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minervadashwood · 7 months

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Daryl Dixon x NB!Reader (afab, plus-size) 🏹 Daryl x Reader x Rick 🛡️

The Cop and the Criminal - Chapter 30

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Summary: Separation anxiety. Word count: 2.3K This chapter contains: canon-typical violence

In the bedroom where Daryl kept his weapons, he sat next to the window with you in his lap. He hadn’t even asked, just grabbed your hand, and you had followed him in here. Daryl didn’t mind having other people around, but after today, he needed a moment of quiet, just with you.

“Do you want to talk about it?’ you asked.

He shook his head, and held you tight, and buried his nose crook of your shoulder. Those kids had looked almost inhuman, but he could still remember the little boy who acted like a snake and Mrs. Miller’s weary sighs as she apologized to Daryl for her rambunctious kids.

He couldn’t bear to think of it any more, so he just held you. You ran your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp and kissing his temple. Part of him itched to get out and do something. Find more food, check on his tenants, go looking for Merle. But another part of him--the bigger part--just wanted you all to himself, to sit in the quiet and hold you.

Long minutes passed, and he sighed. “Ya did good today,” he whispered. “With the daisies and whatcha said. Was real nice.”

“It wasn’t much, but I wanted to do something.”

“Mmm,” he replied, resting his forehead against you. “‘M glad I gotcha here.”

“That’s good because you’re kind of stuck with me, Dixon.”

He pulled away, just enough to see your face. “‘S gonna be alrigh’. May not be what we wanted, but we’ll be okay. Promise I’ll take care of ya.”

Your eyes softened. “I know you will. And I’m going to take care of you, too, if I can.”

“Jus’ bein’ wit’ ya ‘s all I need.”

“I think I can manage that,” you said, and kissed him.

Daryl returned your kiss, getting lost in the feel of you cradled in his lap. Whatever might happen outside, he always had you to come back to, to love and comfort, and get the same in return.

“DARYL!” Rick shouted from the hallway.

You startled in his arms, but quickly got off his lap, then clung to the back of his shirt as he opened the bedroom door.

Rick was loading his revolver. “Bunch of ‘em out there, five or six. And so’s your brother tryin’ to fight ‘em off with a motorcycle helmet.”

Daryl grabbed his crossbow, and before he could speak, Rick said, “You stay in here, Bubbie. Get in your nest and wait for us to come in, alright?”

“Please be careful” you begged, and with that they were gone.

Rick hadn’t used his bark on you this time, but you would follow at least part of his directions by staying upstairs. However, you went quickly to one of the windows that faced the parking lot. Below, you watched as the other members of your pack fought off the group of the dead. Heart in your throat, you pressed your hand and face to the glass. Ro moved like a cat and Merle like a rabid bear. Your alphas were even more fearsome, as they barreled into the dead, tossing them to the ground, kicking in their skulls or firing the crossbow into their head.

In a matter of minutes it was over, and they all rushed back inside.

In the kitchen, Ro appeared first, and then Merle. You couldn't help yourself as you went to Merle and wrapped your arms around him. Finally your whole pack was safe, and, except for Carl, all under one roof.

Merle was out of breath, but he hugged you back, his arms tight around you. This lasted a second, maybe less before he was pulling away and laughing like a hyena.

“Ya’ll actin’ like ya thought I was dead. I had ‘em geeks under control. Jus’ needed a few more minutes.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Ro said, his voice low and tense. He swung his fist at Merle, but the older man dodged it easily and instead grabbed Ro by the neck and pulled him close.

“Yer the idiot if ya thought I wouldn’t make it here.”

Ro began arguing, but you missed it entirely as Daryl grabbed you and held you against him. Rick was there, too, behind you and joining your hug. They were both trembling and tense.

“It’s okay,” you told them. “We’re all okay.”

They both huffed and dragged you from the fight between the betas and took you to your nest.

You tried to soothe them both, but their anxiety had wormed its way through you, and now you trembled as they started stripping off their clothes and yours. Daryl paid no heed to keeping covered, but the room was dark, still, since neither one of them had switched on the light.

“Fuck, I need you Bunny.” Rick whispered, nuzzling your shoulder. “Just need to feel you and keep you close.

“Whatever you both need. Take it.”

On your other side, Daryl turned your head toward him. “Jus’ lay down with us a spell, alrigh’?”

“Okay,” you whispered in the darkness.

Two sets of hands put you under the covers, and then they laid down on either side of you, pressing into you and nuzzling your neck. Scenting you, their musk filled the room, and you let them wrap around you like a safe cocoon. The warmth of their bodies seeped into yours, and the rough skin of their hands ran over your skin, touching you almost everywhere. Their breaths huffed in your ears, as they calmed down. Rick’s nose was nuzzling your neck gland, while Daryl wrapped himself around you and kissed your shoulder.

You didn’t know how long you lay there with them, a mass of cuddling bodies, but much too soon, Daryl slipped away from you. You wanted him with you again, his kisses and caresses. Likewise you wanted more from Rick, like his commanding voice and forceful body.

A sharp, physical longing swept through you—almost as strong as a heat spike—and your mates reacted. Daryl growled and sank back down on the bed. Yet he didn’t lay down like you wanted, forcing a whimper from your lips.

“I can’t, Bubbie, not right now. We gotta keep watch in case any more of ‘em show up.”

You choked down a desperate, primal whine and only just managed to say, “Okay, alpha.”

Rick held you tighter, and said to Daryl, “I’ll take care of ‘em and then we can switch.”

In the darkness, Daryl cupped your jaw and kissed you. “Rick’s gonna stay with ya all night. Don’ worry.”

Selfishly, that wasn’t enough for you. You wanted both your alphas.

“He needs his rest,” Daryl explained, and slipped away, his voice carrying to the door.

“Daryl,” Rick warned.

“Ya got business in the mornin’.” Daryl left the room so quietly that you almost missed it, but his scent faded, and you knew he was gone.

“Oh,” you said, realizing. “You want to get Carl.” Speaking it aloud forced you to acknowledge how much you wanted the boy here. Lori and Shane could be here, too. Maybe stay at Rick’s apartment. Just so your whole pack was together.

Rick smoothed your brow. “If you don’t want me going, I’ll stay. I’m sure he’s fine, I just--”

You held a finger to his lips. “I don’t want you going because we don’t know what’s out there. But I want Carl here, Rick. He’s on my mind all the time, and I can’t stop feeling like I should make sure he’s okay. I know he’s not mine,” you rambled, “But he’s yours and I feel like he’s a part of me, somehow.”

Rick kissed your finger, still pressed to his lips, then took your hand. “I promise I’ll be back. But--” he sighed and pulled you to his chest. “I hate to leave you.”

Another needful pang swept through you. “Alpha,” you begged.

“Shh,” Rick soothed you, urging you onto your back, so he could help ease the ache inside you.

The next evening was like the one before: only now Rick and Ro were gone. You watched again, from your perch by the front-facing window, as Daryl and Merle took down the handful of the dead that had wandered in as the sun set. One of them grabbed Merle by his leather vest, but Daryl was quick with his knife, and soon they were back upstairs again, squabbling.

Would this happen every day? Why hadn’t anything gotten back to normal? The internet, cable, and cell phone service had all gone out. Daryl and the others had started putting bodies in an empty apartment. The dead were all strangers, and there was no way to say goodbye to them properly like you had the Millers.

Daryl was washing himself off in the kitchen sink when your world went dark. You froze in place, scared and in shock, although you should have expected this, right? If the virus had made the world go dark figuratively, then literal darkness was sure to follow.

“Bubbie,” Daryl said, his rough voice calm. “It’s alrigh’ we’ll get some candles goin’.”

You nodded, unable to speak, but somehow Daryl found you in the pitch-black kitchen, then a tiny orange light appeared in front of Merle’s face.

“Where’s the lanterns?” he asked.

You heard a jangle of keys, and Daryl told Merle he could find the lanterns in the weapons room.

