#thread: it's been a long and shitty road

[taguelbunnyboy]

"Can't... slow down... can't go extinct now... not after all of this..."

Yarne shakily breathed as he trekked on, blood staining his tattered uniform.

"I... lost you... can't... lose you again..."

He stumbled, looking into Naesala's eyes. He wanted to stop. Naesala knew better than he did on safety. But... they were so close to the academy. No way in hells he's stopping when he's almost extinct, and survival is so close.

"I... lost you... lost Panne... failed to protect the Exalt..."

Breaths keep coming in faster and faster. His mind was foggy, his balance poor. He leaned even harder onto Naesala. He was hurt too... everyone was.

"I... failed to keep my promises..."

He... he really was no better than his father, whoever he was, wasn't he? And that brought back as many painful memories as the hell he had just been through.

𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘪'𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

[POST AO] - reunion with Yarne

[starrystevie]

"i need a favor."

it's simple enough for steve to hear even over the loud music in the club, and it definitely grabs his attention away from where he was staring blankly into the dancing crowd. he pulls his eyes to the person standing in front of him, gaze trailing over their form before settling on their face. he's cute, steve thinks, with his curly dark hair and big brown eyes that he could see himself getting lost in. he's cute enough for steve to listen to whatever favor he could possibly need.

"umm, hello to you too?" steve says it like a question, his eyebrows quirked up and a smile pulling at one side of his mouth. "what kind of favor might that be?"

the stranger smiles and sits in the seat next to steve, setting his beer on the table beside steve's nearly finished jack and coke. he's closer than he was before and steve can appreciate his face even better this way.

"it's my ex. you see," the stranger slings an arm around the back of steve's chair, pulls himself close so that he isn't having to scream as loudly over the booming club beats. "he's here and i knew it would be stupid to think i wouldn't run into him in the only queer club around, yet here he is. and here i am."

"is there supposed to be a favor in there somewhere?"

the stranger grins and steve suddenly gets the feeling he's a bird who's been cornered by a cat.

"well, i was hoping you might be able to help me. he knows i have a... weakness for pretty boys and you just happen to be the prettiest one here."

steve's heart thumps in his chest, strong and impatient as he watches the neon lights flash off this guy's teeth. he always thought he was the smooth one with all his charm and charisma, but this stranger was sitting next to steve like it was any other day and not like he had the possibility to turn his world upside down.

"help you how?"

the stranger's grin grew wider and his eyes not so subtly flicked down to watch steve's lips. "kissing would be a good start, then letting me drag you to the dance floor so he could see us. and maybe if you're feeling a little crazy, we leave together, make it seem like you're coming home with me. he's watching us right now, you know?"

steve gives him a blank stare as he tries to not let it show just how much fun he thinks it all could be. he's there alone, anyway, trying to drown his loneliness in his friend jack daniels, so what's stopping him from playing a little bit of pretend?

"and what's in it for me?" is what steve finally gets out, his breath stuttering minutely in his chest when he feels a palm cover his leg.

"what do you want?" the fingers squeeze around his knee.

it makes steve stop and think for a moment. he thinks long and hard about material things like at least 3 drinks bought for him or dinner after they escape together or paying his cover so they can get in to the bar down the road that plays shitty music but has a good atmosphere. but there's one thing steve could really use, something he doesn't get the chance for, something that this random guy's money wouldn't have to cover.

"an adventure."

there's no way to tell who moves first, whether it was steve fisting his hand into the guy's hair to close the distance between them or if it was the firm pull on his leg that turns him towards the stranger. it's messy, right off the bat, with a tongue pressing insistently against steve's lips that he's happy to meet with his own. the hand on his leg is a grounding touch that keeps steve from floating away, warm and strong and there.

the man's other hand wraps awkwardly around to rest on steve's waist as to bring him in closer and the force of it has steve stumbling out of chair and settling instead on the guy's lap. two hands wrap around his waist now and his own go back into the guy's hair, threading through the stands and holding on firmly.

"okay yeah, you were definitely the right choice for this, holy shit," the guy breaks away to catch his breath and grin at steve who sends him a grin in return. "you are so..."

he doesn't finish, lets his lips say the words he couldn't as he connects them with steve's once more. it's hot, both in temperature and otherwise. steve can feel a bead of sweat start to roll down his back as they kiss and roll against each other for lord knows how long. one of the stranger's hands comes to rest just above steve's ass and it has him pushing back into the touch before he can tell himself to stop.

"dance. we uhh," steve says breathlessly as he pulls away from the man. his eyes are hooded and his lips are slick and kissed red, the flush on his face visible even under the dark club lights. steve thinks he might already be a little bit in love. "you said we have to dance."

the hand that was trailing down to his ass makes its way to it's destination and presses firmly, so steve follows, lets himself be manhandled until they're sitting chest pressed to heaving chest.

"sorry sweetheart, you aren't moving anywhere just quite yet."

lips connect to his jaw and it feels like it's exactly where he's supposed to be. steve pushes into the man's space, gets them as close as possible to savor the moment. he doesn't get to have fun, not much anymore at least, with his job keeping him so busy he hardly even gets to see his friends. it's nice to push every real life responsibility to the side and be in the moment with a random man from a club.

"so what does he look like, your ex?" steve mummers against his ear, low and sultry. "is he looking at us now?"

he feels the man chuckle against him before kissing his way up his neck. "he's pretty standard looking, don't think i could describe him to you if i tried."

"okay but," he's cut off by lips pressing quickly onto his own before steve pulls away once more. "i need to know who i'm putting a show on for."

the man sighs, rests his forehead against steve's collarbone for a beat before biting at it playfully. "let's just say you're putting on a great show regardless of who it's for."

steve pulls back even further, watching the man roll his eyes as he tries to follow him with his mouth. "and i thank you for that, but really, where is he?"

the man pauses and every bit of confidence that was on his face melts away until he looks younger, looks almost nervous. he sighs again and drops his hands from where they were kneading into steve's sides before running them through his hair with a sad sounding chuckle.

"he's nowhere."

now it's steve's turn to pause. his thighs that were clenched so tightly around the man's legs release and he slumps down with a frown pulling at his mouth and arms crossing over his chest.

"explain."

"i just," the man winces, face crinkling up before settling back into something more neutral. "you're like insanely hot, which i'm sure you know, and i needed something so i could talk to you so-"

"so you lied? there's no ex?"

"... there's no ex."

steve's done more thinking in the last 30 minutes than he expected to in the entire evening. he didn't come out to a gay bar to think about anything and yet here is, contemplating a fucking pros and cons list about where to go from there. does he yell, punch him for lying, storm out and end up back home all alone in a empty apartment? it would serve the guy right, letting him stew in his guilt for lying so he could make out with someone.

"i'm steve," he says after making up his mind, hand extended out in front of him.

the stranger grabs it shyly, shaking his hand up and down slowly while he stares at steve. "i'm eddie?"

"is that a question?"

"no, i'm just-" he cuts himself off and shakes his head as if to clear it, pinning steve with a confused glare. "you're not mad?"

"mad, no. at least i don't think so. confused as to why you think you couldn't just talk to me, yeah."

the man, eddie, runs a hand down his face and pulls it away with a cheeky grin that makes steve smile at him back. "i'm sure you've looked in a mirror! you know why i couldn't just talk to you!"

it has steve laughing, full belly ache inducing laughing, in eddie's lap in a gay bar on a night that he planned to waste by being drowned in self-pity. he doesn't think he's ever had a weirder night and it's funny. he lifts his leg and stands up, watching the smile disappear from eddie's face to be replaced with a frown. he reaches down and grabs eddie's hand, pulling him to his feet and watching a beautiful smile spread back across the other man's face.

they're the same height, he realizes, as he presses his mouth to eddie's ear.

"i think you owe me a dance. and," he pauses, looks eddie in the eye and lets his hand travel to eddie's ass to pull them as close as possible. "-an adventure."

[shybluebirdninja]

FADING BONDS: PART 1

Summary: Two broken souls—Logan, an aging hero, and a young woman overlooked by her own family—find solace in each other’s silent company, forming an unexpected connection that challenges their emotional walls.

Pairing             : UberDriver!Logan x Fem!Reader

Genre              : Angst, Fluff

It’s another shitty night. Work was slow, tips were bad, and you’re left with this hollow ache in your chest like always. You don’t even bother trying to smile anymore—it’s just you, some grease stains on your apron, and the endless comparison your family makes between you and your perfect sister.

She’s always had it together—looks, brains, a rich husband. And you? Thirty-five, slinging burgers for minimum wage and constantly reminded how you could be more. Should be more.

You shove your hands into your jacket pockets as you step out of the diner. The cold night air bites at your skin, and you almost welcome it. You don’t want to go home, but you don’t have a choice.

You call an Uber like you always do. You swipe through your phone, avoiding the group chat with your family where everyone praises your sister’s latest achievement. Whatever. You let out a long breath as the car pulls up—a beat-up old truck, not even one of those sleek Uber rides you see in ads.

The window rolls down, and you catch a glimpse of him. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Dark circles under his eyes, a wild mess of graying hair, and scruffy beard that’s seen better days.

His hands grip the wheel, knuckles pale, and when he finally looks at you, his eyes are sharp. Tired, but sharp. There’s something familiar about him, but you can’t place it.

“Get in,” he grumbles, voice low and rough, like gravel on pavement.

You hesitate for a second, but it’s late, and you’re too exhausted to care. The truck smells like old leather and cigarettes, and the seats creak under your weight. He doesn’t say a word as you buckle in.

You glance at him again. There’s something off about him—something different. But you don’t pry. You’ve had your fill of people digging into your life.

The engine rumbles to life, and he pulls away from the curb, driving like he’s got nowhere to be. The streets blur past, neon signs reflecting in the rain-slicked roads. You steal glances at him.

His hands on the wheel are weathered, like they’ve seen more than their fair share of violence. There’s a scar on his knuckles, deep and jagged, like someone carved it into his skin.

“Rough night?” you ask, trying to fill the silence. You’re not sure why you’re talking to him, but maybe it’s just the loneliness gnawing at you.

He grunts, which you take as a yes. His eyes stay on the road, though they don’t seem all that focused. Like he’s driving on autopilot.

“Yeah, me too,” you mutter, not really expecting a response.

Another grunt.

You lean back in the seat, staring out the window as the city slips by. It’s funny, in a way. You’ve felt invisible for so long, and now here’s this guy—an Uber driver, for God’s sake—who seems just as checked out of life as you are.

There’s something about the silence that feels heavy, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s like you’re both hanging on by a thread, but neither of you cares enough to grab onto something solid.

A few minutes pass before he speaks again, his voice cutting through the quiet like a knife.

“Work at that diner, huh?”

“Yeah. Glamorous life, right?” You chuckle, though it’s humorless. “Just livin’ the dream.”

He huffs out a breath that might’ve been a laugh, but it’s hard to tell. “Could be worse.”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at him. “Oh yeah? How?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers drum against the wheel, a small, frustrated movement. “Trust me,” he says, voice lower now, almost to himself. “It gets worse.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just nod, even though he’s not looking. The silence falls between you again, but now it’s a little heavier. You feel it, too—like he’s holding back something. Not that you have any right to ask. You don’t know him. Hell, you barely know yourself these days.

But then it clicks. The scars, the scruff, the broken look in his eyes. He looks like he’s been through hell and back. Like he’s got more stories than anyone should have to carry.

You’ve seen him before, or at least versions of him. The news, maybe? It hits you like a punch to the gut.

“You’re… Logan, right?” You ask it quietly, like you’re afraid to bring up the name. Afraid he’ll shut down.

For a second, he doesn’t respond. He just grips the wheel tighter. Then, without looking at you, he mutters, “Used to be.”

Your heart skips a beat. Logan. The Wolverine. But not the one you grew up seeing in stories. This man—this broken, tired man—is a shadow of what he once was. And for some reason, that hits harder than you expected. He’s not a hero anymore. Maybe he never was.

“So, what happened?” The question slips out before you can stop yourself.

His jaw tightens, and for a long moment, you think he’s not going to answer. Then, in a voice so low it’s barely audible, he says, “Life. Shit happens. People die.”

You swallow hard. You know what that feels like. Not the same way he does, but close enough. You don’t push for more. What could you say that would make a difference? You’ve both lost something along the way—him, more than you could ever imagine.

The rest of the ride is quiet, the rain tapping against the windshield like a heartbeat. When he pulls up to your building, you almost don’t want to get out. It’s strange, but this broken man feels like the first real connection you’ve had in years.

You linger, unsure of what to say. He doesn’t look at you, but you catch a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror. Those eyes—once fierce, now dulled by time and pain.

“Thanks,” you mutter, opening the door.

“Yeah,” he replies, gruff as always.

You step out into the rain, and as he drives off, you realize something. You’ve spent so long feeling invisible, unnoticed. But Logan—he saw you.

[cloudsmateria]

shitty friend. cloud strife x reader

tw: almost smut, forbidden romance

summary: tifa likes cloud, you're pretty sure. and you've been worrying about him ever since you left midgar, until one night in costa del sol you catch him sneaking out, following him on the way in the rain. u might know what happens next.

a/n: guys let me know if you want more of this i might make into a longer thing.

You were stuck sitting at your balcony watching the breeze run through the palm trees, Aerith and Tifa were dead asleep behind you after the long day you had all just had. You should be dead asleep, but your thoughts got the better of you tonight, anytime you laid down your continuous, tangled threads of thoughts came crashing over you. Sector 7, Sephiroth, your parents, Cloud. You were worried about him. He’s been acting off, he’s always been off but now he seemed a lot more lost, frustrated, trying to cover his thoughts up. Even his falling out with TIfa was uncharacteristic of him.

The thought of him was a strange amalgamation of feelings, comforting and fuzzy, or worrying. You don’t know what drew you so much to him, how you felt wasn’t something since you were a kid. You wanted to get to know him as much as possible, to be around him as much as possible, feeling giddier when he gave you a compliment, a look, an anything. Earlier on the beach he came to talk to you, while everyone else agreed to head back, that 10 minute talk felt like an eternity by the sunset, it made you feel warm. 

