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stevie-petey · 1 year ago

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episode one: the vanishing of will byers

Steve nods, as if you almost getting hit by his car makes perfect sense to him. When you walk over to your bike and inspect it for any damage, he follows after you. “So,” he whistles, trying to pretend that this is all a completely normal occurrence. “You, uh, need a ride?” Honestly you don’t know why you’re surprised he hasn’t noticed the clear signs of you crying, your swollen eyes and red nose. Not only is he a boy, but he’s also Steve Harrington. It’s a miracle he even stopped to make sure you weren’t dead.

Summary: jonathan smuggles you free food in exchange for friendship, will goes missing the one time you listen to jonathan, hopper doesn't really like you, and steve harrington almost hits you with his car as you're sobbing like a damn baby (in a cool way).

Rating: general, although there's plenty of cursing and slight innuendos, so fair warning.

Warnings: cursing, fem!reader, and use of y/n.

Words: 7k

Before you swing in: hello ! this is the first chapter of my come home series, where i plan on rewriting the entirety of stranger things because i really love a good rewrite fic and this is me just indulging in my ideal fic fantasies tbh. before we start: this is a steve x reader fic, however there will be some slight feelings between the reader and jonathan, but it doesn't at all get in the way of steve and honestly just adds to the angst because i love a good tragedy. also, reader is dustin's older sister, but i tried to write her as neutral as possible in terms of physical features, so let's all just play along. that is all ! i'm very excited for this series and i hope y'all enjoy the reader as much as i do :)

November 6th, 1983

Your shift at Bookstrordinary ends at 8:30 tonight, so as soon as you’ve organized all the books within the store and cashed out the last customer, you say goodnight to your boss, Mrs. Waters, and clock out. Today had been a longer shift, and it didn’t help that you had to deal with a particularly eager bookclub mother who insisted that you had the latest copy of some obscure novel that she needed for her club. After several attempts to inform her that no, you really didn’t have some novel about a cowboy falling in love with a rodeo girl from Michigan, nor would you ever want to read that, the mother angrily walked away.

You’re happy to finally be free from work though, excited to see Jonathan to tell him about the book club mom because you know he gets a kick out of those suburban middle class mothers that terrorize Hawkins. He works across from you, at The Hawk theater, and it’s one of your favorite things about the bookstore. Besides getting to be surrounded by books all day and reading Spider-Man, you get to be across the street from your best friend and share frequent breaks together.

A bell signifies your arrival at the theater, alerting Jonathan to look up from the concession stand and smile at you. He looks tired, which you can understand. It’s been a particularly long school year so far with Jonathan having to work more shifts than usual to support his family.

“Welcome to The Hawk, can I interest you in our specialty popcorn and candy corn mixture?”

You make a face, “No, thanks. Candy corn freaks me out.”

Jonathan laughs, knowing you’d say that. It’s been a running joke between the two of you for as long as you can remember. You’re not picky with most foods, but candy corn? The bane of your existence. “Tough crowd, then.”

You laugh as well, now standing in front of the counter, and you learn against it so that you’re in Jonathan’s space. After being friends for so long, personal space doesn’t exist between the two of you. You’re the only person that Jonathan lets get this close to him on a regular basis, which you’re secretly proud of.

“So, you almost done so we can pick up our idiotic brothers?” Tonight, as usual, Will and Dustin are at Mike’s house playing DnD. They’d biked over as soon as school let out, while Jonathan drove you to work, so he was your ride back for the night.

He shakes his head at you, wincing, “I picked up an extra shift tonight. Stacy called out sick, and it’s good money…”

You nod in understanding. He doesn’t have to explain himself to you, which he’s always relieved by.

“It’s okay. Is my bike still in your trunk?”

“Yeah, I can get it out for you since I’m kind of ditching you tonight.”

You wave him off, already reaching across the counter to grab his keys from his coat pocket. “No need, I’ll get it out myself so you don’t get in trouble with your boss.” Jonathan’s boss is an older guy, extra scary. “I’m assuming that I’m taking Will home tonight?”

“It’ll be late by the time you get the boys, and you’ll have Dustin. We only live a couple blocks apart, you can just bike with Will until you get to your street.”

“Are you sure? I know he’s scared of the dark.”

“It’s fine, Y/N. You’re already doing enough being there for most of the ride; I’m sure Will can survive the last five minutes alone.”

You give Jonathan an unsure look, but you don’t argue with him. He’s his brother, he knows Will’s capabilities, and it’s an unspoken fact that you baby Will a bit too much. He’s just so much tinier than the other boys, softer in a way that you want to protect. He’s special.

Jonathan sneaks you a large peach lemonade and hot dog from the concession stand when you return with his keys. You’ve parked your bike up front, and you accept the food gratefully. You hadn’t had time to eat your usual dinner during your break due to the bookclub mother fiasco, so you inhale the food quickly and give his hair a ruffle.

“You’re a lifesaver, bee.”

Jonathan lightly hits your hand away from his hair. “Consider it your payment for dealing with Will and Dustin on your own tonight, bug.”

Bee and bug were the names the two of you had given each other years ago. Jonathan had started it with bug, stemming from the fact that you love Spider-Man so much, and you had struggled to come up with your own nickname for him. Then it came to you: bee, or B, for Byers. It was perfect, and you’re still incredibly proud of yourself for the creativity, honestly.

After your quick dinner, you say goodbye to your friend and head off. It’s late now, nearing 9, and you hope that Mrs. Wheeler and your own mom won’t be too upset with you for being late for pick up. You know they prefer to have the boys in bed by a decent hour, but in your defense, Jonathan did skip out on you.

You arrive at the Wheeler’s in a short amount of time and knock on the door. Your cheeks are flushed from the early November cold, and you’re regretting that you only put on a thin sweater and jeans this morning.

Mike answers the door, giving you a dirty look. “Did you have to come early?”

“I’m actually later than usual,” you sidestep him, making your way into his house; you’ve become used to Mike’s attitude. “I take it the campaign is still ongoing?”

“See, mom? Even Y/N understands how long a good campaign can go on for!” Mike waves his arms at you, as if to signify to his mother the importance of your understanding.

Mrs. Wheeler ignores her son to greet you kindly, albeit a bit exasperated. “Hello, Y/N, please come in.” Then she turns to Mike, giving him a stern look. “Mike, why don’t you tell Y/N how you boys have been playing for ten hours? I’m sure she’ll be understanding then.”

“You guys have been playing for ten hours?”

Mike looks down in embarrassment for a second before turning to his father for help. You laugh a bit at his enthusiasm and see a faint smile on his mom’s face as well. Quietly you excuse yourself to go downstairs to find the other boys, and Mrs. Wheeler wishes you luck.

Everyone always acts like the boys are some giant pain; truthfully, you enjoy them. Sure, they can be a handful, but they’re just kids; it’s hard for you to ever stay mad at them. Plus they like you, so it makes dealing with them easier.

Lucas, Dustin, and Will are running around the basement when you get down there, frantically searching for something. You hear Lucas inform Will that if Mike doesn’t see something, then it doesn’t count. The urgence in his voice amuses you; you’ll never fully wrap your head around why they take DnD so seriously, but you love that they can enjoy it with each other.

Dustin is the first to see you. “Y/N!”

The other boy’s heads turn to you and they greet you with enthusiasm as well. Will rushes towards you for a hug, which you gladly accept. When you break apart, Lucas gives you a high five and asks about a comic you’ve put on hold for him at the store.

“Any luck?”

“Sorry, Sinclair. It’s still sold out, but the second it’s restocked I’ll smuggle one for you.”

“Sick!”

Dustin walks over, now in his coat and holding a pizza box. “Want a slice?”

You decline, informing him that Jonathan snuck some food for you. At the mention of his brother’s name, Will asks where he is. You tell him that Jonathan had to cover a shift and that you’ll be taking him most of the way home tonight.

As you all make your way upstairs, you notice that Dustin continues up to the second floor. Lucas notices too, and the two of you share a knowing look.

“Still have a crush on Nancy?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yup.” Lucas responds, smiling in disappointment.

You wait for your brother outside, helping Will with his coat and listen to Mike’s rambling about the campaign. Lucas is already on his bike, ready to go.

“There’s something wrong with your sister.” Dustin declares when he finally returns.

Mike looks at you, then at your brother, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s got a stick up her butt.”

“Dustin!” You berate. Nancy isn’t your favorite person, but she’s always been nice to you the few times you’ve interacted. You guys used to be closer when you were younger, but high school has a way of distancing people.

“Yeah,” Lucas now speaks up. “It’s because she’s been dating that douchebag, Steve Harrington.” How the hell does Lucas even know about that? You didn’t even know about that until just now.

“Lucas! Language!”

“Yeah, she’s been turning into a real jerk.”

“Dustin, I swear to God-”

The boys ignore you, which you’re honestly not surprised by. While they may like you, that doesn't mean that they listen to you. On a good day they maybe listen to you 25% of the time, but tonight was clearly not a good night.

Mike finally cuts in, “She’s always been a real jerk.”

“Hey, she’s your sister. Give her some credit-”

Dustin is now the one who cuts you off. “Nuh-uh, only you get the sister leniency, Y/N. Nancy used to be cool, now she isn’t.”

“Remember that time she dressed up as an elf for our Elder tree campaign?” Lucas asks, almost reminiscent.

You shudder at the way he says it, and you shudder more when you see the dreamy look in your brother’s eyes. “Yeah, I remember…”

“Gross,” you huff at your brother, now hopping on your own bike.

Lucas and Dustin begin to pedal away, and you call after them to wait up. Will is still with Mike, and you promised Jonathan you’d get him home. You give the boys a bit of space, waiting a few paces ahead. Will has always been shy around Mike, something that you’ve tried not looking into too much, but to be safe you give them some privacy.

Faintly, you hear Will say, “The Demogorgon, it got me.”

Lights flicker a bit, but you’re too focused on the slight unease you feel by Will’s words. Before you can think too much about them, he joins you. “Race you up to Lucas and Dustin?”

“You’re on,” you tell him.

Will beats you to the boys (which you let him do), and you’re out of breath. The four of you bike in silence for a bit until you reach Lucas’s turn into his neighborhood.

“Good night, ladies.” He says, and you don’t need to be a psychic to know what your brother’s response is going to be.

“Kiss your mom ‘night for me.” Bless him.

You and Will giggle together, and Dustin smirks at the two of you, proud. He sits in the praise for a few moments before challenging you and Will to race home with the promise of a comic for whoever wins.

“I call last year’s Black Cat issue of Spider-Man!” You call out, already biking away from the boys.

“We didn’t say go!”

Dustin and Will call after you as they try to catch up, and within a few seconds the three of you are speeding down the hill towards your home. You laugh gleefully, enjoying the way the wind whips through your hair and the way Dustin, though annoyed by your early start, laughs alongside you with Will.

Somehow Will is the one who wins the race, which you’re impressed by. He may be small, but he’s surprisingly good at winning when it comes to a competition. Dustin shouts at Will that he’ll kill him, which makes you send a warning look at him.

“I’ll take your X-Men 134!” Will retaliates, still flying through the street.

You and Dustin are now stopped at your mailbox and you take a moment to catch your breath before shouting at Will, “Be careful, please! Stay safe!”

“I’ll be fine, I promise!” Will’s voice is distant, now a few yards away, and you stand outside for a few more seconds to watch his figure disappear into the night. Dustin has already gone inside but you wait to follow, only going inside when you can no longer see Will, hopefully home safe and sound. You feel fear creep upon you, but you chalk it up to your usual worry when it comes to the boy.

He’ll be okay, Jonathan should be home within the hour.

–

The next morning you’re frantically biking to school, pissed off at Jonathan. He’s your ride every morning, or everywhere, really, and for the second time in 24 hours he’s bailed on you. Dustin left for school ages ago on his bike, so you’re thankful he doesn’t see you embarrassingly sweaty and gross as you race to school.

It’s not that you’re pissed that Jonathan bailed again, you’re pissed because he didn’t even have the nerve to call you ahead of time to warn you. Now you have only ten minutes before the first bell rings, and your sweater clings to you uncomfortably as you sweat.

You make it to school with a few minutes to spare, so you quickly make your way over to your locker to grab the necessary books for the day. You’re still sweaty, and you don’t want to even think about what your hair looks like right now. You look down the hall towards Jonathan’s locker, still not seeing him, and you begin to worry a bit. Maybe he overslept after last night’s shift?

A body crashes into yours, sending your notebooks spiraling to the ground. Steve Harrington looks at you sheepishly, only saying a small “whoops!” before continuing his fast pace towards the girl’s bathroom. You scoff, now even more annoyed with your entire morning, picking up your stuff as you see Nancy enter the same bathroom a few moments later.

“In a public school bathroom?” You mutter in disgust, collecting the last of your things and heading to class.

You decide to give Jonathan until second period, sophomore English which the two of you share, before you freak out. You know you have a problem with over worrying about the people you love, so you try to calm yourself down. While Jonathan has never been the type to cancel without at least calling first, you reason with yourself that everyone has a bad morning. He simply slept in too late. When he wakes up, he’ll come to school and he’ll be sitting in the seat next to you in English.

Except Jonathan isn’t in the seat next to yours when you enter the classroom an hour later. Now you officially let yourself begin to worry. Something about this doesn’t feel right.

You’ve never skipped class before, school has always been important to you. You’re the top of your class with hopes of running away from Hawkins with Jonathan to a big city with an even bigger university. However, you don’t even hesitate to flee the classroom and find the nearest phone in the school to call the Byers’ residence.

Jonathan answers after a few rings, and the words that leave his lips change your life forever. “Will is missing.”

You feel all the air in your lungs be knocked out of you. You can’t breathe and you sway a bit as your knees threaten to give out. This isn’t real, this can’t be happening.

“What?”

“Will, he-he’s gone, Y/N. We can’t find him and-”

You don’t hear whatever else Jonathan says. You struggle to get air back in your lungs. Will isn’t missing, you just saw him last night. Mere hours ago Will laughed next to you, face alive with joy, he hugged you and joked along with you.

“He didn’t come home last night-”

“He didn’t come home?” Jonathan’s words catch your attention and you feel bile rise in your throat. Will didn’t make it home last night. You were the last one to see him, and the realization crushes you; it’s all your fault.

“Mom and I just searched the woods, and there’s no sign of him and-” Jonathan is rambling now, his own fear and despair clear in his voice.

“Jonathan,” you force his name out, now needing to be there for your best friend. You can worry for Will in your own time, right now Jonathan needs you. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Y/N, you don’t-”

You hang up before Jonathan can argue with you and stumble towards the exit. Your limbs feel heavier than normal, and your ears are ringing. Will is missing. He’s so small, he’s scared of the dark… You left him alone in the dark.

The bike ride to the Byers home is a blur. You don’t remember much, your body going on autopilot the second you hopped on your bike. You’re running on pure fear and adrenaline right now, too worried for your boys to focus on anything else.

You don’t bother to knock when you arrive, instead you let yourself in. Joyce is on the phone, arguing with some woman named Cynthia. Your eyes find Jonathan’s, who is sitting on the couch hunched over something. You walk over to him and sit down beside him and your stomach lurches when you see the words “have you seen me?” he’s so neatly printed out on a piece of paper.

“Bee…” you exhale, voice cracking a bit.

Jonathan doesn’t say anything, but you know him as well as you know yourself. He doesn’t want comforting words right now. You take his hand into yours and lean your head against his shoulder. Worry has made his muscles tense, but you feel him relax into you a bit as he rests his own head against yours. The two of you sit like that for a moment, taking in the comfort you bring each other.