Daryl kept his arm around you until Merle came back, carrying a Coleman lantern. You relaxed, a little, since the small lantern was bright and lit up most of the room. Slipping away, Daryl tried to let go of you, but you grabbed his hand and urged him to stay close.

Merle sighed. “Peanut, you best calm yerself down. We can’t see nothin’ so neither can them walkers.”.

You said, “They’re still not back. Rick promised.”

Merle scoffed. “Jesus’ll be back if he knows what’s good fer ‘im.”

The three of you huddled around the lantern as Merle carried it to the living room. Daryl settled you on the couch, tucking you against his side and putting a knitted blanket around you.

“If ya hadn’t been such an ass yesterday, he’d still be ‘ere,” Daryl grumbled.

“He likes my ass jus’ fine, brother. I can tell ya that.”

A tiny chuckle escaped you, but then you thought of Ro and Rick out there, in the deepening night, with no way to know if they were okay. You put your head on Daryl’s shoulder, keeping close. Warmth from his body enveloped yours; he was strong and steady, and you needed him next to you until Rick got back.

Merle kept talking, his mouth rambling on while neither you nor Daryl said anything. The more he went on, the more you were lost to your own worries. What if you never saw Rick again, or Carl? An emptiness ached in your chest, and wordlessly, Daryl picked you up and carried you to your nest. There you could smell your absent mate, and your omega calmed some, but you still thought of the walkers you’d seen, and imagined them tearing into Rick and taking him from you forever.

“‘Mega,’ Daryl said, grabbing your shoulders and squeezing them. “Ya know he’s strong ‘nough to come home, doncha? Prob’ly jus’ stayin’ with his pup an’ waitin’ for mornin’.”

You leaned into Daryl’s chest, nodding your head, and holding back sobs. Daryl soothed you, running his hand up and down your back.

“Yer bein’ real strong. Doin’ so good right now,” he whispered, and you treasured the praise he doled out on you. “Tha’s my good Bubbie.”

Later, when you’d finally gone to sleep, Daryl sat with Merle downstairs, smoking and looking out the windows. He’d made sure you were covered in blankets; with the power out, the central heating didn’t work anymore. Continuously looking outside, he stayed alert for any sign of movement, hoping he could spot danger if it got too close.

More of them things wandered in every evening, it seemed, and he itched to get away. The woods would be safer than this. Least there’d be no people to worry about, dead or otherwise.

“‘S’like end of the world out there, baby brother,” Merle said, six shots deep into a bottle of whiskey. “If places ain’t overrun by walkers, they’re overrun by people jus’ as like to shoot ya as look at ya.”

Merle poured another shot. “Not as bad out ‘ere though, but I didn’ take the time to look aroun’ much. When that partner o’ yers gets back we oughta get out there and get what we can. Guns ‘n’ shit. Food. An’ get the hell outta here before it gets worse.”

Before he met you, Daryl would’ve done whatever Merle said. Even now, his instincts told him to leave. But this was home now, this whole damn place. He’d built the insides with his own two hands. He’d claimed you in the nest he made just for you. You came home to him here, every day after classes, cooked him dinner and talked his ear off.

Could he really take you away from all this? You needed a place to nest, a place that was cozy, warm, safe. A place that had his and Rick’s scents embedded in it.

If Rick didn’t get back soon, he might have to. No way just him and Merle could keep watch day in and day out. Merle might think so, but Daryl knew better. He needed Rick just as much as you did, but in a different way. It was like having another self, almost, like he didn’t have to think to fight with Rick. Just moving on instinct and innate trust.

So Rick not being here--it was like part of him was missing, and he needed it back.

Next chapter.

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clxgaming · 1 year

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Best Holiday Games to Get in the Christmas Spirit

Looking to get into the holiday spirit? You probably didn’t consider that video games can be a source of holiday festivities and activities. Let’s sled into some of the most fun and festive video games going into the 2022 holiday season!

Destiny 2 Every year, Destiny 2 players are treated to “The Dawning” during the holidays. There are wintery skins and surprise activities each time that revolve around the holiday spirit. One year’s event revolved around cooking, making players search their world for ingredients and help Eva bake some cookies. The cookies were then exchanged for cool new loot like the Avalanche Heavy Machinegun.

Overwatch 2 Every year, Overwatch has brought Winter Wonderland to FPS fans and Overwatch 2 won’t be any different. Winter Wonderland is a high-spirited in-game event that brings holiday-themed skins and cosmetics to your favorite heroes. This includes fun voice lines as well that are unique to the holidays. There are also winter-inspired limited time game modes like snowball fights and yeti hunts.

Dead Rising 4 Dead Rising 4 may be a violent zombie-killing action game but it’s weirdly Christmas themed throughout. There are holiday-themed weapons like Santa traps and candy cane crossbows to use on unsuspecting zombies to help you get into the holiday spirit. Basically, the zombie outbreak started during Black Friday, which explains the holiday backdrop. The game largely takes place in a mall so you’ll be able to do plenty of holiday weapon shopping.

The Escapists This retro-inspired game is about escaping from a prison, including a lot of violence and intense moments despite it’s quirky aesthetic. Plus there is a free add-on known as Santa’s Sweatshop that is totally worth checking out. In this DLC, you play as an elf but basically go about your usual prison survival and escape plans. The 2017 sequel, The Escapists 2, has Santa’s Shakedown if you want more holiday fun.

Batman: Arkham Origins This isn’t a Christmas game per say, but it all happens on Christmas Eve. This shapes the environment and mood of the game. There is also a Gotham skin covered in snow that will put you in the holiday spirit while taking down villains. This is a really fun comic book game that is intense and intriguing no matter the time of year.

If any of these games sound fun to try out this winter, you’ll need a prebuilt gaming tower from CLX Gaming. These high-end, powerful rigs are perfect for long gaming sessions during cozy snow days and holidays, whether you want to grind competitively or explore an open world.

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whatsonmedia · 2 years

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vg-sanctuary · 3 years

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Nuclear Throne & Enter the Gungeon

Vlambeer - PC, PlayStation 4, PlayStation Vita, Xbox One, Switch - 2015 (Nuclear Throne, first image) Dodge Roll - PC, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, Switch - 2016 (Enter the Gungeon, second image)

[images from nintendolife, xboxone-hq, famitsu, and wikimedia commons]

the 2010s had more great niche games than I thought when I started this blog. I know I haven't written about many, but more have come to my list to write about, Nuclear Throne being a shining example. Throne came out in beta in 2013 and fully released in 2015 (which was also somehow when Hotline Miami 2 came out? what?) to warm reception, but it seems to have been forgotten by players only a couple years after release -- barring the Switch port which I'll bet most readers didn't notice, or if they did, forgot it existed. Enter the Gungeon came out a year later in 2016 and got large free content updates until 2019, plus ports to all major consoles at the time. in this post I'll be comparing Nuclear Throne's design to the design of Enter the Gungeon. I was just going to write about Nuclear Throne, but I like both and can't stop myself from talking about Gungeon's design too. does that make up for missing two weeks of posts?

a lot of indie top down shooters -- not the least of which are Nuclear Throne and Enter the Gungeon -- happen to also be roguelites I guess because designers really like putting procedural generation with arcade-ish gameplay. contemporary players and designers probably would feel like it's a missed opportunity to not have random generation in a top down shooter unless you have lots of stages and a system that values mastery like Assault Android Cactus or Hotline Miami. individual levels are obviously a lot harder to design for what might be a negligible difference in player enjoyment, and aren't infinitely replayable, which I guess is why the developers of each game decided on this format. and in my opinion, Nuclear Throne is the pinnacle of the genre: immaculate in the same way people call Doom immaculate, where to add or remove anything would detract from the game. if you're a purist. I'm not, mods are fun. Enter the Gungeon, while also great, comes up a bit short, and is designed a bit differently.