He worried you beyond what was going on with him. What was going on with you? Why did you like him so much? You had a creeping suspicion it was a crush, but denial didn’t let you acknowledge it. It wouldn’t work. Surely he likes someone else. And you’re pretty sure Tifa’s been in love with him since they were children, that must have gone both ways, especially against you who he’s only known for a month. You groan, leaning your head back against the pillar attached to the balcony fence you were sitting on. The thought of him added to your dizzying thoughts. 

You heard a door quietly creek down the hallway, along with some light noises from the creakier, shitty floorboards, and coincidentally, Cloud walking down the steps of the exit and going for the slim path to the main roads. What was on his mind this time? You silently hop down from your first-floor balcony, quickly walking toward him as you watched him get on the segway, zooming off quite a bit ahead of you. You got on one too, following him to the edge of the touristy bit of Costa Del Sol, getting off when leaving the area. Suspicious? You originally weren’t intending on hiding but that changed, trying to figure out what was going on. 

He ended up walking to the large pond by the cliffside, empty, and quiet, leaning up by one of the boulders and looking the moonlight on the water. You walked out, him looking at you. 

“Hey.”

“Following me?”

“I was worried about you." You said, leaning next to him.

“Why are you still up?”

“A lot to think about.”

“Haven’t got a moment to ourselves since before the reactor.” He said with a sincere look, the buzz was there again. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I’m here to talk to you but… Just everything… Sephiroth. Midgar. Shinra. Tifa. Aerith… You.”

“You shouldn’t worry about me.”

“So why are you out here so late? What are you thinking about?”

He shakes his head, it’s sweet how much you care. “Nothing, just needed a breath of air. Wanted to be alone for a bit but clearly the Planet had different plans.”

“Maybe the Planet is giving you a sign… I know you and I can tell something’s wrong, and you’re not alone. You should talk to me.”

It’s quiet for a second, before he decides to speak. “I’ve noticed about you that too, you never talk about what’s going on in your head.”

“If I did then would you talk to me?” 

He hesitates, he can’t remember the last time he really opened up to anyone about what was going on in his head, his thoughts. He opened one suspicion to Tifa, and look where that got him. But something about you makes him think you’ll listen, you won’t think he’s insane, or weak, something about you puts his head to ease. “Yeah. Why not?”

“I was thinking about my parents in Midgar. I’m mostly worried about you. I can tell you’re low, and there’s a lot on your mind.”

“What about your parents?”

You laugh awkwardly, thinking back to them. No one knows about it yet, Tifa and Aerith knows vague bits, but not the whole story. “My mum went missing when I was 15, and my dad has been missing since I was born.” You said, adding the second bit trying to make a joke out of it. “I don’t really know what happened to my mum, she went missing in Wall Market when she used to do underground fighting for money.”

“I’m…” He was lost for words. “Sorry, that���s horrible.”

“It was a long time ago, all of us have lost our parents so it’s not anything special. I just wonder what happened to her sometimes, and my dad, apparently he was a lovely man but she didn’t talk about him much, I have a few photos and a few letters he wrote to me before I was born.” You looked at Cloud. “He was a SOLDIER First Class in Shinra’s All-Star team before your time, so I assume he’s part of the regiment that died, if my mum got a letter she didn’t tell me.” 

He opened his mouth, but no words came out, there was a distinct solemn expression on his face. “You don’t have to say anything.” You said warmly, with a light laugh. 

“I’m sorry, it’s hard.”

“It doesn’t affect me that much. I found Aerith a year later in Sector 5, then Tifa when I eventually moved to Sector 7. So…” 

He stopped leaning against the boulder, beckoning you to come with him, you get up, walking beside him. “I don’t understand how you just open up to people like that.”

“I’ve never told anyone before.”

“What?”

“Tifa and Aerith just know I don’t have parents, they don’t know the details. Telling people about my past freaks me since I’ve never said anything for so long. But I know you feel the same way, I see myself in you, that’s why I can tell you’re off. We trust each other, don’t we? With everything.”

“I trust you, entirely.” You smile broadly, bumping into his shoulder, and in a strange way he felt at peace, being seen for once. 

“So you gonna keep up your end of the promise?”

“I don’t know, it’s a lot.”

“Nothing’s too much, don’t worry.”

“This might sound crazy, but sometimes, I don’t know if my thoughts are my own, it feels like they’re someone elses. I feel like I get memories triggered from a life and I don’t know if they’re mine or not, it’s all jumbled up, and it’s making me feel insane. Some of my memories don’t match up with Tifa’s, inconsistencies when we were in Kalm with Sephiroth. I started to doubt her, and we got into an argument. I feel crazy. I get these headaches and-” His words started to speed up at the end, groaning in annoyance at his own thoughts, wondering why he didn’t feel uncomfortable saying any of this. 

“It’s okay.”

“I get these headaches like my head is collapsing in on itself, ringing in my ears, static and jumping in my eyes, around Geneva, around fires, just randomly, and I see Sephorith and he’s not there, I can’t touch him, but it feels like he’s there talking to me, taunting me. I can barely move, it hurts so bad. Recently, I’ve been feeling like I’m losing touch with myself and thoughts that aren’t me are taking over me, although I’ve been able to keep it under control.”

“That explains so much… Maybe it’s some kind of mako poisoning?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think so. What do you think?”

“I don’t think you’re crazy or insane. I honestly think Sephiroth is messing with your head somehow.” You both have made it to the gazebo in the middle of the large pond, you stop to look at him, holding his hand in both of yours, his head blanking out. “We’ll get through this together, don’t worry.” A heavy weight had just been lifted off his chest, to be without judgement for once, to just say everything out loud without being trapped in his own head, alone.

You see him smile, like he’s about to laugh. “What?” You ask. 

“You scare me.” 

“What?”

“I’m too comfortable around you, it scares me out. You have some like, mind control materia on you. It’s weird.”

You laugh. “I can say the same thing about you.” He’s looking down at you with soft eyes, the green in them feels like it’s moving, the moonlight making them shine brighter. You can hear water lightly rippling around you, and looking at him so closely seems to drown the rest of the world out. When you look up at him, he can see the glossy reflection of the moon in your own eyes, lighting up your face. Your heart picks up, starting to hammer in your chest. You catch onto yourself, turning away and clearing your throat, walking to the edge of the gazebo to look over the water. 

You’re getting the wrong idea. You only met him a month ago, you’re out of your mind if you think there’s anything between you two other than friendship.

“Want to head to the beach?”

“It’s so late.”

“We’re used to restless nights anyway, right? It’s not often we get a moment of quiet in Costa Del Sol.” He said, grabbing your wrist to turn you toward him. “We’ll only be 30 minutes.”

“That is such a lie, Cloud Strife.” However, you let him slowly pull you out of the gazebo, in the direction of the beach with a huge smile on his face. 

“You want to, I know you do.”

“You’re such a bad influence.” You say, rolling your eyes sarcastically, walking up beside him, half the way there, you feel a drop on your shoulder. Then two. The four. A few seconds later, a light drizzle. You look at each other and lightning flashes hitting only a kilometer ahead and immediately rain starts crashing down. He grabs your hand since the rain is too loud for you to hear him well, leading you past a tree that seems to lead to nowhere, behind it an entrance into the inside of a hill.

“What’s this?”

“Found it yesterday by accident.” You take a few steps in the dark path, passing through some vine. 

“A lifespring.” You say breathlessly, there’s a small body of water in the middle with a gap in the tip of the hill, rain falling into the pond, the grass, flowers, mako crystals around it, untouched. There’s another hit of lighting and thunder. “Guess I’m stuck out here with you now.”

“This is better than the beach anyway. The rain and thunder add something.”

“Of course, you’d say that, Cloud Strife.”

“Never make a joke again.”

You smile. “It’s calming in a way, I agree with you. I like it too.” There’s a spot beside the pond, close to the crystal cluster you lay in, looking up at the hole rain pouring through, Cloud sits next to you, leaning on his elbows and looking with you. Your eyes shift to him, looking at how his hair has dropped down, swaying back, still fluffy, his side profile is gorgeous too. You could sit there forever looking at him. It seems to click, like a switch in your head. Your heart feels full, your stomach is in knots.

He looks back at you, and he catches the look in your eyes, a light, loving expression. It makes his head go hazy.

His eyes dart back to the sky. He didn't like it. Didn't want to like it. It was a problem, an inconvenience, and yet, he couldn't find himself caring about that. It was an amazing feeling, the feeling he had, even though it scared him. The way your eyes glimmered at him, the soft expression on your lips. 

“Thanks for letting me open up to you, Cloud. It meant a lot.”

"You know I'll always be there for you, you don't have to thank me. If anything, I have more to be thankful for.” There was a moment. “How do you feel about me?”

"I think you're great in every way." You say, vaguely, you cheeks heating up. "I love being around you, you're a good friend. How do you feel about me?"

He hesitates, a pause before he answers, but something about you made him think twice. 

"You're great." You felt a tinge of disappointment but it's what you expected. 

He's looking at you. He wants to kiss you. No. No. Stop. This is the worst thing he could ever do.

"But you don't really see me as a friend, do you?" Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's onto you.

"Cloud, don't be an idiot. Of course, I see you as a friend."

"Then why did you look at me like that earlier?"

"Look at you like what?"

He laughed. "I'm not stupid, you know. You don't have to be embarrassed."

"I..." You didn't know what to say. But you didn't need to know what to say.

“Am I getting the wrong idea?” He said quietly. You shake your head, butterflies being unleashed in your stomach, as his face is so close to yours. He had to be the one with that mind control materia on him, because your head was spinning, before he could even think about what he was doing, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours.

The butterflies in your stomach went crazy, you felt like you were flying, his lips were soft, the surprise took you off guard. When he pulled away, the two of you were breathless. You know what you were doing was wrong, but it was already too late, and you were too hazy to care. You turn over, sitting on his waist, his hands drifting to your hips.

He pulls you down again and kisses you, his arms wrapping around your neck, pulling you closer.

 You were kissing him back, not thinking, letting your feelings take over, you felt amazing, so good, so happy, like your stomach was on fire. He felt the same.

"This is bad." You mumbled against his lips.

"Mhm."

"We can't do this."

"Uh huh." He was barely listening to a word you were saying. 

You kissed him harder. He was all you could think about, how badly you wanted him, needed him. You knew you shouldn't be doing this, you were friends. Nothing could ever happen.

And yet, you were kissing him.

When you finally pulled away, your heart was beating a thousand times a minute, your chest was heavy. You didn't want to get off him, he flipped over changing the positions, pressing his lips against your neck. 

"You're not a good influence, Cloud Strife." You said, breathlessly.

"I know."

He was kissing you like it was his last night alive, his hands were everywhere, running through your hair, on your hips, your thighs. And yet, the two of you were not satisfied, not for a moment.

The feeling of his body pressed up against yours made your brain foggy, you could feel his muscles flexing under your touch.

You were completely lost in each other, unable to tell where you began and ended. His hands coming up to your chest, slipping under your flimsy crop top. You put your hand over his, stopping him, getting hit with the first sensible thought. Tifa.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry, we can't. We can't do this, I don't know what came over me."

"I... What?"

"We can't do this." You said. 

"Is there someone else...?"

"No, I’d be a terrible person, I can't do it, can’t do that to my friend..."

"To me?"

"No... Tifa likes you, I'm pretty sure. I just can't..."

"But..." He said, trailing off.

"I can't, and I'm sorry." You said. "You're great, I really like you, but I've already gone too far. “Fuck... I feel awful."

"Don't. I kissed you."

"Let's just... Forget about this, yeah? Just act normal." You tried to stand up, but he pulled you back down.

"I just don't understand, you want this. She's never said anything. Why should we ignore what's so strong between us?"

"But-"

"I'm not interested in her. This is right, us. Don't you feel it?"

"It's wrong, I'm not an option."

"Do you have feelings for me?"

"Yes, almost from the moment I met you and I didn't realise until now, because this can't happen. We're friends. We basically live with Tifa and Aerith, we can't go off complicating things like this."

"They don't have to know."

"Cloud."

"It's worth it, isn't it?"

"Fuck. Fuck. I don't know. I'm scared, and it's too soon, and I'm scared. We can't do this."

...

pt 2?

[kawaiijohn]

Good morning. Where do I even start today- trying to keep up with disaster relief is tough since a lot of my normal sources are without power or incredibly focused on doing the actual recovery.

I guess I'll start with one of the sources I get a lot of breaking news from and what he said yesterday:

Ryan Hall is a YouTube weatherman with an incredible team that delivers free weather broadcasting through his YouTube lives during major events. He's from east Kentucky and is very invested in Appalachia weather recovery and awareness. The man's a local and he's part of the reason I'm even aware of the risks heavy rains can bring in this region of the states.

And this post from the national weather service office in Greenville - Spartanburg SC, that serves a wide area around it;

"this is one (forecast) we wanted to get wrong. this is the worst event in our office's history."

This thread concludes: media was sent to Florida and so a lot of people don't quite know what's going on in appalachia- if you can I suggest reading this person's entire thread, which is too long for me to type or try to post on here and keep it readable, so try the second link under here for an unrolled thread that'll be easier for screen readers;

Minor update from yesterday's post: the governor of Tennessee finally fucking declared a state of emergency after his shitty day of prayer and fasting announcement. It took him like six hours to get off his ass and do it.

The power is still majorly out as of this morning in a vast area of the states. As you can see, a majority is in Appalachia, central Georgia, and the Florida big bend. Florida, I know for a fact, has tons of electrical technicians working to restore power and cell service.

This map really highlights the state divide from eastern Tennessee/Kentucky and the Carolinas too.

Despite the doom and gloom, a few things are starting to get better.

Quite a few dams managed to hold, and some roads in west NC are more passable, but there are so many people reporting that it was taking them upwards of seven hours to get out of Asheville, which is a major city.

Below has a few pics and statements about the state of roads late last night/early today.

The end of this tweet says "this is an absolute mega disaster for Western NC on the order of hurricane Katrina."

With how long the recovery might actually take, I'm certainly hoping it's handled better. One of the responses on this thread mentions no military presence/help as of 20 hours ago, but this has since changed with the national guard finally deploying in some areas.

Overall, fooding hit historical levels in a lot of states, with Atlanta GA even declaring a flash flood emergency at one point, which is the highest risk level of a flash flood warning - it means "get out and get up high NOW"

Rescue and recovery operations are on the way.