“Bitch!” Joyce slams the phone down, causing you and Jonathan to jump apart.

“Mom,”

“What?” Joyce is a mixture of both rage and anxiety, and you feel awful looking at her. Her son is missing, you can’t imagine what she must be feeling right now.

“You have to stay calm.” Jonathan tells her, his voice firm but kind. You know it’s taking everything in him to be as stable as he is right now; he’s putting on a front for his worried mother. You squeeze his hand, hoping it conveys the support and love that you need it to.

He squeezes back, and you see Joyce finally recognize that you’re there as well. She sends you a weak wave, which you return, before she goes back to dialing and trying to reach Lonnie. Jonathan gives your hand one last squeeze and lets go, now returning back to the posters. You immediately understand that he’s doing this to distract himself, so you do the same and wordlessly help him.

You begin writing your own “have you seen me?” when Joyce once again slams her phone down. The sound makes you flinch, inadvertently messing up your writing, which you sigh at. Before you can ask Jonathan for another piece of paper, you hear a car pull up.

Jonathan stands up to investigate, alerting his mom that the cops are here. You follow after them outside, your heart dropping when you see Will’s bike in the Chief’s hand. He ushers everyone inside, informing Joyce that he found the bike lying in the road.

“How far was it from the house?” You ask, your voice frail.

The Chief looks at you, his nametag informs you that his name is Hopper, and raises his eyebrows. “And can I know who is asking?”

You clear your throat, nervous under his scrutinizing gaze. “I’m Y/N Henderson. I’m close with the Byers, I biked with Will home,” your voice catches in your throat, snagging onto the guilt that has been clawing at you ever since you found out Will was missing. You clear your throat again, determined to continue. “I was with him last night. My brother and I live right off Mirkwood, a few blocks from here. He only had a few more minutes before he would’ve been home.”

Hopper stares at you. “Mirkwood?”

“It’s where-”

“Yeah, those moron kids explained it to me. I just didn’t think someone your age would call the street that, too.” Then, as an afterthought, Hopper adds, “The bike was found a block from here.”

His words sting, but you ignore it. If the bike was found only a block from the Byers’ home, then that means that something had to have happened to Will only minutes after you last saw him. You feel the familiar churning in your stomach, wracked with guilt.

“Did it have any blood on it?” Joyce now asks, and you’re thankful she’s taken the attention off of you.

Jonathan sees your distress and grabs your sweater so that you fall back a bit from the cops and Joyce. “Do you need a minute?”

You can only nod, afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll either cry or throw up. He gently guides you to his room, closing the door. Once you’re alone, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight. You’re shaking harder than ever now, Will’s happy and shining face from last night keeps flashing through your mind.

You were the last one who ever saw him.

You’re the one who was last responsible for him.

You.

“It’s not your fault,” Jonathan whispers, his voice muffled by your hair. You’ve always loved how you fit perfectly in his arms, your height difference being just enough that he always rests his chin against your head when he hugs you.

“I’m the last person who saw him.”

“Y/N, I was the one who asked you to only bike him halfway-”

“No,” your voice comes out louder than you intend it to, and you push Jonathan away. He lets out a confused noise as you grapple at him, forcing him to look directly at you. “I should’ve been with him, Jonathan. It’s your job to support your family, and it’s my job to help you. I have to… I have to be the one who helps you.”

You’ve always been fascinated by psychology, and you remember reading in one of the journals about codependency; the term was used in relation to addiction, specifically alcoholism, but it had caught your interest. To love someone to the extent that their actions make you feel responsible for them, to selflessly take on their burdens to a debilitating extent, well, it reminded you of your relationship with Jonathan.

You’ve always taken on whatever Jonathan has had to deal with, ever since you were kids, and it’s always come so naturally to you. He’s never asked you to, and sometimes the extent to which you carry his weight angers him, but it’s how you love.

It’s who you are. You’re always the one who helps, it’s what you need to be able to do. If you can’t help the ones you love the most, then what good is your love for them?

Jonathan may not know about codependency, but he knows how hard you love those closest to you. “Bug, listen to me.” He grabs your face, almost aggressively, in order to cut off your rambling. “My mom, she-she’s already spiraling and I can’t… I need you. I need you to be here, with me, right now. If I lose you too, then I-I don’t know what I’ll do.”

His words cut through you like glass. He’s right, you know he’s right, and you feel another wave of guilt wash over you. This guilt is different from the guilt surrounding Will. This is mixed with shame for allowing yourself to spiral so far and forcing Jonathan to take care of you. Joyce is clearly unwell, you can’t fathom how much he’s had to deal with today.

You gently remove Jonathan’s hands from your face and take a step back. If you’re going to help him, you need to collect yourself. From here on out, you have to be a wall for him to lean on, a shoulder to cry on, someone who will listen to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Jonathan shrugs at you, now allowing a hesitant smile to cross his face. “If it makes you feel any better, it took a lot less pleading to get through to you. I’m still working on my mom.”

The joke is foul, one that should make you feel even worse than you already do, because what sixteen year old has to plead with their mother to remind her that he’s there, too? The joke is horrible, and it’s exactly what you need to find yourself laughing, and Jonathan joins.

Codependency can be a bitch, but Jonathan understands you in ways that no one else can.

“You think the cops are gone?” You ask, wiping away the remaining tears.

Jonathan listens for any sign of them and shakes his head. “No, I think we’re all clear.”

He walks out the room first and you follow after him. Joyce is standing in the kitchen, staring at the counter with a far off look in her eyes. You and Jonathan look at each other and you motion for him to go talk to her. He nods, and then you motion to the living room to indicate that you’ll continue working on the missing posters.

Carefully writing on the posters soothes you, in a way. It’s rhythmic, providing a sense of lull that you readily embrace. You faintly hear Jonathan talking with his mother, then you watch as he leads her to her bedroom and shuts the door. When he returns he sits next to you on the couch and begins to work on the posters as well. No words are needed.

You work on the posters in silence for a few hours until it nears 3pm. Dustin will be getting out of school soon, and you have to be there for him when he’s home. While Will may be Jonathan’s brother, he’s also your brother’s best friend. You get up and head into the kitchen, long familiar now with its layout and usual contents within the fridge, and quickly prepare the ingredients for spaghetti. It’s a simple meal, but Jonathan and Joyce need to eat. Once it’s all laid out, you return to the living room and tap on your friend’s shoulder.

“Hey, I have to head out now to check on Dustin, but I just put a pot of water on the stove along with some noodles on the counter. I also cut up some vegetables and put them in the fridge for the sauce. Start the meal whenever, I laid everything out for you.”

“Thank you, really,” Jonathan exhales, relief evident on his face. He hadn’t even thought about dinner, which you figured he wouldn’t.

You bend down to kiss the top of his head. “Anytime, bee. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“Okay,”

“Just…” you linger at the door, not fully wanting to leave him all by himself. “Be careful, please.”

“Go, Y/N. I’ll be fine, I promise.” Jonathan reassures you.

“I’ll be fine, I promise!” Will’s voice is distant, now a few yards away, and you stand outside for a few more seconds to watch his figure disappear into the night.

It’s brief, but the flashback punches you in the gut. You close your eyes, holding onto the image of Will’s face in the moonlight last night, and when it fades you take a deep breath and force yourself to leave.

The second you’re on your bike, pedaling away from the house, you let the sobs that have wracked against your throat all day out. It’s messy, the tears coming down your face faster than you can wipe them away. All the fear you’ve felt is now able to freely come out. It’s not the safest way to bike home, but you know that if you hold the tears in any longer you’ll collapse. You do your best to still be alert, but apparently you fail because a BMW honks at you to avoid you hitting it.

“Fuck!” You yank your bike to the right, having no idea that you had been on the left side of the road, and topple over. The fall isn’t anything bad, but it definitely is your final straw for the day. You lay in the ditch you’ve landed in, staring at the November sky, and let the pain from your skinned knee serve as something to ground you to reality.

“Holy shit, did I hit you?”

Steve Harrington stands over you, a horrified look in his eyes.

“Unfortunately not, otherwise I’d be able to sue you and get money out of it.”

“Uh… okay?” He offers you his hand, although still very confused. “You didn’t like, happen to hit your head or anything, right?”

You accept his help, albeit mostly because you have to, and brush yourself off when you’re up. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t paying attention, sorry.”

Steve nods, as if you almost getting hit by his car makes perfect sense to him. When you walk over to your bike and inspect it for any damage, he follows after you.

“So,” he whistles, trying to pretend that this is all a completely normal occurrence. “You, uh, need a ride?”

Honestly you don’t know why you’re surprised he hasn’t noticed the clear signs of you crying, your swollen eyes and red nose. Not only is he a boy, but he’s also Steve Harrington. It’s a miracle he even stopped to make sure you weren’t dead.

“No,” you say, now repositioning your backpack so that you can get back on your bike. “Thanks anyways, Harrington.”

Steve continues to follow you, even after you’ve started to pedal away. “You’re welcome, random girl I almost hit!”

You’re a bit further now, and you still feel like utter shit, but his words somehow make you laugh a bit. For a brief moment, you forget about everything, so you call behind, “It’s Henderson!”

“That’s an odd first name!” The boy shouts after you, still following from a distance.

“Y/N Henderson!” You’re fully yelling now, a good yard away, but you can tell that Steve hears you based on the way he begins to wave eagerly, finally stopping next to his car. Faintly you understand the boyish charm that makes him so loved by all the girls in the school; you understand why Nancy Wheeler has fallen for him.

“Bye, Y/N!” It’s faint, but you swear you can hear a smile in his voice.

The good mood that Steve Harrington inexplicably puts you in vanishes when you near your house. Nothing has changed, yet it feels as if something has shifted. Will had been here only hours ago. You spot Dustin’s bike laying on the grass, haphazardly thrown as usual.

Dustin is just taking off his coat when you enter, immediately running over to him to pull him into a bone crushing hug.

“Y/N!” he squeaks in surprise.

“Are you okay?” You know you’re squeezing your brother harder than you need to, but God. He’s safe, in your arms, and you’ve now learned that not everyone can say the same about their own loved ones.

Dustin wiggles a bit, trying to break away from the hug, but you only pull him in tighter. “Geesh, no one died.”

Normally you’d berate him, but you embrace his snarky comments. They’re what make Dustin so unique, his humor one of your favorite parts of him

When you don’t respond, Dustin stops wiggling around and finally accepts the situation. “I love ya too, sis.”

You giggle a bit, now pulling away. “At least mom isn’t home right now. The minute she hears about what’s happened, we’ll be on lockdown.”

Dustin’s eyes widen. “Shit, you’re right.”

“Lan-”

“Language, I know.”

You ruffle his hair, now feeling a bit better. Dustin is still Dustin, so maybe everything will be okay. You and your brother go into the kitchen for your post school snack, and you call your boss to inform her that you can’t make it to your shift. The words “family emergency” catch in your throat a bit, and Mrs. Waters is kind enough not to push it.

Dustin catches you up on his day, informing you about Hopper questioning him and the other boys.

You scrunch your nose at that. “Is that even legal?”

“Unsure, but it was awesome.”

“Will went missing, Dustin. It isn’t ‘awesome’.”

Dustin tilts his head at you. “Well, I bet Will is going to have a blast hearing everything when we find him.”

His words are so matter of fact, as if he already knows that Will will be found after all. His naivety worries you a bit, but you also can’t help but indulge in his hope as well. Then you think about what he’s just said. “Wait, who’s ‘we’?”

Your brother pretends he can't hear you, miming at his ears. “Dustin-”

“What?”

“Dustin, you and the boys can’t just-”

“I can’t hear you!” He’s running to his room now with you quick behind his heels.

“Dustin, I swear to God-”

“I gotta do homework, Y/N, bye!” He slams the door in your face.

You sigh. There’s no getting through to him, years of being Dustin’s older sister has taught you that, so you go into your room instead. You might as well get started on the assignments you missed today, and you have a huge chem test tomorrow, so you’ll focus on that and keep an ear out for Dustin. Whatever he’s planning with the boys, you won’t let them do it alone.

After a couple hours of silence from Dustin’s room, you decide to call Jonathan. The line rings for a while with no answer, and eventually you give up. It makes sense that he’s not answering, he’s had a long day. You hope he’s asleep, but you know him better than that. He’s probably holed up in his room, trying to distract himself like you are right now.

A loud thud from Dustin’s room breaks you from your thoughts. Then you hear a quiet “shhh!” that sounds suspiciously like Lucas, and you immediately throw on your shoes and a jacket and march outside.

Dustin is halfway out of his window when you arrive, and Mike and Lucas stare at you, caught red handed.

“Guys, I think she can hear us.” Your brother says, breaking the silence. Mike scoffs at him and Lucas groans.

You eye the three of them, unamused. “Your best friend just went missing, what the hell are you guys doing out here so late and alone?”

Dustin awkwardly finishes his descent down, finally landing on his feet with a thud. He secures his hat back on his head and goes to grab his bike. You block his path.

“I’m serious, one of you needs to start talking, now.”

Lucas and Dustin look at Mike, who is their unofficial leader of the gang, and he huffs. “Look, Y/N, I like you-”

“How thrilling.” You say, voice monotone.

The boy ignores you and continues to talk. “But Will is missing, and we aren’t just going to sit around and wait. He’s our friend, we have to do something.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Lucas interrupts you. “You’re definitely our favorite sister in the group, so you’d be even cooler if you let us go.”

Again, you try to respond, but this time Dustin beats you to it. “Yeah, you’re like, totally cool already. If you pretend that you never saw us, that’d be great.”

“Guys-”

“And don’t give us a whole lecture about safety. That’s all bull.” Mike says.

“Boys!” You scream. They all fall silent, not used to you ever raising your voice at them. You’ve only ever yelled at them once or twice, preferring to be the “cool” sister whenever you can, but right now they’re seriously pissing you off.

“Let me speak.” When no one says anything, you continue. “I’m not going to stop you guys from looking for Will. In fact, I support it-”

“You do?”

You shoot Mike a death glare, which promptly shuts him up. “Yes, I do. However, I’m not letting you guys go alone.”

The boys all groan at this, acting as if it’s the worst thing in the world to have you tag along with them. You ignore their complaining and head over to where your bike sits against the porch. You zip up your coat, the chill from the night making you shiver a bit.

“No arguing, or I’ll call all your moms. Ours included, Dustin.”

“Why me?”

“Look, guys. I’m proud of you for stepping up, but I’m coming with. The last time I let one of you boys go off into the woods alone…”

The boys shift uncomfortably now, realizing how heavy the guilt weighs upon you. After a few beats of silence, Mike finally gives in.

“Fine,” he says, pointing a finger at you. “But the second you start to freak out, you’re gone.”

You salute Mike, hopping on your bike as you all begin to bike away. The ride doesn’t take long, since you live just off of where Will was last seen. Thunder rumbles when you all approach the crime scene, and you shudder a bit.

“It’s going to rain, guys.” You inform them.

Dustin looks up at the sky with uncertainty. “I think maybe we should go back.”

Mike is quick to shut down the idea, urging the others to keep going. You admire his loyalty to Will, and you figure it’s why the two of you butt heads so often. Out of the entire group, you’re the most similar to him.

Lucas and Mike go under the caution tape first, and Dustin hangs back. You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We can go back, you know.”

He clenches his jaw, jutting his chin out a bit. “No, Will needs us.”

Your brother puffs out his chest and follows after his friends, leaving you to take up the rear. More thunder rumbles and the rain begins to come down. You flip your hood up, thankful you remembered to grab a hoodie when leaving.