if you know the gameplay of both games, feel free to skip this paragraph and the next. in Nuclear Throne, you drop into the first level with a revolver and you proceed to the next level by killing every enemy. you start with eight health, and if it falls to zero you lose that run and start all over, though you keep some unlockables like characters with unique abilities. all the levels have random layouts, but each stage has its own enemies, sometimes a boss, and they all contain an ammo chest, a weapon chest, and a can of rads, which are basically XP. if you've got enough rads to level up, the game gives you a random set of upgrades ("mutations") to choose one from that you keep for the rest of that run. if you reach level 10, you choose one of your character's exclusive and powerful ultra mutations and you can't level up any more. enemies drop rads and occasionally health, ammo, or weapons. there are five different ammo types, and each weapon uses a different one, like crossbows use bolts and revolvers and machine guns use bullets. and I think this is the first roguelite ever to have looping, where you can choose to return to a harder version of the first level after beating what would usually be the last one. Nuclear Throne isn't much more complicated than that other than the broad gun selection and the optional challenge mechanic. if this design sounds simple, that's because it is. it's easy to get started and satisfying to play, but hard to master.

in Enter the Gungeon, most characters start the first floor with a weak pistol plus whatever starting items your character has and move from room to room by killing every enemy in each. most characters start with three hearts and most bullets take away half a heart, and if your health drops to zero, you start again from the first room. every character can do an invincible dodge roll, and you're given two bullet-clearing bombs for each floor. floors are randomized, but rooms are handmade, probably so the developers can be sure they're giving the player an interesting challenge in each. each floor will contain a shop, two chests of random rarity -- one always containing a permanent upgrade and one always a gun -- and a boss, which will be a random one from that floor's possible bosses. if you got no guns on a floor, the boss will always drop one, and if you take no damage from the boss, you're guaranteed a heart container. you have to explore each floor to find the boss room so you can kill it and proceed to the next. each gun has separate ammo that can be completely refilled by ammo boxes that drop randomly. the game usually ends after the fifth floor, but there is an unlockable sixth, among many other secrets. there's also a simple synergy system where holding certain pairs of guns and items will grant an extra boost. there are unlockable characters and a handful of challenge modes, as well as dozens of items and guns you can unlock with a special cross-run currency dropped by bosses. there's also a curse system and some other stats under the hood, but I've described pretty much the whole main gameplay loop.

Enter the Gungeon is obviously more content-rich: it has more systems, more levels, more items, more guns, more enemies, more bosses, and overall more stuff, and some people probably prefer it to Throne. it has more content by a long shot, but can feel slower and more dependent on luck than Throne. the difficulty is also generally for different reasons: Nuclear Throne opts for quick thinking and good use of cover, while Enter the Gungeon favors skilled weaving, rolling and use of blanks. and both require a degree of resource management and game knowledge.

the random variety in both of course makes it so no two runs are ever exactly the same. in Nuclear Throne, the player gets a lot of agency when it comes to characters, weapons they carry, and upgrades they take, so it rarely feels like the run was lost to bad luck. there will be the occasional death to a health chest mimic or bad spawn, but 99% of the time it's the player's fault. the short playtime helps a lost run feel like less of a waste of time, too: my typical runs take 20 to 30 minutes and that's only because I choose to loop.

in Enter the Gungeon, some losses can be chalked up to bad guns, bad items and few ammo drops, and it's entirely reasonable: certain guns alone can give you a good shot at winning a run, and running out of ammo because the game didn't give you any can be fatal. that's not to say Gungeon is all luck: most bosses are very difficult but totally predictable, so beating any of them is a test of player skill. the developers chose to make lost 45 minute runs feel like less of a loss with the cross-run currency that can be spent on new items, and though these new items are powerful, they aren't guaranteed to appear and whether you win is still mostly up to your skill against each boss.

unlike in Enter the Gungeon where you get an arbitrary number of permanent upgrades dependent on whether the game felt like giving you keys or drops, a random active item if any, and every single gun you've picked up in that run, in Throne, you will have exactly eight mutations, one ultra mutation, your character's starting abilities, and only two guns at a time. these certainties and the player's power of choice are probably what allowed Vlambeer to balance Nuclear Throne more around player skill than RNG. not that Enter the Gungeon is entirely RNG, it's just a lot easier to get weak guns or too few of them for the whole run and have no legs to stand on when you reach later floors.

any individual aspect of Nuclear Throne is obviously more simplistic and arcade-y than Enter the Gungeon, but the simple design makes it more replayable in my opinion. I can still lose hours to Throne but I have no particular desire to replay Gungeon, and I guess part of that is because the looping mechanics of Throne give players a clear and obvious way to shoot for high scores, though there are also daily runs and a speedrun timer. Gungeon has a lot more cross-run content, some of which is special bosses that can only be fought at the end of each run, though these become less of an issue when you consider the shortcuts to each floor. I got stuck at a point in this cross-run progression, which is why I haven't returned to Gungeon. (or maybe I just play more Throne because once you get better you can start to turn the brain off a little bit. you can never do that in Gungeon.)

this also makes me think of overjustification. it's a psychological phenomenon where, if you reward someone for doing something that they were going to do anyway, it will actually make them less likely to do it. this is a tough beast when it comes to game design and completely unintentional on the developers' part, but it might be part of why I have less playtime in Gungeon: there are rewards to chase, and I've already gotten most of the ones I feel like getting, while in Throne the only real goal defined by the game is to beat the final boss and optionally loop. there are of course the unlockable challenge modes, but those don't give you anything other than a challenge mode. and some Steam achievements that don't unlock anything.

both games also feature local co-op, though in Throne the camera tries to focus on both players at once on the already rather small screen, so it's kind of hard to play. Gungeon's does the same thing, but the camera is much more zoomed out in that game, and it has a revive system designed not to make the game any easier, while Throne's system will almost certainly save runs. in both games, run upgrades (items, mutations) are shared and guns, ammo, and health are not. the real co-op fun for Throne is in an excellent online mod called Nuclear Throne Together that doesn't force the camera like this and allows you to use other mods if you choose. I don't have much experience with other mods for either game, and that's not the design of the main games anyway, so I won't talk about it.

like I said, this was going to just be about Throne but I couldn't stop comparing it to Gungeon so now it's about both. both are great fun and which you like more is totally up to you. though I'm a fan of both, Throne's simplicity (and killer online mod) still keeps me coming back six years after release.

#nuclear throne #enter the gungeon #vlambeer #dodge roll #my writing

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uchihaclansslutt · 3 years

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the end of the world ↠ jean kirstein

chapter three; supply run

Five days passed and the group was now running out of supplies once again. With the amount you and Avni carried, plus what they had, you were surprised it ran out so quickly, but that was how life worked now.

"Sasha took my corn and beans!" Connie yelled while complaining to Armin and Jean.

"I was hungry! And it's not like you were going to eat them anyway!" Sasha argued back. You watched the duo get at it again at the back of the church while helping Armin count the weapons the group had in total.

In front of you, there was Marco's silenced sniper, Sasha's crossbow, Mikasa's katana, twelve knives, two machetes, an axe, two baseball bats, four rifles and five pistols in different sizes. You counted twenty-nine in total while placing them into a duffle bag, excluding the weapons that were already claimed.

You and Armin got up and bumped into Eren, "Y/N, I'm sending you and Jean on a run. We're low on food," he informed while crouching down to the duffle bag you and Armin just filled up.

He handed you a glock and revolver, "Eren, I've never used a gun before. I'll just use my knife."

Eren stood up and looked at Armin, "Y/N, the glock is easier to use. Even I could use it, you'll be fine," Armin said. "Plus, you have Jean with you in case anything goes wrong. He's one of the strongest ones here." You looked at Jean taking a step out of the church with Marco and realized you haven't talked to him properly ever since that night. You told Eren you'll inform him right away.

You opened the door and saw Marco and Jean sitting on the steps. They turned around at the same time and you offered the revolver to Jean, "We're going on a run, get ready."