Local groups, storm chasers, and organizations are on the way. The national guard is deploying and helicopters are coming from volunteers and the military alike in the most affected areas.

Chris Hall, a storm chaser who works with a lot of organizations, has been driving around doing things like setting up starlink access in Asheville and helping serve hot food with a Florida based disaster recovery group since Friday.

Hell he even posted this, which if you know the waffle house index, is a little neat to see- for context, fema will look at waffle house closures in areas hit by natural disasters to gage preliminarily relief need.

Waffle houses are infamous for never closing. So for a limited menu to be served, it means this spot in GA was still hit pretty hard.

If you want to and can, here is one place with local donation resources for west NC

And different organizations and weather community types to help that are boots on the ground type volunteers with a bit more of a national focus;

If you are good at adding alt text or doing text description for screen readers, please help me with these posts. It is incredibly hard to do those sorts of things on mobile due to my own limitations.

Please be safe.

[gaykneecaps]

i feel so sad for people who hear the word love and only think of romantic love. they cage themselves into boxes. when i hear the word love, i think of staring out the car window, looking at the steep dives of the hilly countryside, knowing in that moment that i would never be able to remember the exact way the hills and mountains curved, but knowing i would always remember the love i felt for them and the land that i grew up on. when i hear the word love, i think of the dark music classroom under the stairs, deep underground in the music department. i think of leaving that music room, and looking up through the sky window to see a black sky and rain falling down onto the glass as the fairy lights on the roof reflect off of the ice cold panes. when i hear the word love, i think of standing with the wind tugging at my hair like a child with its plaything as i stare out at the ocean, knowing that it has existed long before me and will exist long after me, that my love for it will never be acknowledged because it has had so many love it before and so many will love it after, and knowing that there are other people out there staring at the same, endless blue sea of love and memories that i am. When i hear the word love, i think of the patch my sibling's partner gave me from one of their gigs, sewn into my pants with my other sister's embroidery thread. When i hear the word love, i think of craning my neck through the pain to stare up at the cloudy sky. When i hear the word love, i think of sitting under the green canopy of a tree, watching the rain fall in buckets and waves, and the feeling of the stray raindrops that find their way to me through the thick green leaves. When i hear the word love, i think of messaging my friends at 3am just to make sure they know how much i love them. When i hear the word love, i think of the pair of boots i got from the opp shop, kept together with various different shades of duct tape. When i hear the word love, i think of the memories i have of friends long past, of staying up until 1am with them to play minecraft on our glitchy, shitty computers. When i hear the word love, i think of the rain against my window as i listen to calming music, of hearing the beep of my headphones as i turn them off so i can listen carefully to the sound of the raindrops hitting the glass panes. When i hear the word love, i think of the old rusting spoon, hidden behind trees and thorns in the very back of the old paddock our family owns, the spoon having been there decades before we bought it, and knowing that it will be there decades after i die. When i hear the word love, i think of all the moments that have led me here. When i hear the word love, i think of the chickens in the back of my grandma's home that she hand-made a home for. When i hear the word love, i think of the pieces of my favourite wikipedia article that i have pinned up against my wall. When i hear the word love, i think of the shoes my sibling gave me, laced with the mud-tracked rainbow laces they handed me with a smile. When i hear the word love, i think of my sister's growing collection of sewing machines of various ages, of her collection of metal bits and bobs she finds in the side of the road. I think of watching her eye light up as she spots something glinting on the sidewalk, of bending down and picking up the piece of metal like a prize. When i hear the word love, i think of taking the train to school having had no meds, coffee or food just so that i could see my friend who had an exam that day, even though i was under no obligation to go to school. When i hear the word love, i think of the amount of love that i hold for the world that fostered everything that i love. I think of how much love i hold for the soil underneath me and the trees that grew out of it, the rain that falls from the sky, i think of staring up at the moon as a child and considering it my friend, watching how it followed me wherever i went. To convince yourself that love means nothing but an empty kiss and sorrowful promises sounds hollow and miserable.

[aurumacadicus]

I posted the first two parts of minotaur Steve (under same tag) specifically so you all could have some slight background on this scene (because I wanted it to hurt more probably):

"You have to come," Tony exclaims, angry, but there's some genuine panic threading his voice. "We've come this far, you can't just--"

"You dragged me this far," Steve snarls, and only feels a little bad when Tony takes a nervous step backward. "You took me from the labyrinth for your own reasons. It was never to rescue me from living and dying there. Now you want me to die to save you? You're no better than the gods."

Tony looks hurt for a moment, like Steve has taken one of his massive hands and just slapped him, but it doesn't hide the hint of shame that crosses his face. He recovers quickly, though, anger covering everything. "It's not my fault. I'm not the one who made that shitty prophecy. I wanted to solve my own problems. The gods are the ones who decided I couldn't!"

"So you'd sacrifice me?!" Steve bellows, and Tony skitters backward, clutching the Rogers shield to himself protectively. "Like I'm a dumb animal?! You should have taken one of the others. At least they wouldn't know one way or the other." He glares at Tony for a moment. He doesn't know how to explain how much this betrayal hurts, that Tony knew the gist of the prophecy meant Steve would probably die and had strung him along with him anyway. Had probably offered Steve the gift of his body knowing he would never have to fulfill it, he thought, perhaps uncharitably. He doesn't even want that, which doesn't help the hurt at all.

He should have known the world outside the labyrinth wasn't for him, is probably what hurts the most. There was a reason his mother had never brought him outside, even after she'd realized Steve could navigate the walls. She'd never asked him to find the way out so she could show him the sky. She'd known what Tony had apparently known, but hadn't had the heart to tell him--he's a monster, and men kill monsters. There will never be a place for him in open air.

"I hope the Hydra Cult burns your entire forest to the fucking ground," Steve snarls, and it mostly isn't true, but he wants Tony to hurt as much as he'd hurt him.

It works a little too well, he thinks, as Tony sucks in a breath that sounds more painful than helpful. His eyes fill with tears, and his face flushes with shame and embarrassment. There's a moment where he starts to feel guilty.

But Tony rallies quickly, flush turning to anger, blinking back his tears as if they never existed. "Fine. Go back to the labyrinth for all I care. I hope someone kills and roasts you like the beast you are before you get there," he snarls. He throws the shield at Steve's hooves. "I don't need this. I don't need you. I can take care of my forest myself."

"Sure," Steve spits back, glaring, as Tony turns on his heel to stomp down the road. The urge to remind him he had to save him from a few satyrs along the way is on the tip of his tongue, but something in him makes him swallow it back. Probably the part of him that remembers his mother's expression before she'd told him to run away and hide. It would be too low a blow, even for him, even as angry as he is.

He bends to pick up the shield. He doesn't understand how it can be a weapon. His mother had never spoken of it. But then, it had been from her husband's side of the family. He had inherited it because of her name, not because they'd accepted him. They'd only given it to him when Tony had mentioned a prophecy. Humans were scared of being on the wrong side of a prophecy, the village elder had said as he'd passed it over to them. It's heavy. He's reluctantly impressed Tony had carried it as long as he had, too anxious at the sight of the emblem burned into his hip to take it in his own hands.

Was Tony's kind understanding just pity, because he knew he was bringing Steve to die, Steve wonders. Or was he being kind to be kind? He'll never know, he figures, turning to chuck it into the sea.

Then he hears a sound, perhaps the most awful one he's ever heard--agony, and defeat, and dismay, all at once. His mother had instilled a conscience in him. He turns.

Tony is crumpling to the ground. Steve thinks he's tripped, for a moment, except his hands don't go out to catch himself. He just falls, and lies there where he landed, small and unmoving. Like the gods had struck him down where he stood for his hubris.

"Tony," Steve gasps, only half against his will, and thunders after him.

Steve is so careful as he turns him onto his back, feeling awkward and unwieldy. Tony's shaking--seizing, he remembers his mother calling it once, eyes rolled back in his head, saliva foaming in the corners of his mouth. As he watches, a drop of blood begins to trickle from his nose. He cradles Tony's head in one big hand, so he doesn't hit it on anything, feeling helpless, just like he had as his mother had passed away in his arms.

Tony doesn't pass away, though. Eventually, he sags in Steve's hold, eyelids fluttering. He coughs, and a fine mist of blood fills the air in front of his mouth.

"Tony," Steve whispers, pulling him close to his chest. "What happened?"

Tony says nothing for a few minutes, focused on catching his ragged breath. Finally, though, he croaks, "They cut through one of my heartwoods." He coughs again, then sobs, looking up at Steve with liquid eyes. "Steve, they're killing everyone in the east of my forest."

Steve frowns. "How do you know?"

"I can feel them dying," Tony sobs, and somehow he manages the strength to grab Steve's arm, crying in earnest. "I can feel all of them dying around me. I couldn't protect them. I couldn't do enough. They're dying because of me."

"Tony," Steve whispers, cradling him to his chest, as Tony sobs and sobs.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Take Me Back To Eden

Shadowheart x F! Tav

18+ thigh riding, fingering (f!), breast worship, light dirty talk, sub/dom, tenderness, implied trauma, porn with plot

Escaping the vampire lord's castle, she made her way to the Selune outpost. Into Shadowheart's waiting arms...

-

Part 1

"Wait, he didnt even want to make you a full vampire?" The disgust in her voice dripping.

"Right?!" Tav exclaimed, huffing.

Laying face to face in Shadowheart's bed, safe in the candle kissed dark.

The way to her had been an arduous one. Grabbing a stray cloak from the back of a chair she shrouded herself leaving the beach. Though he must have thought her dead after the fall, she didn't want to risk it. He had spies everywhere, word of her being spotted in the Lower City would not bode well for her chances.

Making her shaky way through the streets to the carriage at the edge of the road. "West, as far as you can take me." Handed the driver a hefty bag of coin.

"Yes saer."

When she finally shambled to the mouth of the road leading to the outpost, Shadowheart was there. Rushing to her and taking her broken body in her arms.

"You're here! Oh Gods you made it!" Both joy and concern pitched through her voice.

Going limp against her arms Tav smiled in disbelief. "I made it..."

"Oh let's get you inside," She hushed, looping an arm under her shoulders. "You'll need to see our healer."

"I thought you were my healer..." She teased, pulled to walk. Leaning her head into Shadowheart's shoulder. Her silver hair tickling her face.

"Oh sure, but Francesca is very powerful. You'll be in good hands Tav, on Selune I swear it."

"Good hands. It's been so long." She laughed shakily.

Now, swaddled in dark Shadowheart rolled her eyes. "Making you, the savior of Baldur's Gate, a spawn. What an asshole..."

Tav laughed. It helped to talk about him like this. Like he was just some shitty ex. Well, he wasn't not that. What a mess.

Heart heavy again, she still missed him. The him before the ascension. Gods she was so in love back then, her whole body soaked with it. He was her everything.

"Do you miss him?" Shadowheart asked gently, seeing the strain on her face.

"All the time." She sighed, Shadowheart's hand threading into hers.

"But he's gone. My love is for a ghost."

"I'm sorry Tav," Pushing her hair behind her ear. Voice so soft, fingers equally so.

"I dont regret it, being with him. Not one bit. If I'd only had more foresight, been more forceful at the ritual..."

"Hey," Shadowheart scooted closer to her. "You cant fault yourself, you were doing what you thought was best. You always wanted us to follow our own paths. Make our own choices."

Eyes full of adoration. "You cant blame yourself for not pushing back against his wishes."

Tav smiled, breathing out a sigh. "Maybe. I hope you're right." She nuzzled into Shadowheart's hand. "You're too good to me."

"I think, after everything," She hushed, pulling closer still. Eyes meeting, pupils wide, face flushed. "You're owed some goodness."

Her warm mouth sliding against her. Tav moaned gently into her. Hand coming to cradle her head. A heat rising in her belly.

It had been so long since she had been touched like this. All soft, exploring. Desired. No force, no possessive pulls, not a piece of claim here in her touch.

She pulled her closer, pressing their bodies together. Shadowheart's legs tangling in hers. Mouths hot and needful. Their breath a lustful miasma around them. Tongues twisting.

Shadowheart's little moans were so sweet. A soft bird call. Tav left her mouth, kissing and biting softly at her neck. Her body arched under her. Hands reaching for her blouse.

"You sure you're not a vampire?" She teased through panting breaths.

Tav laughed, helping Shadowhearts efforts in pulling off her blouse.

"Maybe just for tonight." Tav smiled, leaning back to bare absent fangs.

"Oh! So frightening!" Shadowheart admonished. Leaning up to kiss at her bare torso. Lips velvet against her scarred skin.

Tav moaned into her touch. Hand threading behind her head. A throbbing need between her legs.

When her lips met her erect nipple Tav groaned, eyes pulling closed. "There," She encouraged, trying to not pull her hair. "Right there."

Shadowheart hummed teasingly, looking up at her through her lashes. Tongue sliding slow against her peaks. Hand holding her hip, other pushing up her back to the space between her shoulder blades. Pushing her chest into her mouth.

When she took her fully in and started nibbling and suckling Tav thought she might go blind with lust. Hips already rolling against nothing.

Trembling hands pulling her robe open, the ties coming loose and falling away. Her pale form bare to Tav's eyes. Drinking her in as she worshipped her breasts. And Tav was thirsty, parched. Insatiable.

Gripping her hips she lifted her onto her thigh. Hands pushing her ass into the muscle of her leg.

Shadowheart shivered, hips already seeking. Pulsing down into her thigh. Mouth more vicious, rough, against her swollen tips.

Tav mewled, head thrown back. Hips bucking. Trying to hold her thigh taut for her as she ground down. Leggings already wet under her riding.

Shadowheart's hand pushed into her waistband, lithe fingers searching desperate. Finding her easily, already a hard mound. Rubbing tight perfect circles into her clit.

Tav gripped her ass, gritting her teeth. Pulling her hard into her thigh. Already embarrassingly close. Touch starved. Touch drunk.

Shadowheart switched breasts, her hand taking up the nipple her mouth left. Flicking it and twisting between her fingers. Mouth pulling and slobbering over the new peak obscenely. Hand still below pushing back, teasing at her entrance.

"Gods please," Tav begged, for what she wasnt sure. More, definitely more.

Shadowheart pushed inside her, two fingers hooking. Pulsing roughly.

"You're so wet," She smiled into her chest. Biting at her engorged peak.