Mike guides the way with his flashlight, then Lucas, then Dustin, then you in the back. You make sure to keep your eyes on the three boys, scared that the second you look away they’ll be gone. The woods have always creeped you out, but you push your fear down to keep them safe.

“Will!” Mike calls out, the rain now pouring down on you guys.

“Byers!”

“Will, little bee!” You call out as well. He never liked when you called him that in front of the others, but tonight was an exception.

“I’ve got your X-Men 134!” Your brother bribes, unintentionally making you laugh a bit. If Will is nearby, he’ll surely come out to claim his prize.

Your foot catches on a tree log, and you slip in the mud before just barely managing to catch yourself. It’s getting hard to see given how dark it is and the rain surrounding you. Dustin voices his concerns, only to be called a baby, and you bite your tongue. If you defend him, he’ll only look more like a baby to his friends.

“I’m just being realistic!” He retaliates, which you commend him for.

“Dustin’s right, guys. It’s getting really bad out here. We’re surrounded by a ton of trees, don’t they attract lightning?” You ask, now paranoid that you’ll be struck down any second.

“You guys are being sissies.” Lucas taunts, annoyed as well.

You try to argue, but Dustin voices a thought that’s been at the back of your mind. “Did you ever think Will went missing because he ran into something bad?”

You think back to how Hopper seemed worried when he investigated the Byers home. From what you can recall, he suspected that Will had been running away from something, explaining why he’d abandon his bike.

“And now we’re going to the exact same spot where he was last seen, and we have no weapons or anything?”

Maybe Dustin’s right. This definitely wasn’t your best idea, and you’re regretting letting them follow through with their plan. For someone who claims to want to keep their loved ones safe, you really suck at it.

“Dustin, shut up.” Mike voices, though he now looks a bit concerned as well.

“He’s right, Mike.” You speak up, stumbling a bit in more mud. Your shoes are definitely ruined, now. “I was at Jonathan’s when Hopper showed up, he thinks Will was running from something.”

The boys go quiet now, and when you’re about to suggest going home, you hear rustling in the bushes.

“Did you guys hear that?” Mike asks.

Your heart stops as the rustling continues and you all start to twist and turn, looking for the source of the sound. The rustling gets louder, almost as if it’s getting closer, and you tighten your hand around your flashlight, ready to use it as a weapon just in case.

Then, the light flashes upon a little girl, drenched in an oversized yellow shirt, shivering. Her head is shaved, but her small stature suggests to you that she is indeed a girl. You all stare at her, no one saying a thing. She stares back, a terrified look on her face that breaks your heart.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

Her eyes land on you; something about her reminds you of Will, and you know that nothing will be the same again.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wdtai #m's writing #honestly i just want to be jonathans bff #like its criminal that he doesnt have any real friends in the show until SEASON 4 #absolutely wild

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roll-for-gaslight · 2 months ago

Text

disincarnate

oops! I wrote another Kristen Applebees fic!

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62986921

Description:

disincarnate (adj): (of a person or being) not having a physical body.

Kristen’s body belongs to Helio. It has from the moment she was born, since she was baptized in the boiled-and-mostly-cooled corn water, since she was Chosen. Her earliest memories are of the miracles He sent to display His Choice. She remembers the searing golden light that shone from and warmed her hands when they were clasped in prayer, the way that foods she didn’t want to eat would turn into corn in her mouth.

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She wakes each morning with the rising sun, an unwilling side effect of being Chosen. She can feel the warmth of it behind her eyes, a reminder that it’s time to begin her daily prayers. Despite her tiredness, she rolls out of bed and kneels at her altar in one well-practiced motion, blearily reciting the same words as she does every morning. She finally opens her eyes when she's done, the dawn light warming her through her window in a way that borders on too-hot.

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The first miracle she performs is pure luck, and painful. There's an altar boy, she recognizes him vaguely from church camp last year, and he's clumsy. One moment, everything's normal, and the next, he's tripped down the three steps separating the stage for Pastor Amelia from the rest of the congregation and his head is cracked open against the floor.

Kristen isn't sure what motivates her to move. She doesn't remember deciding to go to him, to kneel in the rapidly-expanding pool of blood on the ground, to press her hands to the place where his bone's jagged edge is exposed. She just remembers thinking He's going to die if someone doesn't do something and then a burning sensation on her palms. What begins as barely-there warmth grown into something uncomfortable, then searing. She can feel her skin splitting open, blistering, boiling, and it's too hot, and she wants it to stop, and then—

It's over, and David (she's pretty sure his name is David, at least) is blinking blearily up at her, breathing and not bleeding, tears springing to his eyes.

"What happened?" he asks, and Kristen can't even begin to think about answering that she can feel her mom's hands on her shoulders. She tries, instinctively for a moment, to pull away from her warm palms, but ultimately lets herself be guided home, away from the prying eyes of everyone else. She sits in the car, inspecting her own hands for signs of damage and finding them left red and raw, too tender to even touch her own palms.

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Kristen knows that lying is wrong. She knows telling her mom that Bucky, at only three years old, is who knocked over the lamp in the living room isn't nice, and that if her parents ever found out she'd be in way bigger trouble for blaming him, but she does it anyway.

"I swear, Mom, I was all the way across the room!" she says, and almost the moment the words fall from her lips she can feel herself start to gag on something. Her mom tells her she can go to her room so she doesn't step on the shattered ceramic, and Kristen takes the opportunity to escape.

There's a burning, acrid taste in her mouth, and she's drooling like she's about to throw up. She coughs, trying to unstick whatever is caught in her throat, but it quickly turns into hyperventilating and retching. She grabs the tiny trashcan off of her desk, popping the lid off to puke into it, and is surprised to see what looks like creamed corn. She chokes, gagging repeatedly until she chokes and coughs again, spewing the rest of the corn. Her hands are shaking, the tiny plastic trash can sloshing golden, milky corn. She feels the guilt consume her quickly, kneeling down at her altar to pray.

"Mighty Helio, blessed be thy name, is this your sign? What am I meant to understand from this? Please sent me your guidance so that I may more easily understand where my path is," she requests, her voice tentative and hoarse. His answer doesn't come in words; just a mental image of the moment she lied to her mom and more corn, stomach acid creeping its way up through her body. She feels the way it burns her esophagus, and she can't help the tears that fall from her eyes.

She goes into the living room sheepishly, knowing she's about to be yelled at but not knowing how else to stop this. "Mom? Mom, I'm sorry, Bucky didn't knock over the lamp, I did. I shouldn't have said he did, I just got nervous about getting in trouble," she says softly, and the expected chastisement begins quickly. The nausea fades soon, but she can feel the burn of bile and taste corn in the back of her throat for a week after.

She decides that if that's the consequences, she'll never sin again. As Helio's chosen, it's her job to set a good example anyway. He's probably just pushing her to be her best.

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Kristen is seven years old, and it's late at night and she it tired of having her hair touched. Her mom has been sitting behind her detangling the thick, knotted mess for the better part of an hour, and it's finally to the point she's wrestling it into a dutch braid for the night.

"Why can't I just cut my hair off so we don't have to do this?" she whines, and her mom only pulls tighter at her words.

"Because it's what Helio wants. Girls have to have pretty long hair like yours so that they find husbands," she explains sternly. "Besides, you don't want people thinking you're a boy, do you? Or one of those nasty dykes?"

Kristen frowns. She's heard her mom say that word before, and she's not sure what it means, but all she can think about is that she doesn't want to spend the rest of her life with some stupid boy who cares if she has long hair.

"But, what if I don't want to have a husband?" she asks, and she can see in the mirror in front of her the way her mom's face splotches with red.

"You have to have a husband some day, sweetie, you're supposed to grow up and get married. You're chosen, after all! You have to follow all of Helio's rules, like making a nice home for your kids and raising new followers," she says firmly, and Kristen knows that tone. If she keeps arguing, she'll only get in more trouble. "I'll talk to Pastor Amelia about giving a sermon in it this Sunday. Okay?"

Kristen nods in understanding, and winces as the last piece of her hair is incorporated into the braid.

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Her skin is crawling. She's ten years old, participating in her first Harvest Festival at her parents' insistence, and she's been in the sun too long. She feels nauseous, and dizzy, and her skin is redder than her hair at this point. She's been on her knees for hours, can feel the rock that was at one point a minor annoyance now sharply digging into her skin, and most of all she's exhausted.

Her head is swimming and she's lost track of time, to the point where her body feels out of control. It's too bright out, and she's squinting against the sunlight to watch the pastor on stage as her eyes alternate between unstoppable tears and unbelievable dryness. She's only staying upright because she's being supported by the human crush of other children around her on all sides, kneeling and praying as well. When her eyes finally slip shut, she feels relief and guilt flood her in equal measure at the idea of walking away.

Instead she feels the beginning of what she knows to be a miracle from Helio as she becomes weightless, her body quickly consumed by His holy glow and the smell of fresh popcorn. She can feel it changing her, healing her, sustaining her, restoring her so she can pray longer.

When He sets her back on the ground, it's with a daintiness and grace she doesn't typically posses, and then she hears the pastor say her name in his slow, Highcourt drawl and then there are hands reaching for her through the crowd, seeking to take part in her moment of revelation. She feels then, sticky and sweaty and tugging at her clothes and skin and hair and they don't seem to mean to but it's suffocating all the same. The heat never fully feels like it fades from her skin, and the people nearest to her are still standing too close, but she stays there in the crowd for as long as she can anyway. She stays until that night, when they finally let them lay down and rest for a few hours, the last person on her feet, but her body is numb to it.

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She's fourteen, and it's her first day of high school. She awkwardly clambers onto the cafeteria to fight the Corn Cutie in front of her, only to die at its hands.

She meets Helio. She looks in his eyes and see that they're the same color as her own, and she remembers a bit of scripture. Sol made humans in his image, and Helio's by extension. He can't answer her questions.

When she comes back, her body doesn't feel the same.

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As Kristen wanders through Sylvaire, a soul with no body to call home, she finally feels like herself. She's rejected Helio, and Galicaea, and she's finally following something that feels real and true. Not someone with all the answers, but someone with the courage to hold your hand in uncertain times.

As she paints her goddess, using her own blood as paint against the rough bark of the tree, and doesn't recognize the element of herself in the image. She paints divinity like a friend, with Fig's kindness and Gorgug's gentle nature and Fabian's bravery, with Adaine's honesty and Riz's curiosity.

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When Kristen goes to embrace the Nightmare King, she's not sure what exactly she expects to see. She knows her goddess is in there, but the image of her in Kristen's head is incomplete.

She certainly never expected to see a disappointingly perfect likeness of herself.

When Cassandra stands they're the same height, and their hair is pulled back the same way. In Her smile, Kristen sees herself as she is seen by God, and she looks too much like she did a year and a half ago, on the first day of school, before she died.

She looks happy and uncomplicated and easy to love and nothing like how Kristen views herself.

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Cassandra is hard to look at.

To be perfectly, clear, Kristen adores her in every other way. Her kind and gentle nature is soothing on her worst days, even if Her voice sounds so much like Kristen's own. She's everything she's ever looked for in a God, everything she wanted Helio and Yes! to be and everyone she wants to grow into.

She just can't look her in the eye and tell her that.

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It's June before their Junior Year, and it's dark outside. She's watching Fabian and Gorgug work out, thinking about Fabian has changed in the last few months now that he's dancing and using his battle sheet. The two of them are sparring, and Fig is in the corner playing a song for Fabian to keep beat with, and he's doing an amazing job. His bulky muscles from the Owlbears have given way to something lithe and flexible and different, but no less strong. As the fight concludes, the two of them sit in the grass, and she approaches them tentatively.

"Hey, do you think you can show me some basic workout stuff?" she asks, and Gorgug smiles slightly.

"Are you sure? It's never seemed like your thing before, is all," he asks, but she knows it's curiosity and not judgment or refusal.

She thinks of Cassandra, of how badly she needs to be someone other than who she's always been.

She thinks of the feeling of a miracle in her palms, scorching her skin, and of how she's never belonged to herself. She was his chosen, then Her prophet. She was her mother's daughter.

She pictures herself older, stronger, wiser, and finally nods. "Yeah, I'm sure."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Junior Year has been one long nightmare, and Kristen is suffocating in her chapel. Not literally, nothing's killing her this time, but she can't breathe regardless. Cassandra's shards sit on the table in front of her vanity mirror, and she stares alternatingly at their dim glow and her own face in the mirror, illuminated faintly with the purple light. All at once, she hates how she looks and wishes for nothing more to look once again into the too-familiar eyes of her goddess, regardless of the resemblance. She's been looking for so long she can almost convince herself that she sees a flicker of Cassandra's smile, of her star-glass skin, but then she blinks and the image in gone again. In a flurry of movement even she doesn't expect, she grabs the scissors off the desk in front of her and chops wildly at her hair.

She awakens from her manic decision and the damage is done, one half of her hair chopped bluntly at her shoulders and the other half sporting layers that end as short as her ears. She takes a few seconds to panic before grabbing the closest hat and putting it on to cover the mess. She marches straight to Fig's door, scissors still in hand, and knocks.

Fig opens the door and the heavy bass music that seems to always be playing inside gets a little louder. "What can I do for you, Madame President?" she asks, smiling in a way that makes Kristen feel better already.

She takes off her hat, and watches her friend's eyes go wide. Fig pulls her into the room and guides her straight to the piano bench to sit, taking the scissors from her hands. "How would you feel about a mullet?" she asks, and Kristen feels a weight lift off her chest.

"Do whatever you want, I just need it gone." she says, and with each lock of hair that falls she finds herself a little more able to breathe. After a few minutes, she hears Fig let out a small gasp.

"Your hair is curly! Did you know you have curly hair?" she asks, a wide grin on her face as she crosses the room to grab a small, handheld mirror that she hands off to Kristen. She gently holds up some of the now-curling hair, and suddenly Kristen is crying. She feels the tears fall down her face as she realizes just how different she looks, with her wider frame and mature features and curls falling around her face. There's no remnant of the little girl her parents raised; there's just Kristen in all their natural glory, finally a version of their face that's never belonged to anyone else.

Fig keeps going, trimming and shaping and at one point going to find her electric razor she uses to shave her head. By the time it's over and done with Kristen has a mullet with shaves sides, their curls falling in every direction and giving their hair volume it's never had.

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When Cassandra comes back, Kristen looks Her in the eye to apologize, and it doesn't feel like the end of the world as they do so.

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butch-de-101 · 1 month ago

Text

Blackreach and it’s Beneficial Flora Hive-Mind for the Falmer. Thoughts/Head-Cannon

So what is Blacreach? Blackreach is a massive underground system of caves, caverns and tunnels that span underneath the holds of The Pale, Winterhold, Hjaalmarch, Haafingar and The Reach, and it’s also home to various creatures and inhabited by the Falmer. It’s most noticeable cave being it’s namesake Blackreach or in Dwemer “Fal'Zhardum Din” or "Blackest Kingdom Reaches". Now as we all know one of the most notable features in Blackreach has to be its bioluminescent walls and celling which in my opinion appeared to be some form of fungus, Lichen or Moss.

Some might say these are Glowworms but these glowing ceilings appear in almost every cavern inhabited by Falmer, such as Darkwater Pass and the giant Mushroom Trees appearing in Darkfall Passage and the rest of the Vale.