You had your knife in your holster around your waist and placed another one in your black jacket's inner pocket. You emptied your bag for the new batch of supplies coming in and got into the Wrangler. Jean entered the jeep shortly after you did and passed you your designated gun, "You left this on one of the benches."

"I don't know how to use it, I'm fine with my knife."

Jean looked at you, he nodded and took the clip out of the handgun. "This is the magazine," he gestured, "You put it in like this," you saw how he made sure the numbers were facing the back as he pushed the clip into the gun. "Make sure you hear a click, like this," he said as you heard a click once it was fully inserted, "And to remove it, you just press this button."

You were a fast learner, you understood everything he explained so far and nodded your head so he could keep going. "When you have the clip in, slide the top back, aim and pull the trigger. That's all." He handed you the glock, "Now do it yourself a few times, it's unloaded for now."

While Jean drove to the store, you got a hang of reloading and using the handgun. Armin was right, it was easy after all. However, you couldn't ignore the silence and tension in the vehicle, it was too strong. You started wondering if you messed up by telling Jean you weren't ready for anything deeper—you truly liked him anyway, it shouldn't have been a problem.

He parked a little away from the building and the both of you got out. You walked towards the store, slightly behind Jean trying to get rid of your doubt. It was probably the worst time for you to be overthinking about a man so you snapped yourself out of it.

Meanwhile, Jean was thinking about you too. He walked ahead of you because he didn't want you to see how obviously upset he was after that night. It was your first time interacting with each other again after five days, it was bound to be on both your minds.

You watched Jean step into the store without checking for walkers, making you scrunch your face in confusion. You had thought he was experienced enough to at least knock on the glass before going in but he didn't; there was definitely something on his mind.

"Jean!" You whispered. He turned around, already inside the huge store. "Get back here, we need to do a check!" He realized his mistake but was too egotistical to get back out on your orders. You made eye contact with him from a distance and sighed before quickly following him in.

You two walked around the store, grabbing all the canned and packaged food, water bottles, first aid kits, weapons, blankets and other survival items. You and Jean split up to cover more ground and get out of the store as soon as possible. You saw a shopping cart and ended up placing all your stuff in there to be able to gather more stuff—of course, you didn't roll it around to make noise and attract walkers but it was better than carrying barely anything in the bags.

You crouched to the bottom shelf and saw a polaroid camera kit. You remembered talking to Armin before heading out to the store and he mentioned he loved art, including photography. You picked up the camera while still crouching and smiled—he would love this so much.

You got back up to put it in the cart when you heard growling all of a sudden. You placed the camera back on the shelf quickly and took your knife out of its holster. You walked slowly, closer to the growling to get rid of the noise. You got to the end of the aisle and took a quick glimpse of how many walkers there were. You turned immediately when you saw about over ten walkers roaming around near your aisle. You knew it would've been better to do a check before coming in but Jean had other plans in mind.

You quickly walked over to the left side of the store, where Jean should've been and saw another shopping cart at the end of the store. You figured he had the same idea as you did and decided to store everything in the cart so you can bring more to the church. Just when you were about to walk forward, another herd of walkers started approaching you. At that moment, you realized there were definitely more than ten walkers in this store. Besides, it was bigger than regular grocery stores, there were bound to be some walkers in here.

"Jean!" You yelled, only because the walkers were already approaching you at a fast pace. "Jean!" You repeated while stabbing one in the head as other walkers continued heading towards you. You heard footsteps and thought there was a walker coming behind you but you were preoccupied, struggling with a walker right in front of you. You pushed it back and used your knife against it, pushing it deep into its skull. You pulled the knife out and looked over your shoulder to the right, there you saw the walkers you saw beforehand. "Are you alive?!" You called out again.

He was watching you on his side of the store before he stepped in and pulled you towards him. He had you against the shelves when he looked to his right just to see over twenty zombies coming towards you two.

"This is where you take your gun out Y/N," Jean said while taking the gun out of your pants back pocket and placing it in your hands. He watched the walkers come towards you, "Get ready."

"Aren't you gonna fucking help?" You scowled.

He shook his head, "Nope, not yet." Y

ou faced away from him, pointing the glock at the walker coming near you. Because you haven't used a gun before, you were so hesitant, instantly forgetting what you practiced during the entire ride. "I can't do this," your hands were shaking and fear rushed over you. The dead were coming closer and you still didn't know how to shoot.

He stood by you with his revolver ready, "Any day now Y/N darling," he spoke. You were still trembling when the walker had its head against the gun. You closed your head and took a deep breath in, finally pulling the trigger. Once you shot the walker, you had a wave of adrenaline wash over you. You turned to thank him for giving you the confidence to face walkers but saw a spiteful smirk on his face which made you change your mind and glare instead.

You two took on the walkers, shooting them one at a time. You glanced at Jean to see him ruthlessly killing walkers now. He put his revolver away and you assumed that he ran out of ammo but then you took a closer look at his face and saw pure resentment. "Jean." You called out, but he didn't hear you. At the moment, it looked like hatred and malice washed over him, and it happened in a matter of seconds.

Jean kept stabbing the dead through their skulls. Every time he put his knife through a walker's skull, he would remember the conversation he and Marco had on the church's porch before you came by.

"What did you wanna talk about?" Marco said while taking a seat near Jean. The young man noticed the distress on his best friend's face, plus, he also noticed he wasn't himself for the past few days. He sighed, "Is it about Y/N?"

Jean looked up at his childhood friend, who was sitting on the step above him and nodded. "How-"

"I've known you since we were what? In kindergarten?" Marco interrupted, making Jean chuckle sheepishly, "It was pretty obvious Jean, you can't hide your emotions so well. I've seen the way you look at her too, the last time you looked at someone like that was who again? Janice in eleventh grade? Wonder how she's doing." The two friends shared a genuine laugh at Marco's observation, it was so nostalgic for them.

"I like Y/N. Fuck, I like her a lot actually," he said, having his smile fade away slowly, "But I think I messed up. I don't know man." He leaned back, his elbows supported him as he tilted his head up and closed his eyes. "We had a moment in that school bus. She said she likes me but thinks we can't afford something deeper. The fuck does that mean?"

Marco took a deep breath in, "I mean, she's right. Nothing's the same anymore, we can lose anyone any minute, honestly, anything could happen. I get what she's feeling. But don't worry," Marco shoved Jean's shoulder, "If she feels the same, everything will fall into place in no time."

"Jean. Jean fucking Kirstein, look here." He snapped out of his thoughts when you called for his name and dragged him off the dead zombie underneath him. "You can stop now."

Jean looked down at the last walker and how he stabbed it multiple times despite already being killed the first time he pushed his knife through its skull. "What's gotten into you?"

He walked away from the aisle and back to his cart and rolled the cart outside of the store aggressively leaving you inside. You went back for one last check and brought back your cart outside too, including the camera you wanted to get for Armin. You saw Jean unloading his supplies into the Wrangler's trunk securely to make sure nothing falls out on your way to the church.

"What was that back there?" He shook your hand off and continued placing everything into the jeep. "You're fucking pathetic, Kirstein."

Before you walked off, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you to hold you against the Wrangler's backseat doors. "What's my problem?" He scoffed and began to raise his voice, "What's my fucking problem?! It's you Y/N! What else would it be? I can't get you off my fucking mind holy shit."

You scrunch your face, "And how is that my fault? Why the fuck are you taking it all out on me?" You fought back. You couldn't tolerate how he was blaming his behaviour on you, it was so unreasonable.

You didn't need to think too hard about why Jean was upset and why he was claiming you to be the reason. "Oh my fucking god," you exhaled, "So that's what this is about, huh? I told you I'm just not ready. We're in the middle of an apocalypse, wake up!"

"I wish I never picked you up that day. Should've just left you there to die."

You chuckled deeply before letting go of his grip on your wrist. You started poking his chest with your index finger harshly, "And now you're just saying shit. We both know you don't mean that." You looked down to see his grip had caused your skin to turn red before scoffing and walking away from him, "Unbelievable."