Tav moaned in agreement, beyond words. Hips fucking her hand. Panting breaths rising.

"Are you going to come for me?" Shadowheart asked sweetly, hand leaving her chest to take her long braid in her hand, tugging it taut. Tav's head falling back with the pull, exposing her long neck.

"Yes," She panted, Shadowheart's lips coming up to lave long licks up her exposed throat, sending shivers down her spine. Limbs feverish, pelvis trembling. "Dont stop."

Shadowheart's fingers sped up, plunging into her viciously. Palm of her hand meeting her clit in rough pulses.

Tav whimpered out a handful of cries, feeling the cord about to snap. Hips moving of their own accord. Feral.

Her hands tangling in Shadowheart's hair as it hit her. A guttural shriek threatening to spill out she shoved her shirt into her mouth, muffling her cries. Like a thousand arrows striking her pelvis it ripped through her. Hips rising and bucking uncontrollably. Her muffled scream bringing a smile to Shadowheart's flushed, fluid slicked face. Pinching her nipple one more time for her own amusement.

Not far behind her Shadowheart picked up her pace, hips fast and hot. The fabric on her thigh thoroughly soaked through. Her breasts moving in tandem with her desperate riding. Eyes screwing shut. Little pleading mewls. Going rigid, her eyes bursting open. Mouth falling slack into a silent scream. Hands gripping Tav's hips as her body trembled, still grinding sloppily into her hard thigh.

Tav saw stars as the high pulled through her. She hadn't come so hard in a long time. Her body so sensitive to touch.

Taking Shadowheart into her shaking arms, burying her face in her neck. Them staying like that for a moment, holding eachother anchor.

"Gods below," She admonished. Looking wild into Shadowheart's eyes.

"I agree," she said, eyes alight with laughter. "You almost killed me Tav."

"Me?!" She scoffed, cradling her face in her hands. Kissing her swollen mouth softly. "I think I saw the after world for a second there." Pulled back. "I dont know how many more near death experiences I can take."

Shadowheart smiled up at her. "No sea water this time though." Hand cupping over hers on her cheek.

"Did you hear?" A worshipper hushed to her friend, carrying their breakfast together.

"What?"

"That lord! Ancunin I think..."

Tav's hackles bristled.

"He killed his whole staff!"

"No! Surely that cant be true!"

"Apparently one of his consorts ran off and he went into a blind rage! Everyone says it's a vampire den, so I believe it. That he's a vampire himself!"

Tav stood, hands trembling as they wandered away. Whispering amongst themselves.

She knew she was safe here, only a trusted handful knowing her identity. To all others she was just another pilgrimage coming to take up rites.

Still, that wording made her anxious. Ran off. Not dead. She knew the rumor mill was not a trusted source, but it made her stomach turn.

"Everything okay?" Shadowheart came up beside her, hand reassured on her forearm.

"Yeah," Tav sighed, taking the fruit she offered her. Picking up her drink as they started to walk. "Just locals making up stories."

"Oh they're always on about something." Shadowheart agreed, taking a bite of the peach she was carrying. The light dappling her silver hair as they went towards their favorite sitting spot. "Last week they said they saw a bronze dragon in a cave nearby." Shooting her a withering look. "It was an owlbear."

Tav laughed, lifting her drink to her lips. Braid swinging behind her. Their feet hushing through the well trodden undergrowth.

"So I was thinking," Shadowheart started as they sat down. "I know bringing a bunch of people here would call attention. But I want to let everyone know you're safe, that you're here." She mused. "I think we can get away with bringing at least one of our old companions around."

Tav smiled. "Aww I'd love to see everyone, especially Karlach! Oh I miss her. But she's still in Avernus with Wyll right?"

Shadowheart nodded.

"Hmm," Tav thought. "I guess I'm realizing I've been gone so long I dont know whose still around." She laughed sheepishly.

"What about Halsin?" Shadowheart offered, sliding her a knowing look. "He's in the Shadowlands but I know he'd drop anything to come see you."

"Oh please," Shadowheart waved away her aghast look. "I remember how you two looked at eachother. Oh he was smitten with you. A puppy following you around camp." She laughed lightly. "While I greatly enjoy your company I think you need to spread your wings. Gods, Tav you've been stuffed away in a castle for years, have some fun." Cradling her face in her soft hand. "And if you decide you want to come back to me, I'd be delighted to have you."

Tears threatening at the edges of her eyes she smiled at her. "I think you're right." Took a shaky breath out. "It's time to live again."

"Fuck it, send for him."

"That's the spirit." Shadowheart cheered and kissed her softly.

~

Part 3

[paperbackribs]

The Gift (3a) (Witch Steve AU)

previous: Chapter 2: The Aftermath next: Chapter 3 Boys Are Witches Too (Part B) Ao3 Link - Chapters will be updated ahead of Tumblr Content: steddie fic, 1K words

Last chapter, Steve had a haunting vision of his Nana before comforting Dustin about Eddie's near death. This chapter, family weighs in on Steve's decision to save Eddie and it's time to explain himself to his friends.

Chapter 3 Boys Are Witches Too (Part A)

“Steven, as soon as you get this message, call me,” Mary Harrington’s strident voice carries through the answering machine to Steve’s reluctant ears. He sighs, fiddling with the button that will rewind the cassette, ready to be written over later.

After leaving the hospital, he’s managed to get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, in his own bed and without feeling the need to clutch at a weapon.

He had finally washed off the grit, blood, and ash of the Upside Down that had felt permanently embedded in his skin and hair. And the soft material of the sleep shirt and shorts he now wears feels like a sort of balm after the roughness of Eddie’s vest rubbing against his wounds the past few days.

But exhaustion still drags at Steve, and he’s irritated with having just walked into the staircase banister.

The vacant space to the left of his field of vision isn’t debilitating; he can see mostly fine, it’s just that his peripheral vision is off. But getting a hang of it on top of the physical and spiritual exhaustion of fighting Vecna and Eddie’s revival was just another pip on top of the shitty Cherries Jubilee of the past week.

Better than the alternative, he reminds himself. Eddie had woken up, which had broken open a reservoir of relief that Steve thought he’d already dealt with.

But seeing Eddie open his eyes and speak clearly and coherently had released an anxiety that Steve hadn’t even realised he had been worrying at, like unconsciously scratching at a scab.

That he brought Eddie back to life was all well and good, but what if Steve had damaged him in some way? Messed with the threads of destiny to the extent that he brought the other boy back wrong.

He hadn’t though. Other than a brief panic attack that his Uncle Wayne had talked him down from, holding Eddie’s face in his hands, breathing deep and calming breaths together, Eddie was alive and well.

Between the bustle of Hop coming back alive, the intrusion of Doc Owens, and starting to manage the charges against Eddie, Steve hadn’t been able to do much more than nod at the other guy from the back of the room.

Eddie had looked overwhelmed and pale, but he had stared at Steve with an unnerving intensity. Steve wonders whether he looks so ugly now with the one white eye that Eddie hadn’t been able to look away. Like a terrible car wreck on the side of the road.

And now his mother wants to talk to him. It’s been 48 hours since he reached across worlds and pulled Eddie through, and his mother Knows and wants to talk to him.

It wasn’t that long ago that Coleman had brought him into the principal’s office to discuss the ‘dangerous road’ he was taking as his grades tanked and he quit the swimming team. This feels unpleasantly similar.

He punches in the Chicago office number through to her direct line and greets her before she says anything.

A pregnant pause hangs in the air before she quietly asks, “What the hell did you do?”

Steve rubs at his forehead tiredly, “Time to break out the wooden spoon, Mom.”

“I can’t believe you did something so reckless. Was it The Sacrifice? Is that it? What did you give up? Not your life obviously, since you’re still able to call your mother two days later.”

She sounds so much like Nana sometimes, he thinks nostalgically. Wishing that she was alive and here to guide him right now.

“My eye. Only the one.”

“Was it Robin?” His mother had gotten to know Robin after the destruction of Starcourt Mall, even if it was only after the disastrous event that she’d been able to return to Hawkins. During their weekly phone calls, she had come to understand how deeply he cares for his friend.

“No, it’s a guy. Eddie. He got mixed up with the Upside Down too and I Saw it, Mom. It was going to be awful.”

“Still, you risked your life, baby.” Steve shifts on his feet as his mother’s voice thickens. Like him, she would rather pinch the tears away than let anyone see her cry so to hear it in her voice makes guilt settle heavily in his chest.

“It was worth it,” he insists.

She audibly sucks in a breath, “He means that much to you?”

“It’s not like that,” he says. “I mean, he’s a good guy,” he adds hastily. “But it was going to affect everyone, it was going to change Dustin.” She knows how much Dustin means to him.

“And,” he continues without much thought, ��he really is a good guy. Like the best with the kids, he’s funny, and there’s just so much life to him, you know. I never could have lived with myself if I had done nothing.”

“Okay,” she hums, but Steve can’t tell whether he’s convinced her.

“You’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” he assures her.

Steve doesn’t bother to ask whether she’d told his father about what he had done; he’s pretty sure their secretaries have conveyed all communications for the last eighteen months.

During their Sunday phone calls, Mary talks about her work as an environmental lawyer and Steve talks about Robin and the kids; neither likes to delve deeper into their family dynamics.

He gives her a brief outline of the past week, leaving out the more violent events including the final battle, but gives her enough so that she understands that it’s over too.

Her gifts have always leaned more towards the earthy than the ethereal, like Steve’s and his Nana’s. So, when he tells her that he Knows this is done, a deep sigh of relief comes down the line. She hadn’t been able to convince him to leave Hawkins in ‘83 and now she won’t need to keep trying.

He hopes, a week later, standing in his kitchen this time, that his friends likewise accept his story...

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

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@littlewildflowerkitten

@lostonceandneverfound

@manda-panda-monium

@matchingbatbites

@nburkhardt

@newtstabber

@obliosworld

@oliver-sykes

@platonicbesties4life

@probablyscreamingintothevoid

@rajumat

@scoops-stevie-archive

@spectrum-spectre

@tartarusknight

@whackyrach

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 16, 2021 11:00 p.m. grandma ong's house

there’s a strangeness to a quiet enclave in a bustling metropolis, unexpected in the same manner as grant and henry’s long, unbroken brotherhood. nothing about the baseline rustle of neighbors carrying in paper grocery sacks and kids kicking a soccer ball resembles the eternal merry-go-round of life–max-capacity subway cars, clueless and loud tourists, and locals who drift through their day–just down the road. and yet above this neighborhood–and the entire sprawling city–hangs a common thread, a bluish hazy night sky.

“that was wild,” henry says, suppressed laughter bursting forth from deep in his chest, “all day everyone’s defaulted to speaking english because, well, look at you, and you even had me fooled. i actually forgot you kind of speak basic korean."

“the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma.”

henry rolls his eyes dramatically but in the same split second, throws an arm around grant’s shoulders.

“i was afraid that soup was going to fly out of your mouth.” grant returns the gesture, though it requires him to lean down so as to not smother henry’s face instead. “too close for comfort.”

“well, in my defense, i was not expecting you to reply to my grandma asking me, “daehyun, i haven’t seen your friend since your wedding. how did you meet again?”

grant shrugs. “we met on a playground twenty-four years ago.”

“on my very first weekend as a resident of the semi-good ol’ US of A. in the opposite situation. i remember being so pissed that my parents made me go out to ‘make friends’ that weekend. not moving, mind you, but making friends. i guess they were psychics, though, because apparently, it didn’t bother you that i didn’t speak your language for at least a couple weeks.”

“people say i could talk to a wall.”

henry laughs again. “you could. you’re very chatty.”

“did it bother you that i wrote you some really, really, really shitty letters in korean in the early days based on online translations i found?”

“no, that was sweet.” no question about it–the joy in henry’s eyes is determined. “they were definitely horrendous, but it’s the thought that counted. you could do better now. oh, and i think i still have all those letters. i should. i did box them up when i moved out of my parents’ house.”

they were, all things considered, never very much alike, beyond the fact they both liked cats but weren’t allowed to have any. henry’s mom was allergic, but grant’s parents despised pets. otherwise, they were polar opposites. grant always liked math and science, wanted to work with airplanes, and preferred to spend his free time with others playing tabletop RPGs and computer games; henry always liked art and history, wanted to be a photographer, and preferred to be left alone to his vintage film camera and pottery. grant’s parents raged when he selected aviation over medicine; henry’s parents and grandparents, all artists, were delighted by his dreams of photography. moreover, grant selectively speaks his mind, while henry rarely minces words.

and still–

the shrill honk of a car off in the distance disturbs grant’s thoughts.

“you really could talk to a wall, but hey, why did you approach me on the swing set that day? you were already busy hanging out with your sisters. and your cousins. why me?”

and still, the two have fused into one. the world turned upside down; grant paints these days, henry has long been a willing dungeons and dragons player, and separation from one another is like losing half your body. if henry walked away now–ended this messy half-hug early–grant would turn to ash.

“well,” grant begins, drawing out the suspense with an exaggerated sigh, “first of all...”

[acroagoraphobe]

What Makes a Man a Monster

Chapter 6: The Man Who Came Up With A New Concept Of Death.

Hiii yeah just felt like writing a chapter today! (Because I just edited a fandom wiki article about me and Im in a writing mood.)

ANYWAYS.

Violence iminent, be warned.

ALSO I MIGHT NOT DO THE COLORED TEXT FOR A FEW CHAPTERS BECAUSE IT'S ANNOYING TO HAVE TO DO AND I WANNA MAKE CHAPTERS QUICKER :3 (Also ill be able to make longer chapters without them takjng so long to add colors and text effects in :)

The ominous sounds of the deser wafted into to the ears of all who could hear. Distant screams and gunshots being heard from a road far away from the town of Novac. Sixer's next destination.. Hopefully.

But now, he was too busy making those distant screams of pain. And they werent his.

He had already grabbed his arm and reatached it, It stuck back on like a magnet and became good as new. The gore of his arm being blown to bits all forgotten already.

The few remaining raiders met their demises at the bullet from a classic. A 10mm pistol covered in blood, dirt, and wasteland.

Bodies fell to the ground, pooling red liqud around them before it soon seeped into the dusty soil beneath. Sixer's Luck always had a habit of somehow going his way.. either that.. or.