Flora Hive-Mind? Uhh Explain Yourself

I’m glad you asked because it’s about to get very science-icy in here involving plants their root system/structure and chemicals. Have you ever mowed a lawn, broke a stem or tore a leaf in half? If you said yes to one of those things you would have noticed a peculiar pleasant smell. Well that’s the chemical reaction of a plant screaming in agony releasing a signal to all surrounding flora that there is an unforeseen threat that is harming them and that they should keep their guide up. And another way plants can communicate with each other is through their root system which can connect the largest of trees to the smallest blade of grass, and one of the biggest connectors in this system is… Fungus aka Mushrooms. Now this form of air communication is called Biosemiotics but particularly form is Volatile Organic Compounds. Which are chemical signals released by plants to signal plants to warm of them potential threats or to attract pollinators, and the root base communication is called Mycorrhizae in where roots and fungi are connected underground in a mostly beneficial relationship. This root/fungus base communication allows plants to share information, nutrients, water and even provide aid for damaged or sickly plants and works as a massive support group in different ways.

Also not only are the walls and ceiling of Blackreach are covered in glowing fungus but on the cavern floor stands large and almost tree like Mushrooms that tower over creatures and buildings. If these over sized mushrooms have a Taproot structure that would mean they go deep into the ground and hold it from any form of erosion, either from underground water and rivers which Blackreach has. This also goes for the long glowing tendrils that come from the ceiling and ground.

Now for my Blackreach Hive-Mind theory, so while exploring the various Falmer dwellings you’ll find that various species of mushrooms from near the entrance to deep within their lair. Now although mushrooms don’t have roots they do have Mycelium, these are fungi threads that can span deep and extend miles connecting large areas of flora to a network of beneficial interest. Three places of interest in this theory are Shimmermist Cave, Lost Echo Cave and Darkwater Pass all of which are Falmer inhabited, home to glowing mushrooms and show no sign of entry to Blackreach accessible to the player, but let’s say that the Falmer Wall Holes lead to unseen tunnels and caverns that also contain glowing fungus which would mean a large network of connections back to Blackreach fungal mass. So if we use the examples of root/fungal network and how they use this to share information, resources and aid we also know that Falmer caves and Dwemer ruins are all over Skyrim, so if we used this information that would mean that the entirety of Skyrim surface area from farms, forest and meadows are connected to deep underground tunnels allied with fungus that Mycelium threads connect them to a larger network of underground ecosystems doing everything in its power to live and thrive.

(corn is know to release a chemical signal that wasps will pick up to come to it’s aid when it it’s being eaten by pest such as locust)

How does this benefit the Ecosystem?

Skyrim is a large and diverse nation when it comes to weather and its environment, but even evaluation has it’s effects on how temperatures work. But to simplify it, the Northern Parts of Skyrim are cold while the Southern Parts are Warmer but that doesn’t matter as winter will still cause frost and if Nir tilts like Earth, then night will be longer and more intense etc.

But let’s so it’s winter and most of the Flora has “died” and won’t be able to photosynthesize, well that to worry as Skyrim is full of Pine/Spruce trees which are Evergreens. That means they do not lose their foliage and have the ability to attain nutrients from the sun, and they actually share their nutrients with their dominant neighbors and they share these nutrients with the previous fungal Mycorrhizal Network. Now let’s other important nutrients from decaying plants/animals aren’t as abundant as before well the surface won’t have to worry as deep beneath the surface are large tunnels and caves filled with Falmer and Chaurus, Vale Deer, Durzogs, Trolls and insects such as Spiders, Moths, Shroom Beetles, Cockroaches, Nixads and even Gloomspore Creatures. Which are giant sentient fungal growths that take the form of animals.

So now let’s say there’s a drought in Whiterun hold the fungus in Blackreach can share much needed water and let’s say theirs a blight effecting the trees in Haafingar Hold, again the glowing fungus from the tunnels would be able to transfer that information to the network system and warm the other of a possible threat and to prepare antibodies for themselves and to send to the infected plants. As plants do in real life

How Does This Benefit The Falmer?

One thing I noticed while in Blackreach is that it’s able to support Trees, Shrubs and Grasses, which would mean that the bioluminescent that is produced from the wall and ceiling glowing fungus, lichen or moss and the giant mushrooms like trees/tendrils are able to produce the same amount of ultraviolet lights as the sun. which would give the Falmer and other creatures a daily/yearly supply of vitamin D which would give them stronger bones and immune system, but that is not all. The root from the tress and mycelium from the fungus would hold the ground, cleaning and walls tightly keeping the ground above and below them steadily in place.

Also water from the surface that will be absorbed by the ground will be purified from pollutes and other undesirable materials. As roots and tightly compacted soil will work as a natural filter and provide clean drinking water to the Falmer, creatures and foliage that grows there. Also according to Elder Scrolls lore the Mushrooms that cause the blindness in Falmer are ironically extinct so that don’t have that to worry about but they do still have a large option when it comes to edible vegetables as they could grow crops like the Falmer in the Vale do.

(And if you ever had to de-weed or cut roots, you’ll know what I mean)

End

I think I written and botched enough of what I was originally thinking and thought/theorized about. I hope I made sense and that the read wasn’t boring but I had fun and I hoped you liked it too.

Also @falmerbrook was a huge inspiration and please go give them a check and read what they have to say.

#the elder scrolls #skyrim #falmer #snow elf #Chaurus #blackreach #elder scrolls #tes headcanons #fungus #plants #elder scrolls lore #Skyrim Blackreach #elder scrolls Blackreach #tes lore

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acti-veg · 6 months ago

Note

would everyone switching to being plant based cause ecological problems?

Plant-based diets require less land, less water, less energy, less deforestation and produce vastly lower greenhouse gas emissions. Even accounting for land that cannot be used for crops, we could comfortably feed far more people using far less resources if we were all eating plant-based. See my resource use page for an explanation on that, and the resources subpage for sources.

Keep in mind that there is no realistic scenario where this happens immediately, either. Current projections are based on current systems, but as the world transitions away from animal agriculture, we would make plant agriculture even more efficient, less damaging to soil and more sustainable. The farming of well-chosen crops directly is almost always going to be less ecologically damaging than farming animals, who require land to graze on and land to grow the vast vast quantities of crops they are fed.

All that said, there are problems that would be created through a switch to plant agriculture. Social erosion is one of them, considering how best to manage cropland so that we can re-wild less "productive" land, how we manage fertilisation and keeping out pests etc. But all of these issues are massive under our current system too, because again, farmed animals are fed vast quantities of soy, corn and wheat to get them to slaughter weight, and then you have to add on the vast tracts of (often arable, indigenous and/or deforested) land that they graze on.

Personally, I think that a plant-based agriculture system would need to include alternative proteins as well as arable crops. That could be in the form of fermented proteins which shows a lot of promise as an emerging technology, or possibly even lab grown meat if we can get rid of the animal input and make it more efficient, though I am much less convinced of that.

Either way, the overwhelming scientific consensus is that we could feed far more people, using far less land and fewer resources, if we started eating crops directly instead of feeding those crops to animals, then eating those animals. It is just an objectively more efficient way to feed our population.

#ask #resource use #vegan #environment

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liesmyteachertoldme · 4 months ago

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FDA a criminal organization

In the late 1800s, food producers were selling adulterated products, and pharmaceutical companies peddled medicines with secret ingredients like opium and alcohol. Public outrage grew, especially after exposés like Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle,3 which helped spark the 1906 Pure Food and Drug Act.4 This law gave the Bureau of Chemistry the power to ensure accurate labeling and prevent harmful additives in food.

The director of the Bureau of Chemistry (and thus the first head of the FDA), Harvey Wiley5 conducted tests on food additives, proving they made healthy volunteers sick. While the public and many scientists supported his findings, the food industry fought back with powerful lobbyists and legal tactics.

Note: The additives Wiley scrutinized were boric acid and borax, salicylic acid (aspirin) and salicylates, benzoic acid and benzoates, sulfur dioxide and sulfites, formaldehyde, sulfate of copper (used to green produce), and saltpeter (nitrates).

Gradually, the food industry hijacked the presidency, and in 1912, Wiley resigned, realizing he could achieve more for America’s health as a private citizen than within the government.

Wiley’s book "The History of a Crime Against the Food Law"6 details much of the same abhorrent industry tactics we see happening now. For example, a series of investigative reports7 have recently shown that the processed food industry’s lobbyists are now working fervently behind the scenes to block RFK’s nomination and ability to Make America Healthy Again.

Those tactics also highlight a key point Wiley made — the only way to create change in this industry is to coax the public at large to demand it, as the moment you rely upon the members of the government to fix it, lobbyists will crush those efforts.

Generally Recognized as "Safe"

Many food additives are "generally recognized as safe" (GRAS), meaning they’re widely used without regulation. Wiley faced two major issues: food industry counterfeiting and harmful additives. The industry often faked products to cut costs, like selling grain alcohol as whiskey or using polluted waters to enlarge oysters.

Despite evidence of harm, the food industry claimed these additives were essential for production, even though competitors showed higher-quality products could be made without them. Wiley also warned that chronic exposure to additives could cause long-term health issues, such as organ damage and aging.

Sadly, his concerns were ignored as industry influence grew and he was unable to ban them. As a result, these "safe" additives have contributed to widespread chronic illness in society.

Note: Those additives included sodium benzoate,8 sulfur dioxide, alum (potassium aluminum sulfate), sulfur dioxide, saccharin, modified corn sugars, saccharin, and nitrogen bleached flour — many of which were linked to cancer.9 Sadly, since 2000, nearly 99% of new food chemicals added to the food supply chain have exploited the GRAS loophole.10

I believe the widespread use of aluminum in processed foods is particularly detrimental (due to it greatly impairing the physiologic zeta potential and causing micro-clotting throughout the body), and provides a key explanation for why you often see certain rapid improvements in individuals once they stop eating processed foods.

#government corruption #government control #politics #FDA #vaccines #fda corruption #deregulation

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scotianostra · 2 years ago

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On 17th August 2010 Bill Millin, piper to Lord Lovat at D Day, died, aged 88.

Born on 14th July 1922 Saskatchewan, Canada to a father of Scottish origin who moved the family to Canada but returned to Glasgow as a policeman when William was three. He grew up and went to school in the Shettleston are of the city. He joined the Territorial Army in Fort William, where his family had moved, and played in the pipe bands of the Highland Light Infantry and the Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders before volunteering as a commando and training with Lovat at Achnacarry along with French, Dutch, Belgian, Polish, Norwegian, and Czechoslovakian troops.

Lord Lovat had appointed his personal piper during commando training at Achnacarry, and was the only man during the D Day landing who wore a kilt – it was the same Cameron tartan kilt his father had worn in Flanders during World War I – and he was armed only with his pipes and the sgian-dubh sheathed inside his kilt-hose on the right side.

Taken from accounts of 6th June 1944 on Sword Beach Normandy.

Bill began his apparently suicidal serenade immediately upon jumping from the ramp of the landing craft into the icy water on D Day. As the Cameron tartan of his kilt floated to the surface he struck up with Hieland Laddie. He continued even as the man behind him was hit, dropped into the sea and sank.Once ashore Millin did not run, but walked up and down the beach, blasting out a series of tunes. After Hieland Laddie, Lovat, the commander of 1st Special Service Brigade (1 SSB), raised his voice above the crackle of gunfire and the crump of mortar, and asked for another. Millin strode up and down the water’s edge playing The Road to the Isles.

Bodies of the fallen were drifting to and fro in the surf. Soldiers were trying to dig in and, when they heard the pipes, many of them waved and cheered — although one came up to Millin and called him a “mad bastard”.His worst moments were when he was among the wounded. They wanted medical help and were shocked to see this figure strolling up and down playing the bagpipes. To feel so helpless, Millin said afterwards, was horrifying. For many other soldiers, however, the piper provided a unique boost to morale. “I shall never forget hearing the skirl of Bill Millin’s pipes,” said one, Tom Duncan, many years later. “It is hard to describe the impact it had. It gave us a great lift and increased our determination. As well as the pride we felt, it reminded us of home and why we were there fighting for our lives and those of our loved ones.”

When the brigade moved off, Millin was with the group that attacked the rear of Ouistreham. After the capture of the town, he went with Lovat towards Bénouville, piping along the road.

They were very exposed, and were shot at by snipers from across the canal. Millin stopped playing. Everyone threw themselves flat on the ground — apart from Lovat, who went down on one knee. When one of the snipers scrambled down a tree and dived into a cornfield, Lovat stalked him and shot him. He then sent two men into the corn to look for him and they came back with the corpse. “Right, Piper,” said Lovat, “start the pipes again.”

At Bénouville, where they again came under fire, the CO of 6 Commando asked Millin to play them down the main street. He suggested that Millin should run, but the piper insisted on walking and, as he played Blue Bonnets Over the Border, the commandos followed.

When they came to the crossing which later became known as Pegasus Bridge, troops on the other side signalled frantically that it was under sniper fire. Lovat ordered Millin to shoulder his bagpipes and play the commandos over. “It seemed like a very long bridge,” Millin said afterwards.

The pipes were damaged by shrapnel later that day, but remained playable. Millin was surprised not to have been shot, and he mentioned this to some Germans who had been taken prisoner.They said that they had not shot at him because they thought he had gone off his head.

The pictures shows Millin playing at Edinburgh Castle in 2001, on Sword beach, 1994 and his statue there which was unveiled in 2013.

#scotland #scottish #history #musician #bagpipes #d day landings #Soldier #World War 2

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 6 months ago

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here to stay | rhett abbott x oc

Summary: Perry and Rebecca are fighting again, so Rhett takes Amy out for ice cream. But lo and behold, who else shows up with a few of the boys from her work in tow? (wc: 5642)

Warnings: allusions to fighting/arguing, another shameless 90s country music name drop, a little bit of romantic tension goodness, background ocs

✎……PREVIOUS CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || NEXT CHAPTER

For the most part, Rhett didn’t mind grinding cattle feed. It was a long process, usually taking all of the working hours, and the grinder was so loud he didn’t have to talk to whoever was working with him. His father, with quiet but stern questions about what he was doing with his life. Or Perry, encouraging him to keep up with bull riding with that sad look in his eyes like he had lost something.

Rhett knew what his brother thought was gone but he would never bring it up. He would rather save himself the punch in the face it would grant him.

But today, he didn’t have to deal with either of them. His father was out in the fields counting heads of cattle. And Perry had the day off to spend with his family while the weather was still nice. Which left Rhett all alone amongst the store barns out in the east pasture, grinding feed all by himself.

It was more work for just one person, driving tractors and pulling wagons and making sure the corn was being fed into the grinder, but he really didn’t mind. Beat having to discuss his life everyone thought was going nowhere fast — including himself most days.

There were some days, however, all by himself on his family’s expansive land, when he could see the beauty in Wabang. See past the dust and the grime and the lingering smell of decay. That Saturday in September was one of them. The morning was bright and clear as he rode his horse, Ace, out at dawn. The air cool and crisp, the grass frosted underfoot. By midmorning, he needed to take his jacket off, the sun shining bright amongst great puffy clouds. The mountains seemed to glitter off in the distance, sway in the rising heat of day. Their snow covered peaks like a promise of the winter that was to come.

It was beautiful, but it was just his life. Green fields, far off mountains, infinite blue sky. A postcard existence — but he knew what it was really like. It was being born and living and dying all in one town and never seeing anything else. It was hard work and back breaking labor. It was stiff joints at twenty-three but no right to complain. It was struggling to make ends meet, eating six to a table crammed in a small kitchen. It was dirt under fingernails and sun damaged skin. It was grinding cattle feed alone with a sprained wrist that ached every time he picked up a supplement bag.

The trailer filled up at about two and a half tank loads of feed. There was still half a tank left in the mixer, but he could come back for it later. It was past noon, the sun was beating down on his back, and he had been working for seven hours straight. Without so much as a water or a snack to munch on as he watched the supplement and ground corn mix together. Once the feed trailer was stowed safely in the dry barn, Rhett untied Ace from the post and rode back to the house.