Jean took a glimpse of what he did to your wrist and took a second to cool down before following you. "Let me see your arm," he demanded with his voice still coated in sternness.

You looked at him and narrowed your eyes, giving him an annoyed stare. Regardless of being glared like that, he still took your hand to see how bad it could've been. "I don't need you to baby me now," you darted and let go of his grip once again.

"Hey, I'm sor- Why did you pick up a camera?" You looked at him again and saw him holding up the boxed kit in his right hand. You wanted to give him the silent treatment after he took all his bottled-up emotions out on you and didn't even apologize. "Y/N."

"I got it for Armin," you said without looking at him, still emptying out your cart.

You suddenly heard a slam and looked up thinking there were walkers around. It was just Jean, and he threw the polaroid camera box away carelessly. You glared at his unbothered but no longer upset facial expression and rolled your eyes before grabbing it again, "We don't need it doll," he said without looking back at you.

He was starting to get on your nerves now, you didn't want to utter a single word to him but didn't want to listen to his command either. You were just trying to get along with the other group members and attempting to make things seem remotely normal. You internally cursed yourself for having feelings for him even after you two exchanged bitter comments.

You picked the kit up and opened it just to see that the camera itself had broke. You were about to turn around to grab a new one from the store until you looked up. You two had attracted walkers and they were surrounding the Wrangler, forcing you and Jean back-to-back in a tight spot. "Son of a bitch. We have company, Kirstein."

"Motherfuckers." Jean took his revolver out and peeked over his shoulder to see you with your handgun out as well. Being against each other's backs, he noticed the height difference and how your head dug into his shoulder blades. He felt comfort for the first time after the school bus and couldn't help but slightly smile despite being in a dangerous situation—you held that power around him. "Ready to kick some ass?"

You tilted your head and cracked your neck, "Unfortunately."

At the back of your mind, you were just pissed at the fact you just got rid of walkers in the store and now you had to deal with even more in such little time. You knew you had to get used to it sooner than later because this was reality now.

One by one, you and Jean watched the walkers fall down as you shot through their skulls whilst still being back-to-back. You heard Jean chuckle which made you smile for a split second until you remembered what happened before this. You wondered if he was always this brain-damaged and shit at expressing his feelings or if it was the apocalypse that got to him. Either way, he's fucking crazy now and you didn't know if it was a good thing or not.

Your handgun's round emptied after taking down majority of the walkers. You didn't want to use the glock anymore anyway, you had some anger to take out and there was no better way to do it than killing mindless zombies. It was a win-win in your favour—the walkers wouldn't follow you guys to the church this way plus you get to clear your mind and think rationally.

You walked away from Jean and towards the four walkers left. Using the first one as a shield, you kept your hand on its frail chest and stabbed it in the side of its head as soon as it bumped into the second walker. Shortly after, you rammed your knife dead-center into the other walker's head. The third walker, which was coming at you from the side probably would've suffered if it could still feel something. You slashed its throat halfway through with the knife and watched the blood gush out before you stabbed the fourth zombie.

You thought the third walker would've fallen after slitting its throat, but it was still limping towards you, desperate as its arms were raising too. Just when you lifted your arm up to stab it, you saw a bullet go through its head and watched its lifeless body smash onto the dry ground. "You stole my kill," you said, breathing heavily without facing Jean.

"My bad darling."

Jean started his Wrangler again after getting rid of all the walkers out of your way. You went back into the store quickly to grab another camera set for Armin since Jean decided to trash the first one.

He drove around the parking lot and parked parallel to the entrance of the store. You walked towards the Jeep and saw Jean lighting up a cigarette in the driver's seat while eyeing you. It was obvious he wanted you to sit in the passenger seat but you wanted to match his same petty attitude and decided on sitting in the backseat. He lowered his gaze when you entered the vehicle and you could've sworn he was grinning sheepishly.

The drive back was quiet due to both of your egos. You really didn't want to speak to him first but you suddenly had one of those shitty gut feelings again. "I'm feeling uneasy. Can you drive faster?"

Jean glanced at you through the rearview mirror and had his eyes back on the road before you could make any eye contact with him, "So we're talking now?"

You exhaled and rolled your eyes, "We're not doing this again, please. I'm serious. I don't know why I feel like the church is in danger."

He chuckled, "Y'know, you're always so serious." You scrunched your brows and were about to explain yourself but he cut you off before you could. "You're just paranoid Y/N. We've been in that church two weeks before you came. You're still a newbie, stay in your place."

You laid down in the backseat and stared up at the roof of the Jeep. He changed so much– all you knew was this wasn't the Jean you first met. Why were his words affecting you like this?

"You're so fucking rude," you muttered under your breath as a single tear rolled down your cheek. You had a bad feeling about the church and just didn't want to lose anyone else again but he didn't seem to understand that. You discreetly wiped the tear off your cheek before it made a stain and started preparing yourself for what could happen when you two got back.

Out of spite, Jean drove slower than usual while you were still extremely anxious in the backseat, although he didn't seem to notice it at all. You were so tempted to just knock him out and take the wheel yourself but you knew better than that. In case something did happen at the church, the group would need Jean—in numbers, strength and intelligence.

After an unnecessary amount of time was spent on the road, you two finally got back. Without thinking for a second, you ran into the church to tell Eren about what you were worried about. Everyone knew him and Jean were the leaders of the group—if Jean wasn't going to listen, there was always Eren.

You pulled him aside and luckily, Avni overheard your rambling while she was with everyone else. She excused herself and walked up to you and Eren. "Hey. Sorry, I overheard a little. When Y/N has these hunches, she's usually right." Eren looked down at the both of you, honestly thinking you two were lunatics.

"Okay?" He looked up and clapped his hands once, gathering everyone's attention easily, "Don't let your guard down tonight. I want you guys to start packing little by little too." You sighed in relief, mouthing the words 'thank you' to Eren for listening to you.

"Huh? Why? What's up?" Connie questioned while pushing Sasha's head away from him. Eren shrugged, "Dunno. But if you wanna keep that bus, be ready for anything."

The words that left their other leader's mouth made Connie stiff and Sasha seemed to notice that. Maybe it was the way Eren said it, or maybe they could sense the tension that was radiating from you and Avni. Either way, they were rarely impacted by anything unless it was serious, and for them to tense up the way they did, informed the others around them that this wasn't a sick joke.

Connie was the first to gather all the blankets around him and put them on his bus. He came across Jean and Marco unloading the vehicle and best believe, they were both wondering why he looked so alarmed and out of it. "Yo, Baldie!"

Jean waited for a response from his friend but didn't get one. It concerned him so he went around the bus to see what's happening. To his relief, Connie was still throwing the blankets at the back of his bus. "Connie?" Marco called out, "What's going on?"

"I don't know but I'm getting a really bad feeling about staying here for too long. Cat lady, Sasha and Avni are too. Eren told us to stay on guard," Connie explained

Jean remembered the conversation you tried to have with him in the Jeep and scoffed, "It's just in your heads."

He was about to walk away before Marco grabbed onto his elbow. "Put all feelings aside right now and try to understand what everyone's worried about," he whispered. Jean looked at him before Marco let go of him and nodded in acknowledgement.

Jean went back to his Jeep and leaned against the front door. He was grateful Marco was by his side to remind him of what's important. Considering that four of the group members were getting a bad feeling about the church, he finally started taking things seriously. He started off by putting everything back into the Wrangler and making sure everything was firmly compacted. "I swear if nothing happens," he muttered to himself. "Whatever."

It was almost midnight and everyone was getting ready to go to sleep. They slept on the church pews since their setup was put away.

Jean, Avni and Marco were on watch for tonight. The three of them sat away from everyone else so then they wouldn't disrupt their sleep. "So, Jean," Avni coughed, "Y/N was in a shitty mood after you two got back from that supply run. What'd you do?"

"What do you mean?!" Jean was taken back, "I didn't do shit! There were a bunch of walkers in that store, she probably just got tired." Avni looked at Marco and then looked at Jean again. "Don't look at me like that." She kept glaring. "Okay fine. I might've said a thing or two."