He was so unfortunate that it looped back around to the luck of a rabbit's foot strapped to your belt loop.

After the raiders had all dropped, like the scavenger Sixer was... he got looting. He found a fistfil of caps and some chems. Snatching it all up along with the ammo from the dead attacker's weapons, dropping each individual bullet into a pocket in his bag, clinking together as he closed the pocket and shifted his bag.

One of the raiders also had a bottle of shitty booze. Fuckin hell it'll work I guess. Sixer took a swig, not giving a fuck about whos mouth had been on it before. I mean hell can't get worse than the Bubonic Plague, and he's had that before.

Which is a long story for another time that crosses too many history books to list it all. History books that are probably obliterated and gone by now except for in those vaults.

After he pilfered the remains, Sixed went back to his usual activities on the road, Which consisted of walking. And Walking. And looking at a cactus over there. And avoiding talking to those traiders.

Then seeing a group of NCR soldiers get attacked by a bunch of men in skirts and football gear, making them look like absolute losers. I mean what man wears a damn skirt. WEAR PANTS FOR FUCKS SAKE.

Of course not bashing on other men who wear skirts, Just legion dipshits.

Sixer just walked past, trying his best to not get involved. And he didn't, because he couldn't give two shits what the skirt boys and bear bitches were fighting over today.

Soon enough he reached the town of Novac, covered in blood and his clothes destroyed to high hell. With only drugs, 10 caps, and a bottle of alcohol to his name. Oh and this gun too I guess.

He Stumbled his way into Novac and up a set of stairs into this giant-ass dinosaur, when inside, slapping his few caps and his chems down on the counter.

[I need Shit to fix my clothes.]

"Well, I might have something lyin around.. A sewing kit and some fabric? Get all sorts of stuff in here ."

The man at the counter flinched slightly when the items were slapped onto the couner, not expected Sixer to come in so suddenly and aggresively.

[This better be good enough, Dinosaur fanboy, cause it's all I got.]

"I guess it'll have to do, ya look like yeh've been through hell n' back there-"

[Long story, Wouldn't believe me.]

"All right, let me grab some things for you."

The man who's name wasn't exactly important because lets face it, he's not plot relevant other than this, came back with a needle and thread along with scrap fabric.

Placing it down on the counter and pocketing the caps and chems that Sixer had placed on the counter.

Sixer soon stormed out and found a nice rock to sit on, taking off his shirt and stitching up the massive hole in it with the fabric that was only a slightly different color from his white Tank top.

It was more of a grey-beige fabric, and it barely hid most of the bloodstains and holes. But whatever, It worked. Stupid shitty clothes getting fucked up all the time. Fuckin covered in dirt and crap.

Sixer soon after worked to stitch his pants, an entire pant leg had been blown off and it kinda sucked having to make a whole ass new pant leg. Although Sixer definitely had the tailoring skills needed, since he's been fixing his own clothes since WAY before sewing machines were invented or even thought of.

Sixer finally finished fixing his clothes up after the whole ordeal and simply sat on that rock, thinking about what to do next.

[demetriandelibinaryboyfriends]

WAIT UR THE ‘demitri and eli take a gay little road trip to find miguel’ GUY?? I LOVE THAT FIC OMG

YES HI I'm That Guy!!! That's my fic!!! Thank you for still noticing and reading it!!! <3 <3 <3

TBH it hasn't been getting a lot of comments or interaction lately, so I wasn't sure if people were still following it or really thinking about it much D: I definitely am going to continue and I have pretty solid plans up through about Chapter 13, but I got caught up in good old Adult Things (got a car part stolen and had to speedrun finding a job, and by some insane miracle I landed a good one???) and had to sorta get my life together for a while. I was also pretty bummed and discouraged that the Elimetri fandom kinda fizzed out after S5, and the hype that was there after S3 and S4 seems few and far between these days </3 And when someone DOES show up and get hyped about my boys, it always seems like they get bored after like 2 weeks and vanish into the ether again D: I feel like an immortal roaming the ruins of a once great and thriving civilization akjsalksufhdulrh

BUT ALL THAT TO SAY this is really encouraging <3 <3 Love that people are still invested, and now that my life has stabilized a bit, I may actually get Chapter 7 done ^^; The canon Mexico plotline was the most underwhelming thing I've ever seen in my entire life (and Season 5 as a whole and I just...did not really Vibe for a lot of reasons), and it's frustrating because like!!! Why would you introduce this grand epic quest for Miguel to find his dad and learn about his Dark Past™️ and then have it be over in 5 minutes and reveal nothing interesting whatsoever about Hector!!! Like if the point was to have Johnny prove he could be a good father figure to Miguel after all and to cause conflict between Miguel and Sam, then there were like...ways to do that without yeeting Miguel to another country with no ultimate character development or narrative payoff :/

And they really expect me to believe Miguel and Robby sat in petty stony silence the whole several-hour drive home and didn't even try to talk through ANY of their issues??? Didn't have ANY road trip bonding whatsoever??? WHAT A FUCKING WASTE. LAME.

ANYWAYS. I know a lot of people were against the Mexico subplot from the jump (mainly because of the potential problematic directions the show could go with it I think), but I might have been in the minority in being excited for it and thinking it had a lot of potential to see a world outside the Valley. Potential which it...did not fill at all. Like at least show us what sketch-ass shit Hector actually DOES!!! My god!!! Also not Robby being like "I wanna make things right with Miguel!!!" and then...clearly not doing that. Like considering their apartment brawl later was the first time Robby has shown onscreen remorse for what he did to Miguel, Robby didn't even apologize in the car ride on the way back??? Or speak a single word to Miguel about the whole, like...Paralysis Incident??? For all Miguel knows, Robby was tagging along just for kicks ajhdsukhfuyh

The whole thing is a mess tbh. I blame rushed production for S5. Deadass thank god for the writer's strike??? Maybe with more time for the writers to actually do their jobs, S6 will give its plotlines some room to breathe.

SO YES, long story short, I wanna do this plot thread some justice and also have my OTP be gay as shit the whole time <3 And give Miguel the epically dangerous adventure of self-discovery he deserves while ultimately still showing him he is very loved and does not need his shitty biological dad!!! God bless!!!

Thank you again for sliding into my inbox about this fic, I am always looking for motivation to keep going with it :D

(For anyone who doesn't know, the first 6 chapters of the fic in question are posted on my AO3, SummerPhlox!)

[le-trash-prince]

OF Episode 8 Thoughts

I’m sorry but I cannot deal with Ray. I cannot. I CAN’T DEAL WITH HIM. I could complain about every single thing Ray did this episode but that would take a whole post and it would mostly be me just repeating myself.

Love seeing sad heartbroken Boston drinking alone at the bar while looking at the one picture he and Nick had together. 💖

Boston x Atom is the hookup I would not have predicted a day ago and yet here we are. I support you chasing tail, Atom, but also I wish you knew what you were getting into doing that right in front of Nick’s face and I hope you don’t get murdered.

Also it was HILARIOUS watching Nick try to have a normal conversation with Boston as if he didn’t grossly violate Boston’s privacy on multiple occasions. I love that little guy.

I’m so glad Sand went to the party to be a wingman to his roommate’s stalker situation instead of just “I think I would have a good time at this party” that everyone was afraid about from last week’s preview

I ship Sand x Sand’s Freddie Mercury bi soulmate more than SandRay at this point tho. Like they could have had something but RAY. And you know when the guy is immediately like “I’m not getting involved in this,” that he would have been solid. He would not have messed around. TALK ABOUT A MISSED OPPORTUNITY

I feel bad that Sand keeps trying to set boundaries and create distance between him and Ray and Ray keeps stomping all over those boundaries. Like Sand is trying, I can see that he’s trying, but it’s not enough. I may rant more about this later.

I really liked the scene of Mew at the bookshop, and I liked how his shirt felt like inverse colors of what he’d worn at the shop with Top. I may make a separate post for this if someone else hasn’t already done it.

It hurts seeing Mew revenge era turn into Mew self destruction era, but I guess that’s where revenge gets you 😔

Mew kissing Ray right in front of Top’s sad wet face was nasty as hell (positive)

Top “I don’t care if Mew ends up with me as long as he’s happy” he’s really switched places with Ray at this point

Top showed his simp side big time this episode. I feel his pain tho watching Mew go down this road 😔 But if I were Mew I’d be pissed off if I woke up to find my pants off and my ex cuddling me, and that single action may undo everything Top did to take care of Mew lmfao

I really enjoyed seeing Cheum snap, and I am SO interested in what she said about her and Boston being third wheels to Ray and Mew. We’ve seen them being less than mediocre friends to Ray, and the easy assumption there is that they’re tired of being babysitters. But has Ray’s crush on Mew been the only reason he’s hung around the group for all these years? Have Boston and Cheum spent years feeling like they didn’t really matter to him? I love this thread and I hope we get more of it.

I also really feel for Cheum being upset about her friend group falling to pieces. Like yes, it’s a shitty and imperfect group, but sometimes that’s all you have, and losing it can suck.

On the ep 9 Preview:

I haven’t had a chance to go through the tags yet but I hope other ppl caught on coz WHAT IF DADDY DAN IS THE DADDY IN BOSTON’S PHONE????

This is me asking for a BostonNickDan threesome please just SOMEONE have a threesome

[washipink]

The Rain Review (Finale)

If you’ve been with my blog for the past week or so, You’ll know I’ve been reading a childhood favorite webcomic of mine, Rain by Jocelyn Samara. And you’d probably be wondering what happened to my review of the comic Year-by-Year. The answer? I went on a road trip for a few days and couldn’t help but read the whole rest of the comic. So today I’m here to talk about my overall thoughts.

For the uninitiated, Rain is a slice-of-life webcomic that started in 2010. It’s about a transgender teenage girl of the same name navigating her senior year at a Catholic high school. There’s a LOT of romantic and gender-related drama. Friends are made and lost. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll see yourself in the characters somewhere along the line.

My experience with Rain prior to this project only goes up to about 2014. I started reading it in middle school on Smackjeeves.com. Y’all remember Smackjeeves? I miss it every day. Apparently it redirects to a shitty webtoon clone now. IDK where I’m gonna find peoples’ sprite comics produced in 2013 now.

Anyway, I bring this up to say that I had stopped keeping up with Rain even though she was a major part of me accepting who I was. When I found out that her story had come to a close, I had a real need to find out how.

This time, there won’t be a plot summary because this comic ran for 11 years and it takes me long enough to do just 1. That and, if I may spoil my final opinion, I really want you to give it a read for yourself.

ART

I want to get this one out of the way because it’s a very common critique that even I hold to some extent. The art in Rain is a clear indicator of the era its artist hails from. In 2010, anime and manga had just hit the American mainstream. Everyone was reading those “How to Draw Anime” books and took a lot of notes from them. To showcase, here’s a page from Chapter 1, the first color page in fact.

This page is actually one of the busier pages in terms of art. Jocelyn doesn’t usually do background details much, if at all. Usually, backgrounds are depicted as solid colors that are associated with specific locations. Grey for the apartment, sky blue for outside, light green for school, etc. But the way Rain is drawn here bears a striking resemblance to the styles a LOT of people were using at the time.

While Jocelyn’s style stays rooted in, shall we say, American who got really into anime, her techniques evolve over time. Especially in terms of displaying what’s going on with limited background detail.

As an example, I really enjoy this scene. Rain and Emily are, in universe, speaking over the phone right now. But neither of them are holding their phones to their ears. They’re looking at each other as if they’re in the same room. Jocelyn uses a gradient background to signify that the two of them are NOT in the same room, but as they get closer during their conversation, they get physically closer in the panel as well.

This page is taken from 2014, about 4 years into the comic’s run. You can see that Jocelyn’s brush choices have changed. Everything is far smoother than it was toward the start. While the overall style is as simplistic as year 1, her technique has changed a lot.

That comfort with her work only continues to grow. Below is a panel from a bonus page that released after the comic’s conclusion. The line work is the cleanest its ever been.

STORY AND CHARACTERS

Now this right here is the REAL meat of the comic. Regardless of any feelings I had on the art, the characters really endeared me. And this being a slice-of-life teen drama, they had plenty of time to learn, grow, and clash against one another.

The majority of the conflict in Rain comes from people being set in their ways. Rain’s whole gaggle of queer friends is hiding from the school’s principal, who refuses to acknowledge that maybe there’s nothing wrong with being a little gay. One of the most compelling ongoing threads in the comic centers around Rain’s brother and sister trying to understand and accept her. These personal stakes were a really enjoyable break from the kind of thing I usually read. In Rain, there is no world to be saved or villain to defeat, but there IS a prom to go to. Sometimes, that’s all you need to tell a good story.

The comic has this small-town vibe I care for a lot. Sometimes, a character will exit another’s life and you’ll never expect to see them again. Then they’ll end up dating Rain’s aunt or something. Word spreads fast in Centerville. People are gossipy. Sometimes, you tell someone something and it reaches ears you didn’t want to hear it. That gossip is what makes things so dangerous for Rain. If the wrong person finds her out, then EVERYONE finds her out. The same goes for all her friends.

There’s all kinds of flavor of queer in this comic in a way that mirrors real life friend groups. We have a tendency to find each other like that.

With all kinds of queers being hormonal teens, things get messy FAST. There’s a lot of things that happen in this comic that I feel like baby gays need to see. There’s a point where a gay boy and a trans girl start going out because... this just happens sometimes. Nobody is “the villain” in this scenario. They both just tried to explore themselves and found mixed results.

That’s one of the big themes of Rain. Self-exploration. Every chapter, we’re learning more about these characters as they learn more about themselves. Nobody stays in the same headspace for too long. They’re constantly evolving.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Rain is ABSOLUTELY worth the read. It’s actually a really easy read. I was able to finish it in about 2 weeks, so I’m sure it won’t take up too much of your time. But, it’s a really heartwarming story that I’m sure a lot of us can relate to. Thanks for going on this journey with me. And be safe, Rain Beaus.