Hoping to find a quick bite and not get yelled at for not finishing his job.

Pushing a thing of dip tobacco between his cheek and gums with his tongue, he walked towards the front door. His stomach rumbling as he watched his boots move across the dirt path and through the grass. But when he looked up, he noticed Amy sitting out in the yard.

She was the spitting image of her mother, Rebecca. Eyes bright and blue with thin, pale blonde hair — cheeks dusted in freckles and teeth crooked, just a little too big for her mouth. Everyone expected Perry’s genes to be stronger, but there didn’t seem to be an ounce of Abbott in her. And for that, Rhett was almost grateful.

Would have been a real goofy looking kid if she ended up anything like his brother. Or him even.

Amy was braiding clovers together into a crown, weaving the stems slowly with big eyes downcast. Her little mouth downcurved in a frown.

Rhett spit out his dip as he approached her.

“Hey, ladybug, watchya doin’ ou’here?” he asked, tugging his gloves from his hands.

She set the messily braided clovers down with a sigh then looked back over her shoulder at the house. When she met his eyes, she looked like she wasn’t supposed to tell him.

But she did it anyway: “Mom and Dad’re fightin’ again.”

Now that he was listening, he could hear the yelling coming from inside the house. Something about space and how this wouldn’t have happened and needing to get over it. Fragments and sound bites. Another of those things about living in an old ranch house. The walls weren’t good at keeping secrets.

He grunted, put his hands on his hips. For a second, anger flared up in Rhett’s chest. So this was what Perry was doing instead of helping him with the feed? Arguing with his wife about the same old shit and not making any progress because he was too stubborn to actually listen to her? Then a sort of sadness trickled in with it.

Amy shouldn’t have to hear that shit, either.

She was only nine, and already she understood too much about her parents’ feelings towards the Abbotts, the ranch, Wabang, and each other. Already saw and heard too much. There was already something too grown up behind those blue eyes and Rhett didn’t like it. He could remember holding her for the first time when he was just fourteen. Everyone made him sit down to do it because they didn’t trust him and he didn’t know why. Not until Perry placed that little baby in his arms, telling him to support her head. He had never held something so delicate before in all his life, and hadn’t since. Fragile, precious, terrifying. New life — only one week in this world. It made him tear up and he didn’t even know why.

Eventually, he could hold her while standing, while walking, sometimes even while running. Eventually, he scared the shit out of Rebecca by tossing her in the air, her shrieking giggles making him laugh. Eventually, she could talk and he liked to listen, about bugs and horses and sparkling shoes and pretend princesses saving knights from dragons. Eventually, she was mostly grown up and so was he.

But Rhett didn’t want her to grow up, not yet. She deserved to stay little, just for a little longer. Making crowns out of clovers and giggling and not knowing what secrets the walls refused to keep.

“Whaddaya say we go ge’ice cream?”

“Really?” she questioned, popped up onto her knees with a small toothy smile.

Rhett chuckled. “Yeah, really. Lemme go change.”

He tapped her on the head lightly with his gloves as he passed her, making her laugh. And it made him smile despite the anger still bubbling in his chest and the hunger gnawing at his gut.

When he pulled open the screen door, its loud screech and bang as the old hinges smacked it back against the exterior wall announced his presence before he even walked inside. The yelling suddenly came to a halt. He rolled his eyes as he crossed the entry and climbed the stairs, distantly hearing the argument pick back up in harsh whispers.

Once in a fresh pair of jeans and an old rodeo t-shirt, beat up trucker hat hiding the sweat slicking his hair, he called out that he was taking Amy into town. No one answered him and he didn’t repeat himself. He just strode right back out into the shadeless yard where Amy stood waiting for him with her hands in her pockets. The corner of his mouth ticked up as he took her under his arm and led her over to his truck.

“Ya missed lunch,” she pointed out as they climbed inside.

“Might ge’more th’n ice cream then,” he said, starting the engine.

“So Jiffy Treat?”

“Course.”

The local ice cream shop, in business since 1973. It was nothing special. Just a squat building on the side of the road with a walk-up window and a few covered tables out front screwed into the concrete. It was the place to go in the Wabang heat to cool off. Mostly just sad dads bringing their kids to try and make them feel better about whatever was going on at home.

Rhett never thought he would be one of those sad dads — sad uncle really.

As the truck shook and rumbled down the gravel drive towards the main road and off Abbott land, Amy quickly snatched up the cardboard box at her feet and set it in her lap. The box had water damage healed over one too many times and a missing corner, but it still did the job alright. Holding an unorganized and haphazardly placed collection of cassettes.

“Which one has the Georgia song on it?” Amy rifled through the tapes, plastic clacking together as she threw them around.

Rhett knew which song she was talking about instantly. “Reba McEntire — uh, lady wi’curly hair — black’n white.”

It took her a minute to find it, but once she did, she held it up and giggled triumphantly. Rhett told her to put it in as he turned left onto the paved road that led into town, cranking open his window to let in a breeze. He still felt like he smelled like ground corn and yeast. But he wasn’t about to make her wait any longer by taking a shower — or let his stomach continue to eat itself any more than he had to.

With a whir of tape and a few skipped tracks, the opening guitar and piano of The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia started to play.

Amy sang along loudly, bobbing her head to the beat and missing a few of the words. While Rhett muttered them all quietly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Asking once the song was over for her to rewind the tape and let him listen to the album in full.

“You need t’get a new radio, Uncle Rhett,” she said as she pressed the right buttons. “One y’can plug y’r phone into.”

He chuckled softly. “I like m’tapes jus’fine.”

“Y’sound like Gran’pa.”

Amy said it with a laugh, and Rhett rolled his eyes for her to see. But she didn’t need to know that stabbed at something inside him he didn’t like. A beast, locked in a cage. Pacing, waiting to be angered enough to set itself free.

He didn’t want to be like his dad.

But apples didn’t fall far from trees in Wabang — inevitable and constant.

There were a few other cars parked in the small Jiffy Treat lot. Kids in swimsuits either just coming back or going to the swimming hole over in Hayden running around the umbrella shaded tables. The parents chatting with cones in hand.

Amy jumped out of the truck first as soon as Rhett threw it in park. He was quick to follow after her, already fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. The teenager working the window slid it open with a smile as they walked up.

“What can I ge’for ya?” she asked, finely manicured nails poised with a pen and notepad.

Rhett ruffled Amy’s hair as he looked over the menu. “Go’head, ladybug.”

“Can I have a scoop’ve bubblegum with sprinkles, please?”

“In a cone or a cup?”

“Cone, please,” Amy said, then backed away from the window so Rhett could step up.

“N’ll take two hotdogs n’a thing’a onion rings, please,” he said, thumbing the few bills in his wallet. “N’can I get a cup’a water?”

It did not go out of his notice how the young girl looked him up and down, teeth biting into her lip as she wrote down his order. It made him shift his weight to his other foot, hoping to just get away soon. But her pink blush did remind him of someone — and it made the corner of his mouth raise.

“That it?” she asked.

“Yep.”

She gave the total with his cup of water and he paid, Amy’s ice cream quickly being called from the other window. Bright pink and covered in rainbow sprinkles. Her smile was ear to ear as she took it with both hands and sat down at one of the tables. Rhett plopped down on the bench across from her and tried not to focus on just how hungry he really was. It was nice under the shade of the umbrella, sun no longer beating down on his back. Birds chirped in the yards on either side and cars rumbled past on the road behind him. He could feel the wind they created whipping at his shirt. It would have felt good if he didn’t worry that if they swerved even a little he was done for.

“R’Mom n’dad gonna get a divorce?” Amy asked as she licked at her ice cream.

Rhett coughed around his drink of water. “Wha’makes ya say that?”

“Lily Stockton n’my class — her parents’re gettin’ divorced.” She shrugged. “She said they fought a lot. Now she goes t’her dad’s house on the weekends.”

She didn’t seem sad. But she wouldn’t look at Rhett directly either. Watching the swimsuit kids as they got rounded up by their parents or cars as they drove by.

“Shit, I don’know,” Rhett said after a moment to think, pushing his tongue into his cheek despite having no dip to fiddle with.

That seemed to appease her for the minute, and he was thankful. Because there was always the possibility. He couldn’t rule it out and he always had been terrible at lying to his niece. If they did get divorced everyone would probably be happier save his mother, who would just be heartbroken at her son’s broken marriage. His broken family. They would become a constant prayer request to her church group. Though he doubted she brought up their struggles to them now. Keep things in the family until it bursts at the seams for everyone to see.

His food got called and he muttered a thank God under his breath as he got up to get it. He didn’t even care to put ketchup or mustard on his hotdogs, he just sat down and started eating. It was hot and fried and delicious.

As they ate, Amy trying to keep up with her ice cream before it melted onto her hand, an old white Jeep with wood paneling on the sides pulled into the lot. Rhett watched it as he finished off his second hot dog, Amy making some comment about how he always ate too fast. It was a nineties model at the least, though it was hard to say without asking. Minimal rust around the bottom and the paint needed to be redone but that didn’t matter much. Every car looked like a junker in Wabang. Old model trucks with longer beds than any of those 21st century Ford monstrosities could offer. Rhett was surprised at how good the engine sounded though, a nice rumble as it slowed to a stop and cut off completely. A rarity for a car that age in a town like this.

The back doors swung open first, three boys clambering out and into the sun. They waited patiently by the bumper as the driver stepped out.

Rhett nearly choked on one of his onion rings.

She looked beautiful. Light brown hair falling around her shoulders and the golden chain of her locket peeking out from a quarter zip with the sleeves rolled up. Her wide smile was like its own sun as she slammed the creaking driver’s door shut and gestured for the boys that poured out of her car to get in line. The smallest of them running ahead to go first. She followed behind. Her eyes big and blue as July squinted in the sun, turning them to slits crinkled at the edges, and Rhett smiled.

He really hoped he would see Tessa Abernathy again. It had been nearly a week since he got to apologize in the fluorescent light of the general store. He just thought, and maybe hoped, he would have more control over his heart rate than he did right then; pounding against his ribcage as he watched her walk and dig through her purse at the same time. Would she notice him? Would she talk to him? He nearly wanted to slap himself. He was never like this around women. Especially women he wanted. He knew all the tricks and he knew all the lines — just to feel something, just to get loved for a night. But this was different. She was different.

Then Amy suddenly gasped. “That’s Jace!”

Rhett blinked rapidly as he looked back at his niece, feeling like he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Uh — w-who?”

“He’s in m’class — we sit at the same table,” she said, pointing at the smallest boy bouncing up and down in front of the order window. “C’n I go say hi?”

“Sure, ladybug,” he replied.

She didn’t waste a second. Pink ice cream dribbled down onto her knuckles as she raced over to talk to the little boy. He looked just as excited to see her as she was him. Gasping and jumping and pointing to the order window — which was handing down to him a bowl of multicolored ice cream covered in gummy worms. Rhett finished off his onion rings and wiped his hands off on his jeans as he watched them. Happy that Amy was distracted — at least for a little while. That she wasn’t thinking about her parents yelling at each other through thin walls or Lily Stockton or having to spend weekends at her dad’s. That she wasn’t asking him questions he didn’t know the answers to. Instead, she was just being a kid. Talking excitedly with a friend, getting sticky fingers, and eating bright pink ice cream covered in sprinkles. That was what she deserved. To just stay little, just a little longer.

But Rhett stiffened, hot dogs and onion rings sitting like led in his stomach, as he watched Tessa come up to the order window, paying for the three boys’ ice cream. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but her and Amy were clearly talking to one another. Tessa smiling at the two little kids fondly and making big facial expressions that made him smile.

Then Amy was pointing at him. Tessa turned her head to look with raised brows. She smiled, wide and stunning and full of a kindness he could nearly see and felt undeserving of receiving. Raising his hand, he waved with a small smile —

And he had to stop himself from cringing.

He was definitely regretting those hot dogs, and not showering, now as Amy and Jace rushed over to sit on the bench opposite him. Amy saying something about him being her uncle and riding bulls. Jace didn’t seem that interested. Rhett hadn’t even noticed the group of teens that had taken over the table next to them until the two older boys came over and joined them. That just left Tessa, carrying a waffle cone filled with some yellow ice cream, to sit with him at his table. Unable to stop himself, he started fiddling with the paper boat his food came in. Why did talking to her now feel like he was sitting on the back of a bull, the gate about to open and his career on the line?

“Hey, Rhett, how’s it goin’?” she asked as she sat down on the bench at his right.

“G-Good, yeah,” he answered, glancing up at her and looking away. “You? How’s it goin’ with you?”

“M’good too,” she laughed, hiding her smile with her ice cream, then she looked over at Amy and Jace, lost in their own world. “Y’r niece’s cute. Her’n Jace seem t’get along.”

Rhett swallowed thickly. Some part of him wanted to smack himself because he knew talking with her was so damn easy. Even though all his life talking to anyone was a struggle he preferred to avoid. Truth and stories and some secret part of him bubbling to the surface because, somehow, he wanted her to see it and know. But he didn’t want to mess this up. Not again.

“He — uh — he livin’ in the Home? W-With you?”

“Yeah. He’s’re youngest righ’now.”

“Wha’is he? Nine?” he asked, brows furrowed, finally looking her in the face.

She wasn’t looking at him, and that made it easier. Too focused on Amy and Jace as they talked about school and sports and shows they liked. How she was obviously Spider-Man and he was Hulk. There was a kind of sadness in her eyes though that he had never seen before. One he wanted to fix.

Eventually, she nodded, hand raising to cover her tongue peaking out, licking ice cream from her lip. “He’s a foster. Couldn’even get’im t’say a word when he first showed up. Now look at’im.”

Rhett didn’t fully understand what that meant, but he knew enough. A foster kid. Either his parents were out of the picture or he got taken away from them by the state. Rhett hadn’t even realized he was ripping a fringe into the edge of his paper boat until he had finished an entire side.

“He’s go’somebody good takin’ care’a him now,” he mumbled, watching the side of her face as she ate her sweet treat. “Makes’a difference.”

There was that pretty pink blush that made the freckles on her cheeks stand out. Her eyes sliding over to look at him as she licked her lips again. It made him laugh softly.

She chose not to comment as she glanced down at his unbraced hand. “Wrist feel better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said as he flexed his fingers. “S’alright.”

“Takin’ it easy?”

“Nope.”

Tessa leveled him with a look and it filled up something warm in his chest. She barely knew him, but she cared. Enough to get mad at him for not resting his injury and rolling her eyes when he laughed and said what? No one in his family had yet to mention it. Even when he took off the brace before he really should have. Even when he winced and clenched his jaw doing certain tasks. It was like it wasn’t even there. That something warm was still there, but beside it was something sour. Tart and bitter to the taste.

One of the boys that came with her walked up to their table. He appeared to be the oldest. Long curly black hair and headphones around his neck — skateboard tucked under his arm. Tall and unaware of the fact. Skin cratered like the moon. His face looked permanently pinched up in anger, bushy eyebrows furrowed low over dark eyes. But when he spoke, he didn’t sound grumpy at all.

“We’re gonna go’cross the street. That alright?” he asked, pointing to where he and his friends wanted to go.

Rhett looked over his shoulder. It was just an alley between downtown brick buildings. Someone tried to decorate it once with creeping ivy and string lights and metal benches. But the ivy was now brown, the string lights were gone, and the benches were uninviting — save for a kid with a skateboard.