"Finally speaking up huh," she scoffed. Marco sat beside her, also intrigued to know what Jean could've said to you. They both watched him as he started tapping his foot slowly, probably due to nervousness.

"Oh, you're gonna hate me for this." At that moment, Jean finally realized how venomous his words truly were– it was an understatement to say he felt like absolute shit. He put his weapon down, Avni and Marco were watching every move and were definitely telepathically asking each other what could've gone down. "Let's just.. Erm. I might've told her that um-"

"Could you spit it out already?" Avni exhaled.

"We don't have all night Jean boy. I wanna sleep once this is over," Marco agreed.

"I told her I should've left her there to die..."

"YOU WHAT!?" Avni and Marco yelled in unison.

"Shh! You two are gonna wake someone up," Jean hushed. "I know. I was a bitch."

Avni put her elbow onto Marco's shoulder and shook her head, "Oh Kirstein, I was rooting for you. Did you at least apologize? Please tell me you did."

Marco looked back at Jean, "So.. Did you?"

Jean looked away in shame. "I didn't get the chance to." Avni and Marco scowled at him, "I know I fucked up. You guys can get off my ass now." They both continued to tsk, in fact, Avni even brought out her disappointed 'brown mom face'. "Avni, you shouldn't be talking at all. Why haven't you made a move on Marco yet?"

"Huh?!" They both shrieked. "Uh, Jean?-" Marco chuckled, honestly concerned for what happens to Jean after this.

Although he got cut off by Avni before he continued. "You don't know," she laughed, "I'm not into guys! I'm lesbian."

The second-hand embarrassment was horrible. Jean leaned forward and looked away from both of them while covering the left side of his face. They were giggling hysterically at Jean's misunderstanding, "Alright, alright. Now shut up before I kill myself."

Suddenly they heard footsteps and they all grabbed their weapons again—Avni with her bat, Marco lifted his silenced sniper and Jean got in his stance with his knife. "Woah. Calm down, it's just me." It was Mikasa.

The three of them put their weapons down and backed off in relief. "What's up?" Jean asked.

"Sasha's sorta been paranoid ever since Y/N sensed something coming our way. She's saying she's hearing things but can't tell whether it's just Connie's snoring or if it's coming from outside." She walked closer to them and took a seat beside Marco, "To be honest, I think we've been in this church for too long as well. Nothing good ever lasts nowadays."

"She said she's hearing something?" Jean asked, soon receiving a worried nod from Mikasa. Marco, Avni and Jean looked behind Mikasa to see what everyone was doing right now. They saw Sasha waking everyone up one by one and even though she

"What do you mean she's hearing things?" Avni was sort of getting freaked out by this whole thing even more. Although she believed you from the very start, she didn't think it would be that serious either. She thought there would just be some walkers you guys can get rid of, but after seeing everyone start to pack, along with Sasha being scared out of her mind, she realized this wasn't what she thought it was.

"Sasha's ears are sharp. She usually warns us when there's some danger lurking around," Mikasa explained and so Marco continued, "It's like how Y/N's intuition is strong."

"So why the fuck are we still in the church? Shouldn't we get going like right now?" Avni scolded while walking away. She started shaking everyone awake along with Sasha, the both of them were receiving so many groans in disapproval. Mikasa followed Avni and started doing the same.

Marco walked towards the front door of the church and suddenly stopped just when he was about to open it. He heard scratching against the door from the other side and called over Jean just to confirm it.

"Shhh," he whisper-yelled before putting his ear against the door. It was amazing how he had so much power over everyone because the church fell silent as soon as he lifted his hand and shushed them.

He looked up and started searching for your eyes. You were sitting up from the church bench and rubbing your eyes when he found them. Although he was glad to see you again, he had to break the news.

"Well," Jean chuckled nervously while rubbing his nape, "We're in shit."

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 3 years

Text

Jersey on my mind (part 34)

“This looks like the place.”

Yeah, sure does, Daryl thinks to himself as he stops next to Mila in the bright sunlight; surely they’re at the right place. A blind couldn’t even avoid seeing this big block of concrete, even if that poor son of a bitch tried his best to. The beige shopping complex at the other side of the vast parking lot looks hauntingly big and abandoned where it stands. Against the blue sky it looks almost grotesque.

“Ah. The stronghold of capitalism, as my dear papa called it.” Mila exhales and shakes her head, still with her eyes on the mall. “Bless his soul. And yet, my Russian heritage boils with fury at the sight of this… monstrosity.”

“Thought ye’ weren’t a commie?”

“Doesn’t have to be a commie just because one believes in equality and a society for everyone-” Mila shrugs. “Not only the riches. Maaaybe a socialist.” Mila blinks at him. “Papa preached about that day in and day out. In the end, we are all equal before death, he used to say. Death doesn’t take into account money, nor power.”

An enormous, weathered billboard on the wall proclaims that the concrete box offers them “plus twenty shops, ten restaurants and a playland”, where exhausted parents can check in their obnoxious offspring; and probably, Daryl thinks, as they start to walk towards the futuristic entrance, lots of walkers. He has consciously avoided malls his entire life. His parents could never afford to take ‘em to one, not even dress for such an occasion. The thought of that many people in one spot made his skin crawl, even at that age. Flashy lights, plastic, glossy surfaces and the feeling of being a fish among hundreds of other fishes, in a bowl that’s too big for them to comprehend. A bowl of upper class brats, nuclear suburban families, teens moving in packs like wolves and retirees clinging desperately to their coupons. Nah, he stayed far away. He bets that Mila must have felt the same overwhelming feeling when she set foot in a mall for the first time. Did they have shopping malls in Russia? He doesn’t ask.

“Ya’ ready to rumble, Jersey?” He prepares his crossbow.

“Calm down, Dixon.” Mila winks and holds out her arms. “It’s not rush hour.”

They steer the steps over the deserted parking lot. There’s rubbish everywhere, shopping carts and bodies. Here and there, nature has burst through tarmac and tufts of long grass peeks out from underneath.

“Got a plan for this?”

“Get in and get out, alive.” Daryl replies, while searching the area with his eyes. There’s no movements, nothing. It’s completely deserted. Too deserted. Why? He can come up with two possible scenarios; either it is already raided, or it’s a suicide attempt to get in. If so, how many walkers can it be? “Pretty much.”

“Sounds good to me.” Mila says as they pass a shopping cart. She stops, looks at it, before climbing into it. “Escort me to the entrance. Gotta rest these baddies.” She kicks her legs and leans back, eyes closed, in the hard cart.

He can’t help but grin a little. Fine. After all they are completely alone in the large parking lot-

“Hold on then.” Daryl grabs the red rubber handle and starts pushing the wheeled cart in front of him, then starts running.

Mila laughs, squeezes the metal and he increases the speed; they’re like two kids sneaking out on mischief at night. He has done his fair share of monkey business through the years, not specifically racing with shopping carts in a desolated parking lot; rather stole cars, participated in bar fights and occasionally, burglary. Things he ain’t too proud of, but they very much happened nonetheless, not infrequently in the company of Merle. Though he must admit, as he runs over the cracked asphalt with the squeaking shopping cart in front of him, that this is actually fuckin’ funny. He breaks by digging the heels of his boots into the ground and the cart stops. Mila continues to laugh as she gets out of it, but it tips over with a crash, and Mila tumbles over the ground, laughing even harder. She rolls over on her back, her hair flows out like a halo around her. As he steps over to Mila, a thought pops up in his head; he can’t remember the last time he lowered the guard completely, let loose. Only for a moment, but this short moment of letting go, acting childish, was quite-

“Help me up, will you?” Mila holds out her hand at him.

Daryl pulls her up from the ground in a handle. She doesn’t let go, instead intertwines her fingers in his and turns to look at the glass entrance door, barricaded with a big pile of carts. It excludes the main entrance as their way in. Maybe for the best, but it doesn’t bode well for what awaits in there. Whoever created the mountain of debris did it to keep something inside.