[madnessiseverything]

grishaverse (mostly soc) fics

since i've now posted over 20k of fic for this fandom i figured i'd do a little collection post for them 👀

when i'm beat up and alone, 1.4k words. jesper has a very bad day and gets beat up for his efforts. It’s a testament to his fucked up state—the reason he should never touch another drop of alcohol, a promise he has made far too many times—that they get the jump on him and he can’t reach for his guns in time, long-trained reflexes impeded by just about everything this shitty day has thrown his way. His head meets concrete and the world slides away for a brief, but far too crucial moment. -

live to fight another day, 2.6k words. five times jesper says "this is how we die" and one time he refuses to say it. His mama presses her lips to his forehead, tugs him down to match her height once more. She smiles, bright as the sun above their heads. The tear tracks down her face turn golden. Then those gentle, oh-so-gentle hands move to his chest, and Aditi—beautiful, loving, stubborn woman that she is—shoves. -

anything for love and war, 587 words. jesper gives wylan a key and freaks out about it. But insecurity has always been a loathed companion following his every step, and Jesper has always talked too much. Everything suddenly feels too fast, like he’s falling from a precipice he didn’t even have time to see. He’s never been here before, he thinks with an edge of panic. -

with bloody feet across the hallow ground, 8.9k words, ongoing WIP. everyone is fucked up in a more magical way, kaz is the barrel itself, the wraith receives prayers, wylan still crawls out of Ketterdam canals, jesper loses his soul during a game, and nina dabbles in necromancy. How then, the Wraith muses as she watches Ketterdam come to life with the approaching dark, is it possible that he doesn’t scoff at her mere existence—when faith is engraved into every tool her hands reach for, when the torn loom of her being is stitched up with the very thread that fills his floors with every new prayer a poor soul utters somewhere in the streets? -

all i ever wanted was to be of use, 5.6k words. jesper and kaz are missing inej and don't deal with it in a healthy way. kaz uses wylan's past to get to jesper. He knew the sanctuary he had found would be temporary, that his father would find him again to finish what Wylan failed to do back in the canal. He’d been foolish when he hoped it would take its time. All this time where he thought he had found happiness, he’d instead gotten complacent, let himself be lulled into a false sense of security with Jesper’s laughter and kindness. He should have known better than think he could build himself a home amidst these people.  -

please forgive my ugly, 2.1k words, ongoing WIP. jesper, up to his neck in debt, gets evicted and moves in with nina and inej, finally accepting that he needs help. The last time, Jesper tells himself on his first night, the last time things were this bad, he’d gotten Inej stabbed and irreparably damaged his relationship with Kaz. “This action will have no echo,” Jesper laughs joylessly into the rain thundering down on the bus stop roof. At least this time he alone has to bear the consequences. At least this time he doesn’t have blood on his hands. -

like a true survivor, 2k words. alina climbs into the car trunk of some strangers and ends up as a road trip buddy for the crows. She’d climbed into the backseat, with the Suli woman joining her on the other side. The Zemeni man had slid into the driver’s seat with a bright grin—Alina is pretty sure he was the one who kept laughing last night—and promptly held out an opened tub of gummy worms towards her. She hadn’t taken one until the man pointedly ate one himself as though to convince her they weren’t poisoned.

[johnandrewkarr]

The Cicada Killer

Sweat gleamed on the back of the dirty hand as it ripped down another bright yellow sign with black lettering.

No Trespassing.

A jagged row of them vanished into forested obscurity. That wise-ass Beeler woman thought little sheets of paper would spook a real man? If so, she wasn’t as smart as she pretended to be. Overkill like this reinforced what Randy Stall had already figured from their first encounter; she was scared and alone in the trailer. Even sober he wasn’t much for counting, but add all these to the ones he’d seen back at the service road and it was a ton of damn signs.

... a ton of useless damn signs.

Stall’s black t-shirt was damp in the early summer heat and clung to his lean frame. White threads dangled where he’d scissored the jeans into jorts. Sunglasses and a low-brimmed cap concealed dark intentions. The knife at his belt was sheathed, for now.

A whirring sound drew his attention. At the next tree, a thick black wasp with pale yellow stripes flew slowly back and forth, interested in something he couldn’t see. It was as long as his middle finger. Almost hornet-sized.

His lips stretched over gaps of missing teeth as he grinned and crumpled the paper into a ball. He drew back slowly, like the high school pitcher he’d once been, then threw heat. The paper ball knocked the wasp from sight, and it let out an angry buzz.Stall laughed. “Take that, bitch!”

The wasp reappeared. It circled him twice, wings scolding loudly, threatening. Then it almost seemed to glance away as a ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-CH! rose from the next tree. The cicada mantra was instantly familiar and far louder than any cricket chirp. The wasp zipped over, landed on the trunk and raced like a tiny assault vehicle toward a groove between bark nuggets. The chitter was replaced by scraping and buzzing as the two large flyers battled.

The wasp hooked its leg claws into the larger insect and hauled it from the groove, turned it so they were belly-to-belly, then arched its body to sink the curved stinger into its prey. The cicada fell silent and went rigid. Clutching it tightly, the wasp flew with it through the remaining woods to a brighter area ... the front yard of Stall’s prey.

Though motionless, he knew the cicada wasn’t dead.  

Female Cicada Killers were bigger and stronger than the non-venomous males. The females had the stingers and toxin—but not for killing outright. They fly to the nesting site, drag their paralyzed prey into one of several chambers and lay an egg in one of its legs. The egg hatches in a couple days. The larva feeds on the cicada, keeping it alive as long as possible, then turns into an adult wasp.

Shitty way to die, Stall thought, through a chuckle.

He was about to turn away when another wasp shot past him, then hovered back and forth a couple feet from his face. It was fast, but a couple swipes finally persuaded it to back off. It landed higher up on the pine, turned head-down and watched him with large faceted eyes.

He flipped it off and slipped through the remainder of the woods. Ankle-high work boots crunched twigs and pine cones. After a brief pause he crept into a relative clearing where crepe myrtles bordered two sandy pathways with grass in the middle.

He glanced over his shoulder for a glimpse at the intersection of the driveway and State Road 334. Didn’t see anyone turning in, or driving by. The Atlantic Ocean and Cape Fear River were both within pissing distance, and the seasonal swell of human flesh was strong and rising, yet very few folks deliberately trekked into this area, where the woods were thick and dark waters sloughed into brackish creeks.

“Might want to drive up or have your man get the snail mail,” Stall had said to Shannon Beeler, setting her packages on the small table of the front porch and handing her the delivery tablet. “Heard some coyotes cryin’ in the woods near your mailbox.”

And no hint of a dog anywhere, he added silently.  

The dusky woman signed the form, arched a brow and handed the tablet back. “Coyotes we got, all right. And the occasional wolf.”

He was cautious enough to wait a couple weekends before returning.

Now grass blades hissed beneath his strides. Small petals drifted down from the ornamental trees, ignored. It was strangely muted here, though. Unlike the woods around his own trailer, there was no hint of cicada chanting.

Which made him wonder if a scream would carry through the surrounding woods.

Nah. Too much distance and sound-snuffing trees.

Keeping to the shade of the crepe myrtles, he strode with purpose toward the orange double-wide at the end of the drive. The bushes that had been neatly trimmed just a couple weeks back were now reaching for the top rail of the front porch. The grass was long enough to send up seed spires.

Maybe Beeler had gotten lazy. Whatever.

Buzzing cut the quiet.

Several dark specs darted from the sunshine and into his cloak of dappled shade. They hovered near the grass, then up along the tree trunks and branches. As he closed in on the trailer, he could discern the pale yellow stripes on the black bodies as long as his fingers, and the red-orange, swept-back wings as they set down. They lined up on either side until he passed, then took new positions. Maybe it was the pills, but it was weird anyway.  

Too many damn wasps. No wonder there were no cicadas around.

A pickup truck with a line-crossed ant silhouette on the side was parked out front, along with a sedan that had once been silver, judging by the curling strips of paint.

More wasps flew around Stall. He cussed again and pressed forward, hand rising now and then to swat a few of the more brazen ones away. He sent a couple of them cruising to the side, where they quickly recovered. The noise was starting to freak him out.  

The wasps circled him a moment more, then vanished. The noise fell to just a solitary drone. Heavier. In the area, but not too close. He almost looked around for a plane, but was too focused on his goal to get distracted now.  

He was maybe a dozen feet from the porch when the front door swung wide.

What stepped out looked more like some space alien than the woman he’d encountered a couple weeks ago. She seemed tall up on the porch. Goggles jutted over dark rimmed glasses, and a surgical face mask covered the lower portion of her face. The lab coat was a little snug in the shoulders and bust line, and draped over scrub pants and an old pair of clogs.

Slowly her gloved hand moved the goggles to her broad forehead and pulled the face mask down. Her temples glistened in the sunlight. She wiped the perspiration from her mocha-toned face with a cloth, then leaned forward on the rail.

“Lose your truck somewhere, Mister Substitute Delivery Man?” she said, peering down at him. Her narrow brows arched over the straight black line of the glasses.

“And here you only saw me the one time,” Stall grinned, removed his shades and turned his hat around as a way of mocking her movements. “Must have made an impression!”

“Your pupils were dilated then, too, never mind the sunshine. I bet you’re flyin’ high for this little visit. Here’s your chance to live. Go away now and get off the drugs.”

“Uh, what?”

“Go now and live.”

Stall laughed and shook his head. “But I got a special delivery!”

“Yeah, you delivered yourself just fine.” She made a crooning sound.

“Hell you say?”

Shannon Beeler smiled as the deep and angry buzzing sounded again from the woods and grew louder.

Stall’s eyes narrowed. Cocky bitch. Was there a gun in the lab coat pocket?  

“Hear that?” She made a slow spherical motion with her gloved hand.

The buzzing became rapid and louder.

Stall drew his knife, took a few steps forward then paused, head cocked sideways. The buzzing was rushing toward them now. Drone? Was that why she was so confident, she had a goddamn drone filming the place? If so, he had to get her inside, quickly. “Inside the house, bitch! Move!”

She spoke over his shoulder. “Not much meat on him, but he’ll due for now.”

“No flyin’ camera is gonna save your ass!”

As the first stair squeaked under Stall’s boot, a shadow loomed in the corner of his eye. The sound that came with it rattled his eardrums and drummed in his chest. He started to look over his shoulder when thin hairy legs ensnared him. Pain flashed as his ribs snapped. Hooks at the ends of the legs punctured his body, and spun him so violently something was ejected from his pocket.

Stall gazed into the compound eyes of a monster.

Independently moving antenna as long as his arms protruded from its head. Above the black exoskeleton blurred red-orange wings that sent a horrid death wind over him. Chomping and clacking mandibles completed a tapered head larger than his own.

Shouting and cursing, he tried to strike and shove it off, but the beast held him fast. It arched its abdomen to bring a wickedly curved stinger between his legs and up into his lower back. It stabbed for his spine and split the gap between two vertebrae. Stall howled as venom spread like a liquid fire through vein and muscle. His struggles slowed. His cries became whimpers, and from there to wide-eyed silence. Satisfied, the wasp pulled him tightly to her undercarriage and lifted him into the air, arms and legs dangling listlessly.

“Thanks for the delivery,” Shannon Beeler said.

The wasp flew Stall to its underground nest where it laid an egg inside his thigh. The next day the larvae hatched and immediately began to consume its paralyzed food.

For over a week Stall remained alive, mouth agape with a silent scream.

                                            *         *         *

 A delivery truck turned off State Road 334 and onto the white sandy pathways of Shannon Beeler’s driveway. Grass grew high enough between the trails to brush the truck axles. Crepe myrtles passed on either side of the opened cab, and tiny white blossoms like snow flurries drifted onto the broad windshield and inside the vehicle. A moment more and dark shapes mixed with the white as Wes Cobb navigated the driveway’s familiar curves.

At first he thought they were dragonflies hunting in the summer morning, but then recognized the largest of the wasp family, the Cicada Killers. He’d been delivering a long time and wasn’t alarmed, even when they flew in and out of the cab. They were pretty much harmless, which was good because there were several with him now, and showed little inclination to leave.    

The open doors also let in the humid air of the nearby ocean and river. The truck rocked and squeaked down the uneven sandy pathways. He cleared the crepe myrtles and braked to a halt in front of the orange trailer with the small sedan and exterminator truck in front.

Shannon Beeler appeared on the front porch almost as soon as the truck halted. She touched up her hair, pushed the glasses to her head, parted the lab coat and smoothed her t-shirt and shorts. More wasps buzzed back and forth around her. She almost seemed to glide down the porch steps. She halted at the driver’s side and put a hand on her hip. “Now where you been hidin’, Wesley Cobb?”

He grinned. “Seen Shannon Beeler around?”

“You hittin’ the ghange? I’m right here.”

“Well, you look a little like her, but the Beeler I knew was a bit, uh, shall we say ...”

Beeler cocked her head and smiled. “Mmm?”

“... fuller!” Cobb leaned on the steering wheel and laughed, stomping the floorboards for emphasis.

She laughed, pulled back the lab coat and looked down. The t-shirt hung loosely below her bosom and the shorts didn’t pinch her skin at the waist. “Been busy. Too distracted and too tired to make big meals.”  

“Shouldn’t go an’ starve, now,” Cobb warned. “And damn, girl, it’s summer break! Only got a couple weeks until Session Eight. Take a breath already!”

Her smile faded a bit as she watched the wasps, eyes growing wide as if mesmerized. Cobb was about to clap her out of it when she focused on him once more.  

She took off her long latex gloves and stuffed them in her lab coat pockets. “Got time for some ice tea, Mister Delivery Man?”

He shook his head. “Nah, sorry. I’m behind as usual. But I got a delivery for ya! Hang on a sec.”

“Take your time. I ain’t on a schedule today.”

Cobb had known her long enough to recognize her common speech hid a sharp mind. He ducked back into the cargo hold, brought out two sizeable boxes marked with bio-material green crosses. She held her arms out but he stepped down from the truck and cocked his head toward the porch.

“I got ya,” Cobb said, hanging onto the boxes. “Porch good?”

“Anyplace, really.”

The wasps accompanied them as they walked. A majority of them floated around her alone, he saw. She slowly waved her arms and the insects eased back a bit.

“What the hell,” Cobb said. “You the wasp whisperer?”

“They like my little ranch here,” she said, as they went up the steps.

He set the boxes on the small table and held the computer pad out for her to sign. He turned at a sudden deep buzzing sound, scanned the woods for the source, and when he looked back Shannon was shaking her head at something, then quickly recovered.

