity for Mal to get used to the heaviness of their limbs, but once they do, their hand pushes against the wound the rebar has left. Looking back between it and the chompers, Mal swallows hard. “Fuck.” With all her force of will, she walks away from the carnage, catching herself on railings and half-constructed walls when a leg threatens to give way. How she manages to climb up a ladder in an alley beyond the construction site, Mal pulls off the flannel she’s wearing to tie it around her waist as tightly as she can, just to put pressure on the injury, just to make sure she won’t bleed out on the way back to the Wexley.

By the time she makes it to the familiar alley, she carries with her the pallor of Death itself.

[k00294140]

Distrupt project!!

For the past few days I've been working on my paintings series that i mentioned in my earlier posts. i had a great time getting my gouache paints out to finally use them again. All of these paintings are on 5x 7in or 12.7 x 17.8 cm canvas'. The whole idea behind these paintings is to show the effects of human involvement in or world but especially in nature.

This first piece is something that is actually quite personal to me. this scenery is from land that my great grandfather used to own before he had passed years ago. I only have fond memories of this place and whenever i went there as a child it felt so untouched by any kind of person it felt so free? That is exactly why i decided to paint this little stream that flows through it. It's like a little get away from people to where you can truly be alone by yourself. The air feels so fresh due to the absence of any houses nearby or machinery. It's a true place of peace. I really liked how Kristen Ross did her grass with these simple lines and tried to replicate it withing my painting. i kept my own style going throughout and wanted to make it feel messy. the goal of this painting wasn't for it to feel perfect but show the absence of any living thing besides the trees, grass and the little stream.

This next piece is a construction site that is nearby my home. A lot of the green empty fields that i used to explore with friends has turned into these construction site which i think is part of the reason i really wanted to do this project. As I've seen these beautiful, full of life fields be turned to nothing which is what i think Paula Meehan also felt. The particular picture that i took of this place was very bad. It was blurry and unfocused which at first i was really annoyed but, then i realized that it was perfect. I tried to capture that unfocused confusing feeling into the painting. How you can tell what everything is but its never detailed enough to fully understand everything. I tried something new by cutting up small wire strips and trying to replicate the wire fences. I tried using a similar technique like Belynda Henry that she uses for her bushes or trees. This i used in the trees behind and made the lines thicker to make it feel like more my own.

I had a previous idea to where i would have this third painting with these two to make a series. However i had a great idea when i signed up for the 3D workshop. I want to make a physical housing estate. I'm not sure exactly of the layout but i know there needs to be exactly 49 houses, as this is how many houses that were made in the field that Paula Meehan mentioned in her poem.

As of today I'm still working on my flower painting. I've decided to put them all together into one which I'm quite excited to do! Here is the sketch so far

[inthecityofgoodabode]

February 2023: Honeybee & A Walk

First honeybee of 2023: 

Seen while walking: 

A stray dog just chilling. If I trek this way again, I’ll probably pack a sandwich bag with some dog food just in case we see each other: 

I’ve never understood why someone would put up a gate but not fencing to go with it. The gargoyles are a nice touch: 

I’d been meaning to check out this new construction site. It wasn’t very interesting but I discovered new lands to explore. It was like accessing a new area in a video game: 

I had already walked a long way so this is was as far as I went but I’ve marked it for future exploration: 

[warningsine]

Israeli forces have killed three Palestinians during a raid in the occupied West Bank, and another Palestinian in a separate incident in the blockaded Gaza Strip, as Israel bars entry to thousands of Palestinian labourers from the coastal enclave.

The West Bank raid took place on Tuesday in the Jenin refugee camp, with some 20 others also injured, according to Palestinian health officials. The dead have not yet been named.

In Gaza, the Palestinian man killed was identified as Yousef Salem Radwan, 25. He was shot by Israeli forces east of Khan Yunis in Gaza, reported Palestinian media.

The Israeli military did not confirm the Gaza killing, but said that “rioters” had gathered next to the fence that separates Gaza from Israel, and that “a number of explosive devices were activated by the rioters”. The military also gave few details about the deaths in the Jenin, apart from saying that it had carried out a drone attack.

The violence came after Israel announced late on Sunday that it would keep the Beit Hanoun (called “Erez” by Israel) crossing closed following an eruption of border protests and a “security assessment” by defence officials.

“The reopening of the crossing will be subject to ongoing evaluation based on the evolving situation in the region,” said COGAT, a unit of the Israeli defence ministry responsible for Palestinian civilian affairs.

The closure of Beit Hanoun, the sole pedestrian passageway out of the enclave into Israel, has left roughly 18,000 Palestinians from Gaza who have been issued Israeli work permits unable to access their jobs.

The string of protests came during a holiday season in Israel that began with the Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year last week and continues through the Sukkot festival next week.

During the holidays, large numbers of Jews are expected to enter the Al-Aqsa Mosque compound, also known to Jews as the Temple Mount, in occupied East Jerusalem’s Old City – in the past this has meant restrictions on Palestinian access to the holy site, which is also a Palestinian national symbol.