“Let’s look if there’s a side door.” He states and pulls at her hand. “Come on.”

They walk alongside the vast entrance side of the mall and around the corner. They pass garbage, a battered mannequin dressed in a sundress that might have been blue or purple, before the blazing sun turned into a pale, washed out mess. Eventually they notice a metal staircase leading up to a single door, painted in the same blant tone as the wall. From the backpack Mila takes a crowbar and hands it to him. He presses it into the small opening between the door and the doorframe, gives it a push, then another one, and the door opens with a metallic crack.

“After ya’.” He offers.

Mila takes the lead and disappears into the darkness. Daryl follows, pulls the flashlight from his belt and raises it in front of him. The faint light beam is cut by Mila’s silhouette that leads the way through the dark. The air is trapped, dusty and musty. Even though it is dark, Daryl notices on Mila’s posture that she’s holding her handgun out in front of her, ready for anything. She leads them to a door, opens it and enters a darkened, desolate clothing store. In the glow of the flashlight Daryl sees pristine, filled clothing racks, dusty floor mirrors and tables where clothes are in a mess. They start moving through the store. He passes small cubic changing rooms with white revolving doors, a small seating area with funny looking chairs and a small podium with a disproportionate mannequin, dressed in a sequin dress that could fit a five-year-old but not an adult. On the other side of the store, Mila crosses between the racks towards the checkout desk, holding her own flashlight next to her gun. But the store is empty.

“Nothing.” Mila says and turns, aiming her light in his direction. “Clear.”

“Ya’ good to go?” He crosses the store, steps over a tipped over jewelry rack and a bunch of beads from a broken necklace.

They walk out of the store, out into the great corridor. It’s completely different than moving out in nature, where he’s familiar with sounds and vegetation. However many times they’ve been ransacking stores, he’s never been fond of the idea of scouting a mall. It’s no easy job and an absolutely foolish one, being only two to pull if off. For every step they take he regrets it even more, taking her with him. Still, he puts a lot of trust in Mila on this one. She moves accustomed over the shiny floor, with the rifle freely hanging on her shoulder, holding the handgun; much easier to use in close combat. Bodies after walkers are scattered everywhere, probably eliminated by previous looters, or by other walkers who have been eaten at each other for lack of other things to feast on.

The large corridor soon opens up into a circular area, like a square, with an indoor fountain in the middle. Around the square are coffee shops, cafes, a donut bar and a totally destroyed Burger King restaurant. From the square, escalators run up to the upper floor.

“I’ll check up there.” Daryl says in a low voice, nodding towards the roof.

Mila, who has already set her sights on a store with ‘ZARA’ written over the entrance, gives him a thumbs up over her shoulder, without slowing down or turning. Yeah, she’ll be fine.

Daryl looks at the escalator and begins to move silently towards the square. Silent as a cat, he climbs the broken escalator, crossbow height in front of him, ready for any kind of surprise; walkers or other looters. But no one’s attacking, nothing’s moving. What meets him when he puts his foot on the second floor is a mess; corpses, debris and chaos. As if many people had fled up the escalators and thought they were safe up here. Well, boy they were wrong. Silently, Daryl scouts the second floor corridor, no flashlight this time. His worn boots stand in stark contrast to towards the white, polished floor; it’s not just his boots, his entire essence is the total opposite of everything he’s surrounded with. And yet, the bewildering of this place somehow makes it more bearable, but the cost of it is another matter.

He decides that it’s safe to turn on the flashlight, lets it dance around the surroundings as he moves past the shops; a shop with outdoor clothing and hunting gear, a shop with only crockery and other knick-knacks, shoe stores, men’s clothing, women’s clothes, women’s lingerie, more women’s clothing- Suddenly, as the light wanders over a window, something bedazzles him, makes him squint and turns the light down. Still squinting, once again getting used to the dark from being totally bedazzled, he looks at the window, tries to catch a glimpse of the cause. Nah, it’s too dark. He looks up at the store front. A fancy-as-fuck jewelry store. The front shutter has only gone down halfway before it stopped, possibly because of power failure. Once again he peers through the dusty glass window, catches sight of a glass box. It’s inside is covered in some shiny soft fabric he doesn’t know the name of, on which three small gemstone rings rests; the stones must’ve glistened in the light from the flashlight. A single one of those glistening bastards has to be worth a smaller fortune. Daryl squints even more, catches sight of a teeny tiny price tag that makes his eyebrows travel upwards in his forehead. Holy fucking shit.

“I’ll be damn.” He says faintly to himself, but doesn’t take his eyes off the treasures behind the glass.

A fleeting thought strikes him, only for a short moment and he quickly shakes it off. He makes his way into the store, does a sweep before stating that it’s empty. Just as he’s about to leave, he hears something. He turns, crossbow raised and notices Mila.

“Fuckin’-” He mutters and lowers the crossbow. “Ya’ scared the crap outta me.”

“Sorry.” She grimaces. “Didn’t think you were the fussy type?”

“Well ya’ kinda good at sneakin’ around.” He scoffs. “Found what ya’ looked for?”

“Yup.” She nods. “Be prepared for the big Juri fashion show when we're back home.” She smiles in the dim light from his flashlight. “You done here?”

“Let’s go.”

They crouch under the shutter and once again find themselves standing in the upper corridor. Mila steers her steps to the right, towards the store with women’s clothes and lingerie.

“Ya’ not done?” Daryl says.

“I haven’t gotten something for myself in fucking ages.” Mila turns on the spot and gives him a gaze he doesn’t know how to interpret. “Come on, we’re in a dead mall. There’s millions of stuff here for free. Might as well- you know.”

She turns and walks into the store, gun and flashlight raised in front of her. Reluctantly Daryl follows her, swearing inside his head. Is she going to drag him around this goddamn mall all day or what? Apparently an apocalypse, the goddamn end of the world, ain’t enough to stop her from strolling around in stores. When he catches sight of her, Mila has already grabbed at least ten pieces of clothing, moving between the racks.

“Great, there you are.” She says and slips out of her backpack, that she throws over the store at him. “Hold on to that for me.”

“Ya’ ain’t goin’ to try all of ‘em, right?” Daryl says admonitory, he doesn’t intend to linger in this place longer than necessarily. Mila on the other hand looks at him as if she cannot believe her ears. “Goddammit’ Jersey!”

“Jeez, you are really not much fun to hangout with sometimes.” Mila scoffs and waves her hand at him. “Relax, I’ll be quick.” While continuing to mutter, in russian this time, Mila turns and sweeps into a changing room, where she pulls the dusty curtains together.

The only thing that can be seen are her boots, which she begins to lace up, while humming on some song he’s unfamiliar with. This shit’s going to take forever, Daryl thinks and throws out his arms, as to get support; well, from who? God almighty himself? Nah. In one hand he’s holding his gun and Mila’s backpack, stuffed with what could be Juri’s entire wardrobe, in the other he’s holding the crossbow and his flashlight. Like a pack mule. He looks up, towards the roof, sighs and puts on the backpack. He catches sight of a chair in front of the row of changing rooms that he crashes down into and once again sighs deeply.

“Relax, Dixon.” Mila says from the other side of the curtain, struggling with some kind of garment.

“Ya’ impossible, ya’ know that?” Daryl points the flashlight’s light beam at the curtain, which appears deep red in the bright light. Once again she’s saying something completely gibberish in russian. “It better be good.”

“Or else?” Mila chuckles.

The next moment she pulls apart the curtains and stands as if in a spotlight, bare feets, wearing a small floral dress in some kind of crumpled fabric or whatever it’s called, he ain’t no fashion expert. But he has fully functioning eyes, and she’s mighty fine.

“This is weird.” Mila grimaces and nods down at the floral fabric. “I used to wear dresses like this all the time before, well, when the weather allowed it. Can you believe it!”