“You didn’t deliver last time,” she observed.

“Vacation,” he replied. “You knew, right?”

“Oh yeah. Like I said, been busy.”

“That new guy did my week and another for Williams and then went missing—believe that? Shipping crew said he was hopped up on pills half the time.”

Shannon shrugged. “Too bad. He wasn’t as nice as you anyway.”

“Who is? Nobody, that’s who! Don’t forget me at survey time, Shannon Beeler.”  

“You still married?”

“Every day with my Brenda gal!” He noted the shadow that came across her face. “Hey, you’ll find yours. Just hang on a while.”

“Tools and mama’s boys. Never any middle ground.”

“Well, try the online sites. Someone’s out there for ya. They can’t all be bad, right?”

“At least one, but he’s taken.”

Wasp wings made the only sound for a moment.

“Been reading the prep chapters for Bio 310 summer class?” Cobb asked.

“Devoured them,” she said. “You?”

“Behind, as usual.” Cobb headed down the porch steps. “We gonna be lab partners again?”

“Hell yeah. I could use one now, too.”

“Huh?”

“Take a peek at what I got out back.” She picked up the boxes, walked down the steps and headed to the side of the trailer.

Cobb paused at the front of the truck and swiped at a couple wasps that easily dodged.  “Nah, I’m late already, girl. But what’s up with all the Cicada Killers?”

“Come on back and I’ll tell you. Those other deliveries can wait ten minutes, can’t they? It’s just a peek at my hobby when I’m not exterminating bugs or in the classroom.”

“Okay, Beeler. Let’s see what you got cookin’. Hopefully it ain’t meth!”

She smiled as he fell in step behind her.

Again he swung his arm slowly back and forth at the wasps. “Never seen ‘em this thick! They’re supposed to be solitary. What are ya,doin’, breeding the damn things?”

She laughed over her shoulder. She seemed lighter to him somehow. And not just physically, though she almost seemed to glide before him.  

They turned the corner of her trailer and the back yard opened wide. It was a grassy peninsula surrounded on three sides by woods of pine, sweet gum and live oak. At the center of the yard was a large wooden shed with double doors wide open, ceiling fans turning at moderate speed and overhead lights showering white light down upon several picnic tables. Under other circumstances, this might serve as the outdoor kitchen and eating area. Now the tables were laden with beakers, petri dishes, bubbling graduated cylinders, flames heating Erlenmeyer flasks with rubber stoppers and clear hoses snaking from them to a network of other containers.

Cobb whistled. “Wow, Beeler. Quite a set up. And you’re not cookin’ meth ...?”

“Science is the drug, Wes.” Beeler smiled, set her boxes down on the closest bench seat. Straightening, she held her arms out to the side. A dozen Cicada wasps landed and milled about on her lab coat. The dark forms scurried in separate directions, black chaos on a white canvas. They did not venture inside the coat, or on her neck or head.

“Watch it, there’s females!” Cobb stepped close with his hand raised, ready to swat.

“No, no! They’re just saying hello to Momma.”

And indeed the finger-sized wasps continued to mill about on Beeler’s body. They paused, rose a few inches with a collective buzz of red-orange wings, landed again on her arms and shoulders. They did not go for her head or face or legs.

Cobb shook his head. “Some pets you got there.”

She gently shook her arms and guided them from her chest area and they flew off. Some vanished, some remained to dart back and forth around them.

From the surrounding woods came several deep droning sounds, just shy of chain saw level. Shannon sang something Cobb couldn’t discern. A dark shape broke from the woods out of the corner of his eye. The volume quickly grew. Whatever it was, it was coming fast.  

Cobb leaped for a rake propped against one of the large doors. “What the hell!”

“Step inside the shed a little, Wes,” she said, calmly.

The shadow appeared on the lawn first, further knotting Cobb’s stomach. Then a creature straight out of insanity dropped down and hovered, large as a German Shepherd. Its wickedly angular head was covered in translucent hair. Long antenna moved back and forth above huge eyes and terrible jaws. Red-orange wings were swept back from the body and blurring. The wind from them stirred the dust from a bare spot, and dislodged dandelion seeds that drifted surreally away in a thin white stream as if fleeing the abomination.

A moment more and it landed. Suddenly the droning was gone. It stood on its six thin legs before Beeler and Cobb, twitching and clacking its mandibles like wooden knockers. Then its head moved, seemingly to focus its faceted eyes from Beeler to Cobb. It took a quick step forward. Cobb stiffened and jabbed the end of the rake out. Inadequate, but better than nothing.  

“No, no, no,” Shannon Beeler cooed to the beast. She held her arm out and the monster wasp’s antenna reached for her hand. It’s entire body quivered, as if in ecstacy at the contact. Its mandibles knocked softly.

“Can’t be real!” Cobb said, through a constricted throat.

“Don’t worry – she still only eats tree sap and nectar from flowers.”

“Nothing gets this big on sap and nectar!”  

“Well, mainly,” Beeler amended. “See the ingredient ratio on the sprayer?”

She gestured with her free hand toward an egg-shaped pressure sprayer with a black wand protruding through the handle gap. Black bold lettering stood starkly out on white paper, secured by clear packing tape.  

80% H2O

15% PTTH

5% Boric Acid

 Shannon Beeler caressed the wasp’s forehead as if she were stroking a dog. She looked at Cobb. “A little bit of the acid helps dissolve the PTTH into their exoskeletons. Too much and they hate it, but just enough and it penetrates to trigger the hormone for molting. They get slow and docile for a while, then molt from their old shells into their new bigger ones. Do you want to pet her?”

“Hell no, I don’t!”

She watched him carefully for a moment, evaluating. She turned to the beast, as its thick exoskeleton gleamed in the sun while fine hairs were caught in translucent display. She clapped her hands and the wings sprang to life, along with the deep droning. The creature rose a few feet in front of Shannon, then drifted toward Cobb.

“Shannonnn ...?”

The droning increased to buzz-saw decibel. The thorax curled forward, and for the first time Cobb’s gaze found the wickedly curved stinger.

Beeler leaped between them, waving her arms.

“NO!”

The beast hovered as if uncertain. The antennae worked back and forth while the mandibles clacked a menacing tune. Finally it righted itself and vanished, droning receding behind it.  

Cobb’s pulse pounded in his throat. Given the strength to size ratio of insects, the thing had to be three four times as strong as it appeared. The wind blasts had been substantial. For a long moment he could only grip the rake and stare at Beeler. Finally he found his voice.

“God! That was real? Not a drone? It was a real goddamn wasp?”

“Oh, they’re real, all right.” She laughed, but then it died down as she saw the fear on his face. “It’s okay, Wes. I’ve got ‘em handled. Somehow my voice and scent become imprinted on them along with the formula ... maybe because I talk and sing a lot back here by myself. Maybe next time when you visit I’ll be in one of them snooty mansions where I used to spray for bugs.”

Cobb wanted to shout in alarm but could only stare. He looked at the space her aberration had occupied, then back to its creator. Finally he swallowed and formed words.  

“I don’t get how ...” was all he managed.

“How trailer trash altered the growth patterns of Cicada Killers?” she said, a little breathlessly. “I’d like to say pure brilliance, but it was a lot of reading entomology journals, hunch and experimentation, mainly with Prothoracicotropic hormone (PTTH) as an internal hormone trigger and boric acid as a delivery mechanism to get the PTTH to soften and seep through the exoskeletons. They’ll drink a little from nectarized sweet water that draws them in initially, but misting with just enough acid to seep into the delicate wings is effective. At first I was so happy when the first ones grew as long as two middle fingers – ha, how precise is that?”

Cobb strained to hear the buzz of those obscene wings.  

Shannon Beeler spoke a bit longer, but later he couldn’t recall what she said, exactly. He watched her wide dark eyes and moving lips and then his gaze fell upon the lab table, where his hand could wrap around the neck of an Erlenmeyer flask. Its thick base could serve as a useful blunt object. His mind went into a loop, urging him to take her out right here and now with one massive blow to the temple and then run like hell for the truck before any more of the beasts appeared.

But she hadn’t threatened him, and he wasn’t a murderer.

He strode from the shed.

“Wes, wait ...”

Back in the truck, he slammed the cab doors shut and started it. He opened the driver’s side a little. “You need to stop with wasp shit, Shannon. It ain’t natural.”

“Is it natural to use growth hormones on cows, turkeys and chicken?”

“Barnyard animals don’t want to kill me. That wasp did. Stop this shit now, before it goes too far!”

In the side view mirrors she watched him leave. He gripped the wheel hard to try and stave off the shudders.

At the intersection of her pathways and the state road, a dark sedan slowed and waited for Cobb to exit. Judging by the mesh barrier between the front and back seat areas, and the laptop between the female driver and male passenger, they were police.  

Cobb hesitated, hands shaking on the steering wheel. The cops observed him expectantly. The driver rolled her finger for him to get moving.

Should he tell them?

They’d think he was crazy.

He eased his truck into the road and pulled alongside their vehicle. He slid his door back. “About time,” the cop said. She shook her head and goosed the sedan to turn onto Shannon Beeler’s driveway.  

Finally Cobb leaned out. “Hey! Hey, wait!”

But the cops rolled on, raising a cloud of white dust as they headed for the orange trailer.

                                        *         *         *

  “We’re working a missing person case.”

Sergeant Davis held up a sheet of paper with a photo on it. Officer Tindell, her male counterpart, took the opportunity to peer inside the windows of the trailer.

“Saw him a couple Wednesdays ago,” Shannon Beeler said.

This drew Tindell’s attention. He pulled out a small note pad out and started writing.

“Go on,” Davis said.

Beeler shrugged. “He delivered some lab supplies and was gone. Haven’t seen him since.”

Davis nodded. “We’re talking the last few days. His girlfriend has reported him missing.”

Beeler was silent.

“How would you describe the encounter?”

“Brief.”

“We need you to come to the station and tell us more.”

“I suggest you leave.”

“Doesn't work that way.”

By now the sun was high enough to illuminate the gaps between the lawn and the bushes.  

Beeler uttered a high-pitched, crooning note. In the woods, a deep buzzing sound answered, followed by another. After a moment she uttered the sounds again.  

The buzzing rushed toward them. Two large shapes broke from the surrounding woods and hovered behind the cops. Tindell had time to reach for his gun as leg hooks tore into him. The mega wasp held him tightly while the curved stinger thrust between his legs and penetrated his spine. His scream trailed off, lost in the fading buzzing as she bore him away.

Davis started shooting with the gun barely free of its holster. The beast hardly seemed to notice. It snatched her and arched its body to bring the stinger into play.

“No you won’t!” Davis cried, bashing at the monster’s snapping mandibles with the spent gun. A radio appeared in her other hand. “Dispatch, Four Bravo Three! Ten-double zero! Officer down! Officer dow—ugh!”

The stinger pierced her back. The wasp’s thorax undulated as it pumped venom into the detective. Davis’ movements slowed, freezing the horror on her face. The radio fell from rigid fingers.

“Four Bravo Three, Dispatch. Please respond! All units, Ten-double zero. Repeat, Ten double zero. Converge on Four Bravo Three’s last know location of—”

The dispatcher gave Shannon Beeler’s address.  

The wasp flew off with its paralyzed prey clutched to its underside. Blonde hair waved as they vanished over the forest canopy. Dozens of smaller wasps darted around now, excited by the actions of their larger aunts. Many paused and hovered around Beeler as she crooned. Gently she waved her arms back and moved her body from side to side. The insects followed her motions, like reef fish gliding back and forth with the waves.

Cross-chatter from the police radio on the ground.    

Shannon Beeler picked it up and pressed the side button. “Still there, Dispatch?”

“Identify yourself! Who are you?”

The arch of her brows steepened, then lowered as part of a frown.    

“Where are the detectives? Answer! Where are the detectives!”

Beeler stood frozen. The cloud of wasps drifted hypnotically around her. Many of the smaller ones landed on her, crawled a bit and then halted. By degrees her face relaxed, then sprang into crazed animation.

“Sheeeee’s watching the detectives!” Beeler laughed and sang the old Elvis Costello song into the police radio. She sang and spun slowly as she made her way to the back yard laboratory, the wasps undulating en mass around her. Finally breathless, she halted and stared at the lab, then gazed at the weathered trailer.

“Here this, people,” Beeler said, into the police radio. “You’re not welcome in the land of Sphecius speciosus. Queen Bee, out!”

She hurled the radio over the shed.

She sang even louder now. The insects flooded in and danced through the air.

They emerged from burrowed nests, the surrounding woods, and beneath Beeler’s trailer. The decibel level doubled and tripled as they closed in from the surroundings, including scores of the large ones. Gleefully Beeler sprayed them all with her formula. Then she went inside the trailer, got the keys to the exterminator truck and pulled it around back before the shed. She kicked off the reservoir containers, tainted with bug poison. She replaced them with many nests, jugs of formula, sprayers and lab equipment.

She didn’t bother packing personal items or food.

The mansion overlooking the Fear River had everything—including an underground bunker.

The current tenants would provide fine ‘rich’ dining for wasp larvae. Even now, a swarm of the insects flew around, wings collectively thudding the air like a squadron of helicopters. Some crawled over the truck as she drove off, but hundreds more—perhaps thousands—flew above and around it.

The first sirens started beyond the woods.

The dark cloud followed her three miles to the gated community.

The security guard slid open his glass door. He took a half-step out, the challenge dying on his lips as he registered the noise, then what was causing it.

Shannon Beeler sat silently in the driver’s seat. On impulse she extended her arm out the window and sliced the air. One of the large wasps suddenly hovered face-to-face with the guard. He had time enough to realize the nightmare was real, and to scream when the beast reared up, leg hooks thrusting forward. The thin legs were like iron rods. She held him in place and sank her stinger into his back, then flew off with her immobilized prize.

Beeler’s truck snapped the boom with ease.

She drove the gracefully winding avenues to the mansion she had serviced as a pest control technician, and floored it into the iron gate. The truck’s grill crumpled a couple inches, headlights shattered, the hood puckered, and a jet of hot steam erupted, but there was enough engine to make it up the driveway, where she slammed into the back of a black Mercedes. The roaring cloud passed over her as she got out and stood before a porch as broad as her entire trailer. She gazed at the alabaster columns and the massive structure that beckoned behind them.