Gazan officials said medical cases were still allowed to use the crossing, which Israel had been due to reopen Monday following a shutdown due to Jewish holidays.

The extended closure follows repeated confrontations between Palestinian protesters and Israeli forces along the border over the past few days.

The confrontations have seen multiple Palestinians wounded after Israeli forces fired guns and tear gas at the protesters. The Israeli military also launched an air attack late Friday on the Gaza Strip.

‘Collective punishment’

The decision to block the entry to Israel was condemned as “illegal collective punishment” by the Israeli NGO Gisha, which advocates for Palestinians’ freedom of movement.

The move is “harming Gaza workers and their families, as well as other permit holders who need to travel for humanitarian needs”, Gisha said in a statement.

One of the Gazans affected, Kamal, said he and fellow workers “have nothing to do with the security situation in Gaza”.

“Closing Erez costs my family and me our food and living expenses,” said the 41-year-old construction worker, who gave only his first name for fear of reprisal from the Israeli authorities.

Palestinians have far higher earning power in Israel than Gaza, where salaries are low and unemployment is rife.

Ashraf, 36, expressed the same concerns as he described the closure as “collective punishment against workers”.

“We only want to work and live,” said the permit holder.

An employee at a restaurant in Jaffa called on the Israeli authorities to “compensate for the days of work lost” due to the border closure.

Israel has maintained a strict land, air and sea blockade on the Gaza Strip since 2007, when Hamas seized power of the coastal enclave.

There have been multiple wars fought between Gaza-based armed groups and Israel in recent years.

Violence against protesters

Hamas has said the protests in Gaza have been a response to Israeli provocations, citing an increase in the number of far-right nationalist Jewish activists entering the Al-Aqsa compound.

On Monday, Israeli forces attacked Palestinian worshippers at Bab as-Silsila, one of the main entrances to the Al-Aqsa Mosque compound in occupied East Jerusalem. They also denied access to any Palestinian below the age of 50 to clear the way for Israeli settlers on Rosh Hashanah.

“As long as these provocations continue, the protests will continue,” said Hamas spokesperson Hazem Qasem.

[pandcfencing-1]

Durable and Secure: Why Chainwire Fencing is the Top Choice for Sydney Properties?

When protecting your property, enhancing security, and maintaining a durable boundary, chain wire fencing is a top contender for homeowners and businesses in Sydney. Known for its strength, versatility, and cost-effectiveness, chain wire fencing provides a practical solution for a wide range of property types. Whether you are looking to secure your home, business, or industrial space, chain wire fencing can offer peace of mind without compromising on quality or appearance.

Strength and Durability

One of the primary reasons why chainwire fencing is so popular in Sydney is its remarkable strength and durability. Chainwire fences, which are made of coated wire or galvanised steel, are designed to endure severe weather, such as intense sunlight, heavy rain, and powerful winds. Because of the materials' exceptional resistance to rust and corrosion, your fence will continue to be both aesthetically beautiful and practical for many years to come.

Unlike wooden fences, which can deteriorate over time due to exposure to the elements, chain wire fences maintain their structural integrity and appearance. This durability makes chain wire fencing an ideal choice for properties in Sydney, where the weather can be unpredictable.

Security and Protection

Property owners place a high premium on security, and chainwire fencing offers a great way to achieve this. Chainwire fencing's tight mesh design produces a strong barrier that is challenging to penetrate. It provides a strong deterrent to intruders, keeping undesirable guests out and providing you with peace of mind.

Chain wire fencing's strength can be increased by adding extra security elements like barbed or razor wire, which improve its capacity to keep out unauthorised access. This makes it a great choice for private homes that want more security as well as high-security locations like government buildings, schools, and industrial sites.

Cost-Effective Solution

Another significant advantage of chain wire fencing is its cost-effectiveness. Compared to other fencing materials like timber or wrought iron, chainwire fences are much more affordable while still providing excellent security and durability. It is a desirable alternative for Sydney's residential and commercial property owners due to its inexpensive installation and maintenance costs.

Additionally, chainwire fencing requires minimal upkeep. Unlike wooden fences that need regular painting, staining, or sealing, chainwire fences are virtually maintenance-free. The galvanised steel used in their construction is resistant to damage, and any repairs that might be needed are generally simple and inexpensive.

Versatility and Customisation

Because chainwire fencing is so adaptable, it may be used in a variety of settings. Chain wire fencing may be customised to meet your unique demands, whether you're trying to secure a huge commercial property or fence off a tiny backyard. It is available in various heights, with the option to add additional features like gates, privacy screens, and even decorative elements if desired.

Moreover, chainwire fencing can be customised to suit the aesthetic requirements of your property. While it is often seen as a utilitarian solution, modern chainwire fencing can be integrated into different landscapes, offering both security and a neat, unobtrusive appearance. For properties in Sydney's urban areas, where visual appeal matters, chainwire fencing can easily complement the surrounding environment.