Tessa nodded easily with a smile. “Yeah, s’fine. Wyatt with you?”

The teen nodded.

“Alright, go’on. We’re gon’leave n’bout thirty minutes.”

A smile broke out across his face. An unexpected expression for him, but it suited him well. Then he jogged off, back to his friends. Rhett couldn’t help but notice Tessa watching them with her brows pinched together.

“Wha’s that look for?” he questioned as she turned back to her nearly finished ice cream.

“S’just…” She seemed to wrestle with her words for a second, tongue pushed into the roof of her mouth as she thought. Then she sighed as she looked at him with her head leaning towards her shoulder. “Wyatt’s younger than Colton n’all his friends n’I…I don’wan’im gettin’ made fun of.”

“That’s jus’life. He’ll be fine.”

“Still hurts,” Tessa said.

There was something in those eyes like July that Rhett couldn’t really read. Something like too much understanding. Something like experience. Something like Amy too grown up. Again, he suddenly was filled with the urge to fix. To make that look in her eyes go away. To make whoever made fun of her pay for it because she didn’t deserve that. To take her out for ice cream to help her forget. Bring back that kindness in her eyes, at least for a little while.

“Uncle Rhett!” Amy suddenly called, “Should I be Mikey or Donnie?”

Rhett stared at her for a second, brows furrowed — then it clicked. “Oh, like the ninja turtles?”

“Yeah!”

Tessa placed her hand on his arm to get his attention. “We’ve got the ole’eighties show on VHS. Jace’s obsessed righ’now.”

“We, uh —” He swallowed thickly as she retracted her hand, watching her soft as silk hands retreat almost sadly. “We watched the nineties movie together — few weeks back.”

“Oh, that’s so fun.”

“Rhett!” Amy cried, exasperated. “Should I be Donnie or Mikey?”

“Mikey,” he answered simply, not even having to think.

Amy immediately hopped up and struck a pose with her fists posed for a fight. “I’m Michelangelo!”

“And I’m Leonardo!” Jace yelled as he sprang from the bench as well, pulling pretend swords from his back.

Then they were off. Amy twirling imaginary nun-chucks around as they play fought one another. Weaving around the other empty tables and jumping up onto benches. Rhett and Tessa watched them with laughs on their lips.

“Y’ever — uh — y’ever pretend t’be somethin’ when y’were a kid?” Rhett asked as he looked at the back of her head.

She turned her head over her shoulder, eyes still focused on the kids, as she said, “Used t’pretend I was a fairy. Had a pair’a wings from Halloween I’wore f’r nearly a year.”

Rhett chuckled as he looked down into his lap. He could picture it perfectly. Little girl refusing to take the wings off even if they were bent up and dirty, because she was a fairy. Her parents just giving up and letting it happen. He thought it was adorable — nearly said so but he bit his tongue at the last second.

“I’d wander’round the yard wi’those, uh toy guns? Thinkin’ I’s a cowboy.”

“That’s sweet,” she said as she turned back to look at him with a smile, small and kind.

Her ice cream cone was finished, but there was a glob of yellow on her chin — just beneath her lip. She just looked so pretty. Rhett knew he shouldn’t. After coming so close to ruining whatever was blossoming between them. But before he could really think it through, before he could rationalize, before he could nail down what he should do instead of what he wanted to do — his hand was reaching for her.

“Oh, you — ya got somethin’...” Rhett said, tucking his forefinger beneath her chin and wiping at the rogue ice cream drip with his thumb.

Her cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink, the color going down, down into the collar of her quarter-zip as he made a second pass on her soft skin to make sure he got it all. Eyes downcast as she took a deep, steadying breath. When he finally pulled away, the ice cream was gone, and she looked up at him from beneath her lashes with her lip caught between her teeth.

That same look from that night at the bonfire. Before she practically ran away from him and he was left with a different kind of ache. A different kind of itch. That only she could fill. With her kindness and just right smiles and heart too big for her chest. Regret pooled in his stomach like concrete along with those hotdogs and onion rings. His mouth opened and closed as he wrestled with an apology. But then…

“D’you get it?” she asked quietly.

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, relief flooding him now, as he licked his thumb clean. “Tastes good.”

Tessa stared at him for a moment. Thoughts churning behind those big blue eyes and her mouth popped open. Made him smirk as he watched her. She wasn’t running for the hills yet, and for that he was thankful. He no longer felt like he was in the chute, on top of a bull, his career on the line. Instead, he felt like Rhett Abbott talking to Tessa Abernathy. Siphoning off that kindness and maybe giving some out in return.

“It’s, uh — it’s lemon poppyseed,” she finally decided to say and it only made his grin grow.

“‘Ll have t’try it sometime.”

Then his phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from his mother.

Your dad’s wondering why the rest of that feed hasn’t been stored.

“Ah, shit. We gotta go,” he said, collecting his trash as he rose from his seat.

“R-Really?”

“Yeah, got work t’do.” He fished his keys out of his pocket. “Ladybug! C’mon, we gotta get on home!”

Amy sighed, but said goodbye to Jace. Once his trash was disposed of, he put Amy under his arm and started the walk back to his truck. Telling Tessa it was nice seeing her and trading reluctant farewells.

Once inside the truck, Amy grinned at him like she knew a secret.

“What?” he laughed.

“You like her.”

Rhett felt his face flush. “I — you don’t — I don’t —”

“S’alright. I won’t tell,” she said as she settled back into her seat with a pleased smile.

He started the truck with a huff. “Little shit.”

The ride back to the ranch was easy and quiet. Amy leaning back in her seat with her head tilted towards the window — watching endless green fields roll by. And Rhett caught up in thoughts of Tessa Abernathy with ice cream on her chin and looking up at him through thick lashes.

He supposed he couldn’t deny that he liked her. As childish as the term sounded. At the very least, he wanted to be with her. Get to know her. Talk with her. Pulling from her with such ease that kindness the world didn’t deserve and maybe show her some in return — even if he wasn’t very good at it. It was a foreign sort of urge and an alien kind of weight in his chest. Rhett didn’t like his partners, no matter how long or short they were together, getting too close to him. Seeing all that he was and all that it meant, all the dust and grime and that he was just like everyone else in Wabang. A horse sent out to pasture, waiting to die. Knowing there was better but being too afraid and too caught up in it all to leave. He thought he could leave it all behind once. But then he didn’t, and it brought a shame he still didn’t understand and didn’t want to deal with. He couldn’t get out. And maybe that was why he was the guy that made them realize they wanted to be married, just not to him.

But then again, Tessa didn’t get out either. And she seemed like one of the only things in this life that hadn’t been touched by the Wabang grime. Shiny and bright and loving this life in a small town.

He might not have deserved a girl like that, but he was willing to try.

When he parked in front of the house, Amy leaping from the passenger seat and running inside, his dad was waiting on the porch for him. Sitting on the old bench his grandmother thrifted from an antique store. A relic from one of the ancient country churches that closed its doors long ago. His ankles crossed and fingers threaded together in his lap as he watched Amy head inside. Rhett sighed as he cut the engine and opened his door — knowing what was waiting for him once he went up those steps.

He didn’t even make it up one of them before his dad started talking gruffly, “Wen’out t’check on ya ‘while ago…Left all the equipmen’out.”

“Yeah, yeah — Goin’ back to finish grindin’ now,” Rhett replied, taking one booted foot off the step and putting it back on the ground.

“Where’d y’take Amy?”

“Ice cream.”

“Y’had work t’do.”

Rhett clenched his jaw, ticked it to one side. Adjusted his weight from one foot to the other. Itching to get away so he wouldn’t get in more trouble than he was. But he never had been good at not putting his foot in his mouth.

“Yeah, well, somebody had t’make sure she wasn’t hearin’ her parents’ screamin’ match,” he said, finally looking his father in the face with his jaw set and eyes ablaze.

His dad stared at him for a moment. Chin jutted out and small brown eyes narrowed. Then he rose from his seat and Rhett straightened, prepared to defend himself. His own fight the walls wouldn’t keep to themselves.

“Just get the feed done.”

Then he turned and walked inside.

Rhett looked at that old empty church pew for a minute. Mind reeling through everything else he wanted to say. Why does Perry get a day off to have a fight with his wife? Did you even bring any food or water when you came to check on me? If the work wasn’t done would you have even noticed I was gone?

Prayers to an absent god.

Then he pushed off from the porch step and walked back to the barn.

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#oc: tessa abernathy #fic: here to stay #fd: outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x oc #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fanfic #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott imagine #outer range #outer range fic #outer range imagine #outer range oc #ocapp #chapter update #fic rewrite #rhett abbott x tessa abernathy #lewis pullman

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360propertyrestoration · 1 year ago

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#mold removal #mold removal binghamton #water damage restoration #water damage repair in elmira #water damage Corning #water damage Ithaca #water damage Norwich #water damage Cooperstown

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sleepyfan-blog · 11 months ago

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Author's note: Mer-Cedric's Debut in Celestial Seas’! I hope you enjoy it. Bakerin and Quilterin (Arnault's Bonded) belong to the wonderful @kit-williams! Thank you for letting me borrow them. The song Cedric is singing is Amen and Attack by Powerwolf. Next fic

Warnings: none, please ask to tag!

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @@the-pure-angel @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts

Summary: Mer-Cedric trades with a couple of allied baseline humans.

Cedric hummed softly to himself as he gutted and de-scaled the half-dozen large tuna that he had hunted down and caught. He was currently sitting on one of the sand spits that appeared near the shore of the nearby beach. He checked the temperature of the fire by placing a hand near the crackling base of the flames before returning to the task of preparing the tuna.

Most of the time, the young shark mer ate his kills fresh and raw, but he'd recently come into possession of an unspoiled pouch of delicious smelling herbs and spices, and the occasional cooked meal wasn't a bad thing. Besides, the parts of the tuna he wasn't going to be making into grilled steaks were going into the boiling water as part of the stock for a hopefully delicious stew he was also making. He'd sent a request to some of the local humans to please bring fresh vegetables - for which he was happily going to trade some of his tuna meat in exchange - to build out the body of his stew. He'd added some kelp and sea asparagus to the slowly cooking stock, but he was looking forward to trying potatoes and onions for the first time.

Maybe some corn, too! Or mushrooms...

He began to sing one of the holy hymns that his older brothers had taught him as he worked “Fight the demons of this world, no victims left to hide. Eins! Zwei! Amen and attack! Make them pray or make them pay! It's time to swim up right. Drei! Vier! Amen and attack.”

Preparing the tuna felt meditative. He continued to sing as he sprinkled seasonings on half of the tuna steaks, spearing each on a stick and setting them over the fire to cook, his mind wandering to past battles that he'd partaken in, as his voice once again lifted in song.

“When the night is cold and black, we sing amen and attack!”

Deamons and Traitors rarely attacked during the day, preferring instead to use cowardly and weak tactics in order to try and catch their would-be prey off-guard. While the local humans could do little against such supernatural forces, the shiver Cedric belonged to had taken to patrolling the area, ripping into the heretics and demons with their wickedly sharp claws and jaws.

In gratitude, the humans helped however they could. The medical supplies they left out were incredibly useful to Cedric and his fellow apothecaries as they tended to their injured brothers.

“And we lead the storm of the wild! Be the wildest of the pack! Screaming amen and attack!” Cedric belted out as he carefully turned over the tuna steaks, to ensure they were being heated evenly. Even though a majority of his training focused on how to keep his brothers alive and in fighting shape, that did not mean his combat training was lacking.

As an Apothecary of a Black Templar Shiver, one of his duties was to mitigate damage.. and if that meant taking out the largest or most dangerous opponents at range with the weapons he had at his disposal, so much the better. The God-Emperor had blessed them with strength and abilities far beyond mortal ken, and their duties were to protect and defend their charges from all threats.

A duty that Cedric took most seriously.

“We fight with Him on our side! Amen and attack! Attack! Attack! Amen and attack!” Cedric continued to sing. The half of the tuna he wasn't cooking he had carefully wrapped up in treated kelp leaves, to keep the meat fresh and easily transportation.

He hoped that some of the humans who had promised they would come were going to arrive soon. The first of the tuna steaks were nearly ready!

Cedric was about to sing the next verse when he heard approaching footsteps from behind and to the left of him, prompting the young Apothecary to turn and look at the pair of approaching humans.

It took him only a moment to recognize their scents and trilled a greeting to two of his older Brothers' Favorite Humans! He recognized their scents and faces immediately! “Hello Miss Bakerin! Hello Miss Quilterin! It's wonderful to meet you again!”

Both of the baseline humans smiled in response as they came close enough to enjoy the warmth of the fire. Miss Bakerin spoke first “Good afternoon… You are Cedric, yes? The… The healer in training?”

“Yes I am.” Cedric affirmed with a nod, tail flicking happily in the water. As with all Apothecary mers, his tail was primarily white with red flecks. He did have black striping, to match his non-apothecary brothers. “I have tuna to trade! Some are cooking. The rest are raw, and wrapped, as asked for.” He patted the kelp-wrapped meat carefully with a clawed and webbed hand. He could see that both of them had covered baskets and looked curiously at them.

“We… We've brought a bunch of things.” Miss Quilterin explained, setting down the basket she was carrying. “I.. I've been making these out of water-proof fabric.” out from the basket she pulls out a large, patch-work piece of fabric. Each square has a little scene going on, and Cedric can easily tell that she put a lot of work and effort into making this thing.

“May I touch it?” The young mer asked, intensely curious, though he was trying to be polite. “What is it?”

“This is called a story quilt. Arnault has told me about some of the battles all of you get into, so I tried to make a story quilt out of one of his victories… I hope it turned out okay…” miss Quilterin explained, her face calm but her scent showing her anxiety and uncertainty.

Cedric handled the quilt with the proper awe and respect that such a glorious woven-story deserved. The fabric slipped and slid under his fingers, so he gripped it a bit more tightly “this is amazing, miss. Arnault is going to love this when I show it to him.” Given how long it took to carve the glorious victories of the shiver in sandstone, this quilt was worth at least half of his catch. “By the emperor… If I had know that you were going to be bringing such things, I would have been out hunting for longer!”

“R… Really?” Miss Quilterin stuttered, surprise chasing away her nervousness.

Cedric nodded, entirely serious. “It is difficult to keep more permanent records of our battles, in part because we tend to move from sea to sea. From world to world, and must pack light because of it. That and much record-keeping is difficult to manage underwater or in the depths of space. This is a wondrous gift, miss. Thank you, truly.”

He startled at how red Miss Quilterin got “i… truly? That's… I… Oh Goodness…” She stuttered, her eyes huge and her scent fluctuating rapidly between emotions.

and immediately scooted over to her, dragging his tail up and out of the water, carefully telegraphing his movements as he placed one large hand on her forehead, checking her temperature? “Are you not feeling well, miss Quilterin? Please sit down, I do have some of my medical supplies nearby. Is the heat of the fire too much for you?”

Bakerin chuckled and placed a restraining hand on Cedric's elbow. “Easy, Cedric. She hasn’t taken ill or is affected by heat stroke. She rarely gets such high praise for her work and is having difficulties processing what you're saying with grace.”

Quilterin pouted at Bakerin's words and murmured “I… That's not… That's not exactly true! I just… I didn't know that you would think so highly of this story quilt.”

“Uh huh. See what I mean, Cedric? She flustered easily. She's alright.” Bakerin explained with a playful smile. She reached up and ruffled Cedric's hair. “I brought the vegetables you asked for, as well as some bread. You should eat the bread above water, or it will get soggy.”

“Thank you, Miss Bakerin!” Cedric responded, smiling contentedly. “Do you want cooked or raw tuna? Or a mix of both?” he asked the both of them.