And smiled.

The wasps descended upon the dwelling. They crawled over the tiered roofs, the faux parapets, thick walls. Scores of them circled around the opulent columns to greet their queen as she strode up the porch steps and stood with her hands on her hips before iron double doors. Two giant wasps wrenched them from their hinges and dropped them, clanging, at her feet.

The insects formed a black tide and flooded inside.  

The owner and workers of the mansion became nest nutrition. As did the neighbors.

Soon the entire gated community was emptied of residents.

Passing motorists had their doors torn off and occupants plucked away. Often the car was still moving when the driver was ripped out, leaving the vehicle to crash.

Those of the township who could flee did so. If they didn’t leave fast enough, the wasps took them. Soon only one human could walk freely in the land of mansions on the Fear River.  

Shannon Beeler.

The police made raid after raid.

Most of the time Beeler waited in the underground bunker’s theater for the gunfire to stop. One cop even had a chance to speak through a bullhorn before he too, was taken. Eventually they had enough firepower to bring down a few of the dog-sized wasps, but then bear-sized ones took their place and tore apart every group sent against them. Mandibles cut limbs and heads from bodies. Remains that were not consumed were dropped into the broad feeder creek, where they made an island of human flotsam.

Bull sharks, alligators and vultures feasted.

Until they, too, were plucked up.

Police snipers were snatched from the landscape, as were entire squadrons.

The Coast Guard cutter stationed in Wilmington was summoned. Shannon’s swarm rose from the forests and hillsides as a vengeful storm and intercepted the ship as it sliced the river. Booming rounds went out from the 25 mm chain gun at the bow. They ripped into the cliff face and blew holes into the sides of the mansion. Glass had no chance of remaining intact. Coasties on deck tore into the swarm with automatic rifle fire.  

The insects closed on them in a thousand directions at once. Wasps perished under hails of automatic gunfire, but after fifteen minutes all gunfire had quieted, replaced by trailing shouts as Coasties were carried off or killed outright. Mammoth bugs blackened the hull and decks, and splattered them with blood and ichor. They raced in an out of the hatches. After twenty minutes they flew off. The vessel, now unmanned, ultimately rammed the sands of a nameless river beach.

Next to try were special forces. Some made it back alive, none unscathed. The more they sent, the more powerful the swarm became.  

Politicians kept the larger military at bay. They cited the ancient Roman axiom that you don’t let an army operate en mass inside your borders, unless it’s a civil war.  

Were it permitted to do so, the Air Force could drop a bunker buster, but there were  networking tunnels now and many houses in which to evade death. The wasp swarm could darken the skies like the Persian arrows at the Battle of Thermopylae. The large ones had large offspring. Beeler did not necessarily have to create more, but she did anyway.

Small aircraft no longer flew low. Military drones fared no better.

Shannon Beeler made the FBI’s Most Wanted List. They cut her power but the bunker had its own power supply, and there were generators everywhere in this neighborhood.

Civilian activity thinned. The Fear River area in all directions became a kill zone. The wasps spread further and further out, owning the day and remaining alert but largely hidden at night. Those that succumbed to bullets and grenades were soon replaced.

Signposts went up along every road in the area. They featured a black outline of a wasp against neon yellow, over which was painted in jagged red letters:

Welcome to Shannonsland

                                       *         *         *

An army colonel and police captain stood before Wes Cobb on a narrow river beach. The three were surrounded by a group of cops and soldiers who stood with rifles ready. With a few exceptions guarding the rear and flanks, they faced a broad creek stemming from the Fear River. Small waves lapped the sand and sides of Cobb’s kayak. A warm breeze diced the surface water, creating a glittering path toward the beach and pock-marked cliff at the opposite shore.

Cobb grabbed his backpack tank and electric sprayer from where they had deposited them on the sand. He hefted them into the middle of the kayak as the two commanders spoke of tides, current and wind.

The guy holding the paddle stared at its owner with contempt.

Cobb kneeled and, using the two leaders as a screen, pretended to adjust the fit of the prosthetic leg. He wasn’t all comfortable with it yet, but had already modified it a little. He pulled at the thin blade as he stood, felt the press of steel against the inside of his forearm. “The current’s still headed toward Beeler’s beach, but it won’t be if you keep my ass here much longer.”

“Our raids were done from fast-moving boats,” the colonel said, breaking off his conversation to fix Cobb with weary stare. “You putz over in that toothpick and the bugs’ll fly out and snatch you from the middle. Too easy.”

“Have you seen ‘em fly at night?” Cobb replied. “... because I haven’t.”  

The police captain’s face contorted in the moonlight. “Tell that to the cops and soldiers we lost on half a dozen night raids!”

“Were the boats in the water when the bugs struck, or on shore?”

Silence told Cobb he was right. “Five weeks ago they crawled into my neighborhood after dark. Busted through doors and windows like wrapping paper. One clamped onto my leg and slammed me against the wall while another ... stung my wife and crawled away with her. I lost my grip on my gun. I didn’t even get a goddamn shot in.”

“Sorry,” the top cop said, her expression softening a bit.  

“My neighbor showed up with his deer rifle while the goddamn bug slammed me back and forth,” Cobb said, sloshing through the shallows toward the guy with his paddle. “Howard put some rounds through its eyes and it finally went down. Used his belt as a tourniquet around my thigh. Slowed the flow just as mandibles reached from behind and took his head off. I shot his rifle a few times and blacked out. Evidently Howard had also called 911 ‘cause I woke up in a hospital bed three days later. Too long for my Brenda to survive a wasp larvae.”

“You did what you could do,” the police chief said.  

“No," Cobb said. "But I am now.”

“A properly motivated fighter can rain hell on the enemy,” the colonel said. “But that acid in your tank is an inferior weapon. No range, son. Even if you did manage to drop one, it’d just fall and pin you down.”

Cobb shook his head. “They hate this concentrated shit, and I got the melted bug bodies piled up around the house to prove it. They come flying in by day, and crawling by night. Looks like she hasn’t bred them into night flyers.” The sloshing stopped as he stood before the soldier holding his paddle. “... yet.”

The colonel grunted.  

The special forces soldier spun Cobb’s kayak paddle like an airplane propeller. “Might be hand paddles tonight, civilian.”

A few rough laughs came from the others.

Cobb grabbed the paddle with one hand and slid his other hand low. The propeller halted and the men eyed one another; one in camouflage shirt and pants, muscles pressing against the material, and the other in a sleeveless t-shirt, shorts and boots and looking a little frail after rapidly dropping fifteen or twenty pounds.

     “One throat punch and I save the bugs the trouble of ending you, gimpy,” the dude said from behind orange-tinted sunglasses.  

The moon was big and bright, but not enough for shades.

“A month ago, yeah. Not today,” Cobb said.

“Any day.”

Cobb leaned in, and the soldier rose a bit on his toes. Cobb pressed with enough force to leave no doubt of the price of sudden movement.  

“Blade’s a good idea,” the soldier said. “Might need to slit your own throat when that jacked-up water gun fails.”

Cobb stared through him with lidded eyes. For a moment he saw the horror on Brenda’s face as the stinger entered her back. He blinked the image back and jerked the paddle away. He let the knife linger, then withdrew it. “Go team.”

“I could still arrest you,” the cop said.  

“For kayaking at night?” Cobb said.

“Why do it? We’ll get Beeler eventually. Yeah, the bugs are fast and strong. In the end, though, we’ll win.”

“Hasn’t happened so far. None of this shit scares her. She figures she’s due and it’s all Shannon’s land now.”

The boric acid sloshed in the tank as he pushed the kayak onto the dark waters and slid in. The others fell silently away as Cobb paddled across the broad creek. He paused beneath the overhead canopy of stars, took out a cigarette pack and tapped it against the heel of his hand. Two cancer sticks flew into the river, but he pulled a third out with his lips. He exchanged the pack for a lighter.  

Tremors made the flame dance. Finally he lit the cancer stick. New, short-lived habit. Didn't matter much without Brenda. He took several deep pulls then started again, keeping his gaze on the strip of pale beach where corpses of both human and insect had washed up.

With the red-tipped cigarette bobbing from the corner of his mouth, Cobb kept the kayak’s prow centered on the steep but not vertical cliffs, well aware that each stroke brought death that much closer. You have to know where the killers are, and where they are likely to be.

Draw them to you and you know where they are.

Buzzing started here and there from the nest holes in the cliff sides, beyond the cris-crossed trunks of Loblolly pines fractured by bombs and .50 caliber bullets. A distant voice sounded, female, crooning something unintelligible but mellifluous.

“Shut up, Shannon,” Cobb said.  

He took a final drag and flicked the cigarette. The white stem and red glowing tip tumbled and then struck the shallows with a hiss. He put clear safety glasses on. Acid mist plays hell on naked eyeballs. As the prow of the kayak slid softly into the sand, he stepped out, spray rifle ready.

Only relative silence met him. No six-legged footsteps, no buzzing wings, no clicking mandibles. Just a soft breeze that whispered of Death’s arrival.

Tensed for battle and receiving none, he doused the gaps between the fallen trees for good measure. He pushed the kayak out and watched it drift away a moment. Then he started toward the cliff trail that wound up the cliff.  

Sounds from above responded to his steps.

He negotiated the fallen trees, the wasp carcasses, human remains and fractured rock before arriving at the start of the trail. Moonlight gleamed off the face. In the many holes in the cliff, protruding antennae slowly moved back and forth. Mandibles knocked and clicked, along with bursts of deep buzzing and the scraping of leg hooks against stone.

A broken trail of stone steps zig-zagged upward. He sprayed every thirty feet before him and shot into the nearest holes, forcing the antennae to vanish deeper inside. He climbed up, higher and higher, boric acid sloshing in the tank on his back.  

He went down a few times, but not beneath hooked legs and snapping jaws, just trips. He wasn’t all that used to the prosthetic for climbing. Gasping for breath, he finally cleared the trail and stood in the ruins of a huge flagstone patio; toppled stone walls, splintered columns of what had probably been a pergola, and what was either the remnants of a large fire pit, or the calling card of a mortar or grenade.

He glimpsed the bugs in the shadows of the trees and the ruins of the house, some half exposed in the moonlight. His streams of boric acid gave rise to a mist that lingered before slowly dissipating. He’d done this enough to know that given the numbers of bugs concentrated here, something else persuaded them to stay beyond reach.  

“Wesley Cobb.”

She stepped from behind a broken column. The black sleeveless mini-dress clung to her reduced form and the high heels gleamed in the moonlight. Like himself, gone were ten or fifteen pounds of extra weight. Large dark eyes dominated her lean face. The perpetual dark rimmed glasses were gone. One arm was across her midsection, with the elbow of the other propped upon it, pistol aimed at night sky. “My swarm doesn’t like your formula! I don’t like it either.”

“To hell with you and your swarm,” Cobb snarled. He squeezed a couple bursts at her and the dark forms that inched closer from the perimeter.

Beeler ducked behind the column and the bugs scurried back.

“Stop, Wes!” she cried. “Please, I don’t want to shoot you!” Her arm and partial profile appeared with a flash and bang. The bullet tore into the stone tile at his feet, sending shards into his good leg and sparks off the steel rod of his prosthetic. He groaned a bit but did not go down.  

She slowly reappeared, smoking barrel raised to the stars once again. “I didn’t want them to go after you or Brenda. I – I didn’t have to come out for this. There’s enough moonlight for normal binoculars. I see them across the river, and that it was you in the kayak. I had my swarm hold back so you could get here.”

He lowered the rifle tip and took a couple steps closer. She lowered the pistol, hammer clicking forward beneath her thumb.

“Murder agrees with you,” Cobb said, glancing at her outfit.

“Wes, don’t ... I … thought you might like this.”  

“Was it worth it?”

“Most of it, yes. But not this. Not with you.”

“It isn’t your world to burn, Shannon Beeler.”

“It’s take or get taken!”

“Which nest is Brenda’s body in?”

Her eyes welled with tears. “Wes, it’s been ... too long.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” He raised the rifle and squeezed the trigger.

“Wes, no ..!”

Her bullets tore through his acid stream. She screamed and her rounds dropped him. The bugs closed in, mandibles slicing into his body and taking his hands. Within the torrent of agony and fading consciousness, Cobb glimpsed a sudden light in the night sky. It grew exponentially brighter in seconds. The rush drowned out the screams and the bugs tearing him apart. There was a brief moment of realization, then the world exploded.

 Back on the far shore, the colonel and police captain watched through binoculars.

“Shannon Beeler is no longer a queen bee,” said the colonel.

“We took our guy out too,” said the top cop.

“Cobb was a dead man when he left in that kayak,” the colonel said. “You saw the bugs swarm after Beeler’s rounds hit him. We did him a favor.”  

A radioman stepped forward.  

“Sir! Command wants to know about a second drone strike.”

“Why the hell not?” said the colonel. “Cobb was right. The bugs don’t fly at night. Let’s pound her headquarters and all those damn nests to the molecular level.”

As he uttered the words, loud buzzing started across the waters. It built exponentially as more and more joined from other directions. Dark shapes streamed forth from the cliff sides, woods, and forsaken mansions and took to the night sky.

Moonlight glowed dully upon the hard exoskeletons of thousands of monster Cicada Killers, and lit a cloud of semi-translucent wings. As Death's shadow they raced across the waters toward the fleshy humans. Shouts rang out, along with the click and clatter of readying weapons and bursts of gunfire.

“Retreat!” the colonel cried, firing his .45 into the swarm.

A black shape swooped. His gun splashed into the river and he was laid out on the sand with a bleeding scalp. He started to get back up when a wasp the size of a bear clamped onto him.  

The police captain drew her sidearm and fired into the beast’s eyes, then kicked it away. She stood over the fallen colonel. Flashes from her rounds lit the area.

“Looks like with proper motivation they can fly at night!” the top cop snarled, an instant before a passing hooked claw severed her arm.

The gunfire faded. Screams punctuated the bass drone of powerful wings. The others were dead or dying or becoming paralyzed provisions.

Blood spurts from the police captain splattered the water. With her remaining hand she pulled a .357 revolver from her ankle holster. She fired three shots into the eyes of the closest beasts.

Another ended colonel’s scream as a stinger sank into his back.

The final round tore through her temple.