Environmentally Friendly

In today's world, many property owners are increasingly concerned with their environmental impact. Compared to other fence types like those made of plastic or treated timber, chainwire fencing is an environmentally responsible option because it is composed of recyclable materials. When chain wire fencing's steel reaches the end of its useful life, it can be recycled, which cuts down on waste and the need for new raw materials.

Additionally, chain wire fences allow for better airflow and visibility, which is particularly beneficial in areas where visibility is important for security purposes, such as around schools, parks, or sports fields. This allows for a more open and welcoming environment without sacrificing safety.

Chainwire Fencing for Residential and Commercial Use

Because of its great versatility, chainwire fencing can be utilised in a range of locations, such as commercial buildings, industrial sites, and residential areas. For homeowners in Sydney, it offers a secure and cost-effective way to keep pets and children safe within the property boundaries. On commercial properties, it serves as a reliable security measure, while still maintaining a clean, professional look.

In industrial areas, chainwire fencing can withstand the rigours of heavy use, offering the strength and durability needed for larger-scale operations. The fencing can also be configured to suit specific security needs, including restricted access points and surveillance systems.

In summary, chainwire fencing is a top choice for Sydney property owners due to its combination of strength, durability, cost-effectiveness, and versatility. Whether you need a simple solution for securing your home or a robust security measure for your business, chainwire fencing provides an excellent option. It is the best option for long-term protection because of its security features, low maintenance needs, and resistance to adverse environmental conditions.

As property owners continue to seek practical, reliable, and affordable fencing solutions, chainwire fencing remains a preferred option in Sydney. Suppose you're considering fencing your property, whether residential, commercial, or industrial; chainwire fencing should be at the top of your list. And if you're also looking for solutions in areas like Newcastle, chainwire fencing Newcastle offers similar benefits, providing effective and lasting security across different regions.

P&C Fencing Pty Ltd

5 York Rd, Ingleburn NSW 2565, Australia

+61296051111

[whitepolaris]

Meteorite Hazard at Audubon Golf Course

At the northern end of the eighteenth hole fairway in New Orlean's Audubon Park Golf Club course is one weird hazard. An iron meteorite weighing in at more than fifteen tons juts out nearly six feet from the well-maintained grounds of the old course. The Picayune described the meteorite's arrival on March 31, 1891:

The terrific explosion and detonation which startled all of Carrollton just previous to daylight yesterday morning, shook houses and smashed panes of glass, proves to have been caused by the fall of an enormous meteorite. All people throughout the city who happened to be awake heard the noise and felt the shock. Indeed, the effects were felt as far away as Biloxi, and no doubt at more distant points.

The few who were on the streets or rushed to the doors and windows saw an immense glare of fire in the sky and the kissing of flames, which ceased as suddenly as they appeared.

Initial descriptions measured it at eight feet high and twenty-one feet in circumference at its widest point. But in the nearly 120 years since it slammed into the dark, rust, ground subsidence under its enormous weight and souvenir collecting have diminished the spectacle somewhat. In fact, after it was determined that it probably posed little or no danger to the park or its visitors, city officials soon realized that the greater danger was to the meteorite itself from the swarms souvenir hunters. Twelve lesser masses of space iron and thousands of smaller chunks and fragments scattered around the site were quickly carried away as mementos, many of which still grace mantals and curiosity cabinets throughout the region. By late afternoon on the day the interplanetary traveler arrived, a committee headed by the commissioner of public works, E. T. Leche, decided to post a guard of armed policemen around the site until an iron fence could be constructed to preserve it for future citizens to enjoy and admire.

It turns out the best way to preserve an intergalactic artifact is to tell a lie about it. A false rumor was started, claiming that the rock hadn't come from space at all. Instead it was touted to be a giant sample iron ore from Alabama's famous Red Mountain quarries near Birmingham. It purportedly had been abandoned in New Orleans after the World's Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exposition of 1884-85.

This version of the origins of the meteorite gained momentum after readers realized that the original newspaper article had come out April 1, although the event itself had happened the day before. It did not explain, however, how such a big chunk of "iron ore" had completely escaped notice until then, or why, if Alabamans had thought it was so impressive before the fair, they had decided it was so worthless afterward. What is more, in a region with almost no outcroppings of solid rock at all, surely over the course of six years of supposedly sitting in plain view in a park surrounded by hundreds of daily visitors, someone would have noticed it, if it had really been there all along.

After the lake meteorite story began circulating, the public quickly lost interest. The Public Works office quietly canceled plans for the elaborate fencing as the meteorite sank into the mists of history. For decades afterward, unfortunate old-timers were branded as fabulists or lairs if they admitted that they'd actually heard the blast or seen the flames. Meanwhile, gawkers and curiosity seekers refocused their attention on the other wonder of that year, the great Ames Crevasse. A breach in the levees had flooded Gretna, destroying homes and creating quite a tourist attraction. The Audubon Park meteorite, on the other hand, crashed down in a party of the city with no dwellings, at a time when few people were awake, and on a day when almost no one would later believe it had ever really happened at all.