“I'll take four uncooked pieces of raw tuna and two of the cooked pieces, please.” Quilterin asked. “I also brought several quilted slings, as Arnault mentioned that they've helped…”

“Miss, when I said the quilt is worth half of what I've caught, I meant it.” Cedric pointed out, carefully gathering up and pushing the correct amount of Tuna in trade for the quilt alone. “The slings are much appreciated, but will need more tuna to pay for… Or, I did see mussels and class near the shoreline, I could grab some of them for you in trade for those, if you'd like a selection of sea food.”

“I… This is too much, Cedric! I won't be able to eat all of this before it goes bad.” Quilterin protested, shaking her head a little.

“The kelp leaves will help keep the tuna fresh for weeks, and older brothers have told me that tuna freezes well and will last for months that way. I can also use some of the curing salts I brought with me to turn some of them into… I believe it's called jerky in this language? Dried meat that can be stored longer. But you will be getting paid what you’re owed.” Cedric responded. He wasn’t going to steal from this kind human, nor short her what she is owed. A pity the pearl oysters aren’t ready yet and have been claimed by Brother Roland and Brother Arnault for gifts for Miss Bakerin and Miss Quilterin. Not that he was going to ruin that surprise.

“I… Even so, this is far too much high-quality meat for one person to have all at once. We baseline humans don't eat as much meat as you do.” Quilterin explained “Nor do we need as many calories.”

Cedric sighed internally, pouting a little. He did have a small handful of treasures he had found and kept - just in case he found a human he wanted to bond to, like brothers Roland and Arnault have, but the slings were too useful and the quilt too expensive, if she wouldn't take the fish meat he offered. “Well… I also have these, if you are interested.”

From one of his armor’s pockets, he pulls out several pouches. In the first pouch, he lays out a dozen carefully polished abalone shells, which he'd found and treated until they shone, their pearlescent luster almost luminous in the afternoon sunlight. From the second pouch, he pulled out six of the best pieces of ocean jasper he'd found. From the third pouch, he pulled four larimar gemstones, their sea-foam coloration and patterns striking against the brown sand spar they were on. “You may choose up to four from these, along with the meat you requested, miss Quilterin.”

She inspected each of his offerings, and he turned his attention to Miss Bakerin asking “Do you want tuna in trade for your goods? Or would you like a mix of things as well?” he was trying not to fidget.

“Tuna works great for me, Cedric.” Miss Bakerin answered with another smile and hair ruffle. “I've brought bread and vegetables, which aren't as expensive. I would like to try that stew your making, when you're done. If you don't mind.”

“Not at all! But there are tuna guts and scales in the stew, and I intended to make it for my brothers, who are out among the shoals right now.” Cedric warned, aware that baseline humans could get picky about things like that. Some of his brothers were wary about baseline humans and were nearby in case of attack. But Miss Quilterin and Miss Bakerin have always been very nice and kind to him - and Cedric doubted that Brother Roland and Brother Arnault would have chosen untrustworthy baseline humans. He handed over the tuna - raw and cooked in trade for the food she'd brought, immediately getting to work on chopping up the vegetables before putting them in the stew.

“I don’t mind the occasional fish scale in my stew.” Bakerin reassured him with a smile.

“Then I’d be happy to share some of it with you, when it’s ready.” Cedric answered earnestly.

“I've picked out which of these gems you're offering… You're sure that the quilt and the slings are worth this much,” Quilterin spoke up. She was holding up two of the abalone shells and one each of the Larimar and ocean jasper stones.

Cedric was sad to see them go, but it was worth it for the high quality supplies offered. “Alright, they are yours, along with the meat you requested.”

“If you don't mind me asking… What was that song you were singing when we were walking over?” Bakerin asks curiously as she arranges the tuna meat he’d given her in the basket she'd come with.

“Oh! It's one of the battle hymns my older brothers taught me.” Cedric explained “I learned it recently and it's been stuck in my head. I hope that the lyrics weren't too off-putting.”

“Nah, you're fine, Cedric. You've got a good singing voice… Does Roland sing? I haven't heard him sing, not that I remember, anyways.”

Cedric blinked in surprise at that “... But… Brother Roland has one of the best singing voices of the entire shiver! He leads the battle choir. Thank you for the compliment, miss.” He checked how the vegetables were cooking, nibbling on a piece of potato. The texture felt off, so he let the stew continue to cook, happy to chat with Miss Bakerin and Miss Quilterin as the veggies cooked.

#oc: cedric #reader insert #celestial Seas au #space marine husbandry sentience #warhammer 40k #my writing #space marine husbandry #mermay

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madamlaydebug · 9 months ago

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Coca-Cola’s VitaminWater is being marketed as a healthy, hydrating drink. The company claims that the drinks prevent chronic diseases, reduce the risks of eye diseases, promotes healthy joints, and supports optimal immune function. However, nothing could be further from the truth.

This is what John Robbins, Esq., PhD., M.D. says in his Mat Hoffman Post article:

The product is basically sugar-water, to which about a penny’s worth of synthetic vitamins have been added. And the amount of sugar is not trivial. A bottle of vitaminwater contains 33 grams of sugar, making it more akin to a soft drink than to a healthy beverage.

The ingredients of “orange-orange”-flavored vitaminwater:

Reverse osmosis water, crystalline fructose, cane sugar, less than 0.5% of: citric acid, magnesiumlactate and calcium lactate and potassium phosphate (electrolyte sources), natural flavors, vitamin C (ascorbic acid), gum acacia, vitamin B3 (niacinamide), vitamin E (alpha-tocopheryl acetate), vitamin B5 (calcium pantothenate), glycerol ester of rosin, vitamin B6 (pyridoxine hydrochloride), vitamin B12, beta-carotene, modified food starch, sorbitol.

VitaminWater’s sugar levels are very very high. One 500ml bottle contains 27 grams of sugar, that’s about 8 teaspoons of sugar!

Crystalline Fructose

Crystalline fructose is produced by allowing the fructose to crystallize from a fructose-enriched corn syrup. So basically, it is made from corn syrup, and not only corn syrup, but “fructose enriched” corn syrup. Crystalline Fructose contains 99.5% minimum of fructose assay, which is a greater higher percentage of fructose than what makes up high fructose corn syrup. Crystalline fructose may be contaminated with arsenic, lead, chloride and heavy metals. This type of fructose leads to increased belly fat, insulin resistance, and metabolic syndrome. Large amount of fructose can create a fatty liver and cirrhosis as it can not be processed completely in the liver. The fructose interferes and alters the metabolic process in our cells, which causes oxidative damage.

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a-disaster-piece · 2 months ago

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Feast Day of Saint Milburga, 23 February

Milburga, Milburgh, or Mildburh, was the eldest daughter of Mercian sub-king Merewalh (or Merwal/Merewald). She and her two sisters have been likened to the three theological virtues, with Milburga assigned to faith, as her name means “gentle protection.”

Milburga entered the Benedictine monastery of Wenlock, Shropshire (now known as Wenlock Priory in Much Wenlock), becoming one of the virgin abesses. She was particularly noted for her humility, with a kind, attentive, friendly, and caring demeanour toward everyone.

Living a pastoral life, Saint Milburga is called upon for the protection and growth of crops, particularly of barley, corn, and other field plants, as well as gardens.

Many did also bear witness to her close communication with and a mysterious, special power over the natural world, particularly sources of water and that of birds. Thus, Saint Milburga is fittingly assigned as patroness of wild and domestic birds. With regard to birds, it is told that geese would avoid damaging the local crops when she asked, and is often depicted with a goose.

With water, Saint Milburga is said to have caused a river to swell, and the miraculous creation of a healing spring. There is a holy well dedicated to her that still stands now on the site in Wenlock Priory.

Saint Milburga was also endowed with the gifts of healing, discernment, and clairvoyance, and saw many events at a great distance. She often healed using herbs she grew at the abbey, restored sight to the blind, and even the resurrection of a child. Her namesake holy well is a destination for pilgrimages, with reports of miraculous cures of sore eyes from it’s water even in recent times.

On what is known as Holy Thursday at Much Wenlock, there is a celebration where ladies make wishes into the well, young men toast beer brewed from water collected from the church roof (due to her connection to barley), while women sip sugar water. Plum simnel cake was historically also eaten at her feast day. The merriment would continue with songs and games.

I decided to mark Saint Milburga’s feast day, as she is patron saintess of birds, by making “cheater” plum tarte tatin (riffed from this recipe), including a layer of homemade fig jam (with fruit from my prior tree) underneath the plum slices, and sweetened with honey from the neighbour's hives. They came out quite pretty, and were very delicious!

References: 1) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mildburh 2) https://beedurban.substack.com/p/the-goose-saints-resurrection-reciprocity\ 3) https://orthochristian.com/77751.html

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magnetictapedatastorage · 2 years ago

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six months of only drinking water, and its almost over.

now that graduation from barber school is 2 weeks away, my resolution of only drinking water is almost over too. i definitely missed soda (and other extremely sugary drinks) these past six months, but if i want to enjoy them again, i need to figure out how to do moderation and not damage my teeth.

a lot of people are surprised that i don’t drink alcohol or smoke/vape at all. it’s because moderation isn’t my strong suit, so i made the call that its better to not tempt fate and risk going overboard. but when it comes to soda (and other drinks, like my cursed 50/50 grenadine syrup and OJ over ice mixer) the risks are much smaller, and part of adulthood is learning to be responsible and control yourself. so i want to re-introduce it to my life at a healthier level than before.

before i went water-only, i had 12 cavities in my teeth at the same time. that level of consequences (the bill i mean! thankfully my teeth were saved) was a wake up call, and i’m never going to let it get to that point again. these past six months i’ve paid close attention to my teeth, brushing them twice a day and, well, flossing when i remember to.

it’s hard to believe i used to go to bed with a half-drank can of soda next to me. i’m now at the point where the one time i tried to ‘cheat’ by having a slushie (I considered it a frozen dessert and not a drink...) it made me sick because it was so much sugar at once. and that amount of sugar (well, corn syrup, but I don’t like to think about it) is exactly equal to the amount in a single can of soda, the kind i was drinking several of per day, from early morning to right in bed.

I’m sure there’s a middle ground between these extremes. years ago I tried going for “one can per day” but that just led to me stretching that one can out for the entire day and not drinking anything else, so I’ll have to try other solutions. Maybe I’ll only drink it on the weekends. Maybe I’ll make it a special occasion thing. There’s lots of possibilities, and they’ll only be wider when I move out.

#lifestyle #long post

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sketchie-escape · 4 months ago

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Station Introductions

Next are the Station Sketchies!!!

These are the Sketchies who stick to specific stations around the park, and while they are always seen, they are rarely seen outside of their station

There are 5 Station Sketchies. The 5th is currently out of commission, due to an incident. He will be back eventually.

Sugar the Cotton Candy

“Sugar.. as you’d expect, he’s a sweetheart. He befriends practically everyone he meets. He could never hate anyone, and has a hard time correcting people whenever they mistake him for a girl. I honestly thought he was a girl too.” - ???

Sanity:▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️ Stealth:▫️▫️▫️▫️ Intelligence:▫️▫️▫️ Speed:▫️▫️▫️ Energy:▫️▫️▫️

Station: Candy Stand #1

Zilch the Candy Corn

“Zilch. He was hated when he was made. The other Artists called him ‘Zilch’ to show that, and it stuck. There are only 2 that liked him: Sugar, and the Artist that made him, [PRIVATE INFORMATION]. It’s a shame, too. He didn’t even do anything wrong, and now his trust is gone.” - ???

Sanity:▫️▫️▫️ Stealth:▫️▫️▫️▫️ Intelligence:▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️ Speed:▫️▫️▫️▫️ Energy:▫️▫️

Station: Candy Stand #2

Puffs the Marshmallow

“Puffs… she’s quite the… “princess”, she’d call herself. She thinks everyone should like her, and everyone does. I don’t. She’s stuck up, and quite a brat. I’m surprised nobody else sees this.” - ???

Sanity:▫️▫️▫️▫️ Stealth:▫️▫️ Intelligence:▫️▫️▫️ Speed:▫️▫️▫️▫️ Energy:▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️

Station: Candy Stand #3

Squeaks the Water Balloon

“I guess I see why his name is Squeaks… but he barely even does that. He got along well with the guests, though. The kids really found it funny when he’d spit out water. If you think about it, it’s quite gross, but if it works, it works.” - ???

Sanity:▫️▫️▫️▫️ Stealth:▫️ Intelligence:▫️▫️▫️ Speed:▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️ Energy:▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️

Station: Amusement - Water Dunk

Cap the Cannonball

“Cap the Cannonball is currently out of commission. Due to a child sneaking in a home-brought watergun, full of real water, he has been damaged. He will remain in his room until he is fully healed. He seems shaken up still, even with the new patch for his eye. I hope he’ll still be friends with Squeaks, at least, and that he won’t have a fear of any type of water.” - Documentations

“…Cap… he’ll never be the same again.” - ???

Sanity:▫️ Stealth:▫️▫️▫️▫️ Intelligence:▫️▫️▫️▫️ Speed:▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️ Energy:▫️▫️▫️▫️

Station: Amusement - Pirate Ship (closed)

#The Sketchies #Station Sketchies #Sugar the Cotton Candy #Zilch the Candy Corn #Puffs the Marshmallow #Squeaks the Water Balloon #Cap the Cannonball #Edupark #Sketchie Escape #Sketchie Art #Sketchie Lore #The Shopkeeper

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 2 years ago

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Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 1

Summary: Seeking support for the foundation of the SAS, David Stirling finds himself a new recruit in the most unlikely of places, and Diana Fayed is offered her first opportunity to make a real difference in the conflict that has taken over her home.

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Mentions of violence, language, descriptions of injury and sickness (fever, vomiting), death

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: Please let me know if you wish to be tagged!

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The room was spinning, the fountain - now broken beyond repair - spilling out a pool of water that edged slowly closer and closer. There was blood on her hands. On her chest, on her face, the taste of it reaching her tongue. One of her eyes was swelling shut, but even as her vision began to blur, she could not tear it from the body at her feet - him sprawled across the tiles, lying on his face, her sitting silently beside him, leaning back on her elbows, the metal pipe in her hand leaving her palm cold and numb.

There were footsteps echoing off the walls, approaching from the corridor behind her, speeding up from a stroll to a run, getting louder and louder with each passing second. But the sound scarcely reached her, the thrumming of her heartbeat the only thing that felt real. Solid. The only thing she could truly focus on.

How did she get here? Was this her mission - her purpose?

The footsteps reached her, and she grew aware of a figure standing beside her, pausing a moment to take in the chaos.

"... Fucking hell."

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David Stirling marched along the streets of Cairo with purpose, an idea blooming and taking root further in his mind with each laboured step, his crutches clacking noisily against the cobbles. The sun scorched the exposed skin of his scalp, and he cursed the layers of woollen that made him sweat so profusely.

This was a long way to come - especially alone, and especially in his condition - but Stirling was seeking affirmation in the best place he could think of. The SAS was an insane, reckless, borderline insubordinate notion. Who better to seek approval from than a General known for his insubordination, recklessness, and insanity?

Armed men were posted at either side of the mansion's main entrance as he approached, keeping watch with as much seriousness as if they were guarding Buckingham Palace itself. The pair watched David with keen eyes, and he tried to ignore them as best he could as he stepped up to the door, rapping upon the wood with his knuckles.

Barely a moment passed before it was flung open, and Stirling almost stepped back in surprise, his grip on his crutches tightening. He had expected a butler, or another guard perhaps. What he had not expected was to be greeted by General Hannigan himself - peering up at him between a thick brow and even thicker moustache, his front emblazoned with countless medals from the Great War.

"Ah! Stirling, I take," the General smiled, ushering him inside. "You look rather like your mother. Ears like your father, though, I'm afraid," He sighed, offering a sympathetic shrug. David might have been offended somewhat had he not been so busy being utterly taken aback by the man as he followed him deep within the house. He had heard stories about Hannigan - of his maverick tactics on the battlefield, of his staunch dislike of any authority that wasn't his own - and even remembered meeting him briefly at Keir many years ago. But somehow the General still defied his expectations.

The house seemed to expand exponentially on all sides, every surface covered in souvenirs from travels all over the world. At the centre of the building, an open hallway snaked around the perimeter of a large courtyard, palm trees casting shade in every corner, a huge fountain bubbling away in the middle. One of the garden tables was littered with military papers, at least half of which Stirling was undoubtedly forbidden from reading. Nevertheless, Hannigan invited him to sit without making any effort to conceal them. "Right, tell me about this idea of yours, then. I've heard it's really something," He prompted, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

But as David laid out the plan for his proposed regiment, littering enticing images of destruction and mayhem to further draw him in, he found his spiel derailed, distracted by two figures on the other side of the courtyard. One was a huge brute of a man, tattoos covering his muscled arms, handlebar moustache sliced through by a scar that covered much of his top lip - even from here it was as if he could sense the force that would come with each blow as he raised his fists. Standing against him however, was a girl. A whole head shorter than her opponent, bruised knuckles bared, she watched him with dark, sharp eyes, peering out from beneath freckled skin, an unruly mane of curls piled high atop her head. They were smiling at each other, smirking as if they had done this a hundred times before, and without a word of warning the man leapt at her. Before he could blink, the pair were going at it, wrestling against each other's bodies, hurling blows, their feet occasionally slipping against the polished tile floor.

Hannigan followed Stirling's gaze, and a pleased grin tugged at his expression. "Oh, yes. That's my Diana," He passed a glance at his watch. "If she's sparring already, we must be having tea soon. Perhaps you would join us?"

He ignored this offer, watching intently as they fought. Everything he had come to learn led him to expect that she would lose - that this man would hurl her on her back, knock her down with one blow, that she would be crushed beneath his hulking weight. But she was not. She held her own - hell, she seemed to enjoy it, grinning every time she sent her opponent reeling, clutching at his nose or crotch.

"She's good," He nodded.

"Well, she'd better be. She's been training near twenty years longer than any of your boys."

Stirling barely had time to respond to this before an ear-splitting crack echoed across the yard, making him cringe. He was unable to tell where it had come from until the man was knocked flat on his back and finally yielded, taking a moment to nurse his wrist, pain contorting his expression as Diana turned to approach the table.

"We'll need to find someone else for a while," She informed her father breathlessly, her fringe plastered to her forehead with sweat. "I think his wrist is broken."

"Very well," The General nodded, his tone startlingly non-committal despite the grunts of pain still coming from the man in the corner. "Diana, this is David Stirling - He's founding an exceptionally interesting new regiment, sounds like something you'd be interested in."

At this, David raised a brow, opening his mouth to speak but receiving no chance as Diana stepped forward, extending a hand to introduce herself. "Ah. Diana Fayed, a pleasure to meet you-?"

"Lieutenant," He nodded politely, accepting her hand with a shake, before suddenly remembering what her father had said. Still gripping her palm in his own, he turned his gaze back to the General. "Sorry, one moment - what do you mean she would be interested?"

"Oh, you really ought to take her with you, David. It's about time she saw some real action - not much use keeping her here so she can break the bones of every un-enlisted man in Cairo, is it?"

Stirling frowned, his brow creased with uncertainty. "Are you... familiar with parachutes, Diana?"

"Not intimately. Although I daresay I could manage it without paralysing myself," She smiled, and he suspected she knew more about him than he had previously thought. It suddenly occurred to him that this was exactly the type of person he was searching for to join his unit, and had she been a man he would have accepted her on the spot. It appeared the only person not thinking clearly here had been David himself.

"Have you enlisted?" He asked.

"Don't worry about that," Hannigan waved a hand dismissively. "I'll get the paperwork through by tonight, it's no matter. Now, let's call for some tea-"

"Actually," Diana interrupted. "I'm going out." With an affectionate kiss to her father's temple, she turned away, and made it halfway across the courtyard before calling out. "Aren't you coming, David?"

Unsure of what to make of such a family, Stirling's gaze travelled slowly from her to the General still sitting opposite him. Hannigan shrugged. "Don't look at me, son. Just do as she tells you, and you'll make it out alive."

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In all his life, David Stirling had never met anyone quite as bad at driving as himself. Until now, that was. Streaking at blinding speed down the streets of Cairo, he could have sworn the wheels lifted off of the ground on one side of their car as Diana took the corner at speed, her hair flying wildly at all angles in the wind. At one point, she almost hit a tradesman as he scurried about in the street attempting to hock some watches, and called out over her shoulder in Arabic a string of what was either apologies or curses - both of which seemed equally likely to him at the time.

"So, the plan is to raid the airfields and destroy the planes before they can take off, yes?" She asked, the vehicle slowing to a somewhat manageable speed. Stirling felt the sudden and rare urge to thank some higher power.

"That's right, yes. It's never been done before, which is why I need to find some mad, tough bastards to do it."

"You have anyone in mind?" Diana turned to look at him, tearing her eyes from the road, and he fought to suppress a yelp as they crossed a busy junction without so much as a pause.

"... Have you heard of Paddy Mayne?" Stirling asked, his fingers digging into the side of the leather seat to steady himself as they rounded another tight corner.

"Heard of him? I've met him - at least I think I have. Saw him in a bar a few months ago, he mistook me for a prostitute and then got arrested for punching some bloke's teeth out."

"That was... definitely Paddy," He admitted, running a hand over his brow.

"Well, he seems a good fit. If you can get him out of Ghadzi, that is," They drove in silence for a while, slowing as they reached traffic. "Where was it you needed us to go, by the way?"

"I will be getting out on the corner and going to the nearest bar I can find in an attempt to make myself forget every minute I've spent in this car with you, Diana. You will be going to Ghadzi, to pick up Paddy Mayne."

She raised a brow. "What?"

"I've already gotten him out of prison, it's all sorted. They will, however, be in need of a lift, and this car is... very large."

The pair rolled to a halt at the changing light, and Stirling seized the opportunity to get out of the vehicle, taking his crutch with him as he clambered out and closed the door. Before he could walk away, he bent down to poke his head through the open window. "Oh, and... let one of the others drive once you get there."

Diana chuckled, leaning across the passenger seat to call after him as he began to leave. "You're going to want to stop at the second nearest bar! The first one is... It's really bad."

"I will take that to heart," David nodded, and they offered each other one last smirk before parting ways.

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Diana was leaning up against the bonnet of her car, hand raised to shield her eyes from the blinding afternoon sun as Paddy Mayne stepped out of the gates to Ghadzi Prison, deep in conversation with the man at his side. He appeared filthy and battered, but ultimately in no worse condition than he had been in the first time they had met. The man with him was dressed in the standard army uniform, head tilted towards Mayne as he muttered into his ear, occasionally letting out a huff of amusement at something the man said. Neither of them seemed to notice her presence until the moment she spoke.

"Lieutenant Mayne?" She called. For a moment, he looked irritated that someone had interrupted him, severing his train of thought, but once it appeared to register who was standing before him, he sighed.

"Noooo. No. No, no," Mayne shook his head, raising a hand as if to bat her away whilst his companion watched on with a furrowed brow. "Whatever you've been sent for, I'm not fuckin' interested, alright?"

"Well, Stirling was certainly under the impression that you were coming," Diana shrugged, watching as Paddy's expression twisted with indignation.

"You know Stirling now, do you? Christ alive, he'll let anyone in, won't he?"

"Do you know her, Paddy?" The other man asked, slotting his hands into his pockets as his gaze flitted between the two.

"I'm Diana Fayed," She smiled politely, and he returned the gesture, reaching out to shake her hand.

"Eoin McGonigal."

"Aye, we've met," Paddy scowled. "Handed me over to the MP's, she did."

"I did not. I suggested you should be removed from a club after you punched a man so hard half of his teeth fell out. And, if I remember correctly, you mistook me for a prostitute and tried to pay me to leave you alone."

McGonigal let out a bark of laughter at this as Mayne passed his weight from foot to foot, staring at Diana as he found himself suddenly short of reasons to be angry at her. With a clench of his jaw, he tore his gaze away from her, folding his arms tightly across his chest as he leaned his back up against the side of the car.

"Parachuting into the fucking desert," He muttered, his head still shaking side to side, seemingly unable to suppress the motion since the moment he had left the prison.

"It would seem so," Diana confirmed.

"General Hannigan's daughter, she is," Paddy told Eoin nonchalantly, gesturing to her with one hand.

"Oh, really?"

"Adopted," She shrugged - an answer that seemed to satisfy them all.

It fell silent between them, just long enough to become awkward. Diana craned her head to the side, glancing back at the traffic passing by behind them. Becoming suddenly agitated at their stillness, she let out a huff, turning to seize the passenger door handle. "Alright, let's go-"

"Nope." Paddy shook his head. She planted a hand on her hip, gnawing the inside of her lip irritably.

"Why?"

"Waiting."

"For who?"

His head lolled to the side, the corner of his mouth curling upwards in a smile she could tell was intended to annoy her. "Fresh meat."

Opening her mouth, she found her tongue had run dry of anything to say. Her gaze darted momentarily to Eoin, who stood to the side with his hands in his pockets, waiting patiently and quietly, content to ignore Paddy's attempts at riling her. Looking back at Paddy, she finally spoke, her jaw clenched. "... What?"

At that moment, the door to Ghadzi was pulled open again, the rusted metal hinges drawn back with an uncomfortable screech. As the guard stepped aside, a man emerged into the daylight, peering up at the bright sky above him. Blonde hair slicked back away from his face, he sported a slew of minor cuts and bruises, littered across his face and knuckles. He carried a small bag of his belongings and walked with a confident swagger, and it became alarmingly clear that this was Paddy's idea of a good candidate... although she wasn't entirely sure he was wrong.

"This is Reg," Mayne introduced, pushing himself away from the car with his boot, leaving a muddy imprint of his heel upon the door that made Diana frown.

"Pleasure to meet you," Eoin stepped forward, offering his hand. He seemed by far the most agreeable of the bunch, accepting Reg's handshake as the newly released soldier eyed him up and down.

"Another fucking Paddy," Reg teased, his accent thick, gaze travelling back and forth between the other two men as Eoin let out a chuckle. "This regiment isn't all fucking Paddies, is it?"

"Nah, not all, we have women too, eh?" Mayne teased, giving Diana a playful slap on the shoulder. Side-eyeing him, she stepped closer towards Reg, reaching out for a handshake. If Paddy Mayne sought to make her regret coming here, she would ensure he found it awfully hard work.

"Oh, yeah?" Seekings asked distractedly, shaking her hand as they introduced themselves to one another. He treated her far more graciously than he had the others, and she couldn't help but wonder how long he had been in Ghadzi - how long it had been since he'd last seen a woman.

"Right, if there's no one else lurking inside we need to collect, shall we go?" Diana asked, and Paddy nodded, the party turning towards the car. She had made it all the way to the driver's side door before she paused, her hand hovering over the handle before withdrawing. "David ordered that someone else drive the car. Apparently, I display 'a concerning disregard for the sanctity of human life', according to him."

Seekings laughed at this, and Paddy agreed to take the wheel, shunting her into the backseat. It would be a long drive to Kabrit, and God knows how long before she would see her father or her home again. For as long as she could remember, she had been preparing for this moment, fighting all her life to make herself into a soldier her father would be proud of. She was his prodigy, his legacy, and it was only now that she was here, swaying with each turning as they wove through the city and out towards the desert, did she realise what enormous pressure she was under.

The year had been 1920, some time after Diana Fayed's third birthday, although the exact date of this had long been lost to years of inadequate record-keeping. The ceiling of the tiny flat hung low, drapes covering every window to shield its inhabitants from the fierce afternoon sun, the water in the glass upon the table slowly evaporating in the sweltering heat. Years down the line, Diana would remember little of this time, save for the overpowering stench of sweat and sickness that bathed the place, an ever-present reminder of the life that ebbed further away from her mother day after day as she lay, curled up in the bed they shared, passing in and out of delirium, weak groans escaping her dry throat. A fever ravaged her body, droplets of sweat beading on every inch of her skin save for the dry flesh of her lips, which had grown chapped and cracked as she found herself increasingly unable to hold down food or drink, her vomit coming more and more watery with each passing day.

They could not afford a doctor. They could scarcely afford anything since the day Diana had been born, her father's death on the Middle Eastern front savagely ripping away the only real income they had. When she had been strong, her mother had been a seamstress, sewing gowns for the wealthy white women who lived on the nicer side of Cairo. When Diana had been a baby, she had been strapped to her mother's back, carried to and from their home to the lavish houses of her clientele, and laid to rest in a wicker basket as the woman worked away at her sewing machine, the constant whirring soothing the infant to sleep.

But once the sickness had set in, everything had stopped - the walks across the city, the comforting sound of work, the money. There was little food left in the flat, and what they did have was turning sour in the oppressive heat, flies gathering in the corners of the room, feasting on the fruit that had gone too foul to eat. For weeks now, Diana had survived on little more than scraps of bread, the meats and cheeses running out a few days prior. She had grown thin, waiting for her mother to die, her ribs sticking out under the thin fabric of her shirt.

When her mother finally died, her last breath escaping her in a violent fit of coughs, the sound of the child's inconsolable crying had alerted the neighbours, and an old woman had come to the door, holding a scarf to her face to ward off the stench that now permeated every inch of the place. She had taken Diana's tiny body in her arms, feeding her out of her bountiful pantry before taking her to the orphanage, handing her over to live among the other children who had lost their parents to war, sickness and poverty. She could not remember if Diana had been the name she had been born with, but somewhere along the line, it had become hers. She had always been Fayed. The people she had grown up around remembered her father, remembered his loss and remembered his name. If she had lost everything else she had been born into, she had always kept her father's name, the sound of it as it rolled off her tongue a constant reminder of how far she had come.

General Rupert Hannigan had saved her. He had brought her out of the gutter and into his home, had called her his daughter and never made her relinquish the name that had once been hers. The least she could do was make him proud.

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"Are you sure about this, David?" Jock Lewes asked sceptically, brow raised as the pair examined the file put before them. It had been alarming how swiftly these papers had found their way to Stirling's desk, as if Hannigan had had Diana's file assembled years ago, keeping it close to his chest, waiting for a chance to send her out onto the battlefield. As her photograph stared back at him, Stirling remembered watching her in the courtyard - the way she had taken that beast of a man down in moments, shattering his bone without hardly breaking a sweat. When the SAS had been but a figment of David Stirling's imagination, he had not known it yet, but Diana Fayed had been exactly the soldier he had in mind.

"I'm sure."

"You really want her?"

Stirling looked over to the man beside him. What they were doing was insane. It was unthinkable, the first of its kind, and unspeakably dangerous. And he realised then that this was one of the only things he was really, truly certain of.

"I need her, Jock."

#sas: rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes fic #sas rogue heroes oc #sas: rogue heroes fic #sas:rh #david stirling #paddy mayne #eoin mcgonigal #reg seekings #jock lewes #oc: diana #fic | damage gets done

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