Yes and no, Daryl thinks, at the same time as the insecurity, the damn insecurity, arises inside of him; he doesn’t know where to look, his mouth gets dry and feels that he’s starting to get a hard-on. She sighs and turns to look at herself in the mirror on the wall. She’s incredibly pretty, but it’s like she’s a completely different person all of a sudden. As if they’re thrown back in time, before the apocalypse. He’d never had a chance on her back then, that’s clearer than ever when she’s standing in front of him like this, in what apparently was her usual spring and summer attire. Still, it arouses him to the point of him almost exploding.

“Yup, I’m gonna keep it.” Mila says, who hasn’t noticed his inner struggle. “I haven’t owned a dress in years and days.” She turns around and walks over at him. “So?”

“So what?” Daryl replies, shaky.

“Do you like it?” She nudges her bare knee at him. “That’s what the chair’s for. Giving advice. So?”

Even though it is dim, no- dark, in the abandoned store, Daryl tears his eyes from her face and looks down at her kneecap, so that she doesn’t see that he’s blushing. Her subtle, yet appealing way of expressing desire; He no longer experiences anger and frustration in combination with this pleasant feeling of gushing heat throughout his entire body, but it still taunts him that it’s not ‘easy’, that he’s still feeling slightly awkward. Her looking all dressed up pretty doesn’t really make it easier. It’s like being back in a bar, eying dressed up girls with lots of makeup and whatnot, without the slightest courage to go over and talk to them. Merle used to say that the only women worth approaching were the ones they could buy, of course referring to prostitutes or the occasional biker hangaround if he was really lucky. Well, Daryl was never one of those lucky ones. What the heck, he thinks to himself and raises his gaze, it’s Mila. Heaven and hell of his life, his alcoholic, kind, funny, stubborn girl, dress or no dress. Right now that dress needs to get off. He wants to rip it from her body with his teeth, like a lion.

Mila lifts her leg and rests her foot up on his thigh. He puts his hands on her calf, leans in and places his lips on the knee that seconds ago nudged on his teasingly. It has a faint bruise on the kneecap that shifts in blue, green, yellow and purple. As he lingers there with his mouth, his hands caress her lean calf, continuing upwards to her thigh.

“Come ‘ere.”

Without hesitating she lowers herself onto him, gazing into his eyes and making it practically impossible to tear his eyes from hers. Even though it’s dark Daryl sees them clearly, like gleaming obsidians. Softly he places a strand of hair behind her ear, brings her head closer to his into a kiss.

“Take it off.” He declares as he briefly breaks the kiss. At Mila’s faint chuckle, he replies, calmer and steadier than he’d expected: “Would be a shame if it was destroyed.”

She’s not difficult to persuade. Mila easily pulls the dress over her head, straddling him only in her underwear, bra and panties.

“Meaning that… you liked it?” She grins, biting her lower lip.

The atmosphere is already at a boiling point and she wastes no time to wait for an answer. She returns to kiss him passionately, while threading his vest over his shoulders and dropping it to the floor. With accustomed fingers she starts to unbutton his shirt, while pressing herself towards his throbbing hard-on. They’re abruptly interrupted in their frenzy kissing by a noise; a loud, echoing clink, like a fork hitting tile that sounds like a volcanic eruption throughout the empty mall complex.

“What was that?” Mila exclaims, with her hands still clinging to his shirt, hanging halfway over his shoulders.

No matter how much Daryl wants to pretend he didn’t hear anything, just so they continue what they’ve just started, nah- he won’t be able to. He sighs, grabs a firm hold of her behind and rises from the chair. Reluctantly, Mila puts her feet down on the floor next to the dress and lets go of him.

“Be right back.” Daryl straightens his shirt and turns around, steers his steps towards the entrance while correcting his hard-on through the jeans. “Son of a-”

As he places his hand on the gun in his belt, he moves silently out from the store. It strikes him that the open areas are brighter than the store, not much but enough for it to be noticeable, making him search for a source of light. He walks over to the railing, overlooking the void with the square and fountain underneath. His gut feeling tells him that something is wrong. Very wrong. He turns his head upwards, expecting to see a big window. He does, more specifically a glass dome, but at the sight of it, he finds the reason for his gut feeling. Crawling over the big glass dome, like worms in a jar, more than dozen walkers lie scattered without any chance of getting up. They must have been people who hid on the roof, then somehow turned into walkers that fell down onto the thick glass, where they’ve been trapped for who knows how long? He looks closely at the glass. A large crack -the source of the screeching noise- is visible in the glass, and hundreds of smaller cracks branches out from the larger crack. How he managed to miss that before is a mystery. Then a loud noise, like sending off a wrecking ball into a crystal chandelier, follows; the glass dome collapses. Glass and walkers rain down into the void and land on the floor, in the fountain, on the railing to the second floor and the escalator. Daryl throws himself away just as a walker lands in the spot he just was in. Rubble and bodies, exploding as they hit the floor, continues to rain down from the dome. He turns around and runs back into the clothing store. Mila, now once again dressed in her regular clothes, adjusts the collar of the leather jacket when he returns.

“We gotta go!” He grabs his vest and crossbow from the floor.

“What the hell happens?”

“Walkers.” Daryl says shortly. “Fell through the roof.” He turns as soon as he hears another, closer familiar noise. Hissing, scraping, thudding. “They’re comin’. Lets go.”

He grabs the backpack while Mila takes the lead, gun’s lifted, ready for combat. She doesn’t have to wait long before firing the first bullet, then the second. Daryl steps up by her side and makes a quick estimate that there were undoubtedly more walkers on the roof than he imagined; probably inside the mall as well, who woke up from their dead slumber somewhere in the shadows, when the glass dome collapsed.

“Where did all of these come from?” Mila cries over the gunfire.

“Dunno.” Daryl replies and sends off a well aimed arrow into the head of another walker. “We’ll fend ‘em off then get the hell outta here.”

Mila nods, raises her gun and- it clicks.

“Oh come on.” Mila tries once again, but nothing happens. “For fuck sake!”

Malfunctioning guns wasn’t part of the escape plan. The break in gunfire is enough for the walkers to round up against them, forcing them back. While Daryl fends off the walkers with arrows, they move backwards towards the railing. In the corner of his eye Daryl sees the escalators, approximately three or four meter away to their right. Suddenly the hoard bolts at them, forces them to back into the glass banister. Mila loses balance as one of the walkers attacks her with force, she’s pushed against the banister while wrestling the walker, preventing it from biting into her flesh. With a grunt of force, she manages to wrestle the walker and tip it over the banister, but it pulls her with it over the railing. As in slow motion Daryl throws himself towards Mila, just in time to reach over the railing and grab her by the arm of the leather jacket. The sudden thug caused by the prevention of Mila falling makes the walker lose its grip around her and it falls down into the walkers in and around the halfway dried up fountain. Mila clings to Daryl’s arm, dangling like a bait over a pack of carnivores.

“Hold on!” He cries as he lifts his head towards the walkers approaching him, as he fires the crossbow at them.

“I’m trying!”

He must not let go. It’s a fall of several meters if he drops her. While he’s frantically trying to find a way out of the situation, he hears how Mila with her free hand seems to have solved the problem with her handgun and has started shooting walkers below. His arm cramps and his hand begins to slip over the smooth leather. He can’t let go of the crossbow to adjust his grip or pull her up. But it’s inevitable and he screams out loud when he feels how his cramping hand, covered in sweat, slips from the leather and he loses his grip around her.

“Nooo!”

He turns around at the same time as he sends off the crossbow through the air on his way, and it hits two of the dead bastards. Daryl’s blood freezes and panic rushes over him like a cold shower as he sees how Mila drops down, feet first, into the snake pit of walkers and disappears. Cold sweat runs down his back and it feels like he’s going to vomit, at the same time the blood starts to boil inside his veins.

“Ya fuckin’- bastards-” He yells and starts to punch down walkers, fists and knuckles, while he, as fast as he can, moves towards the escalators, in which walkers from the ground floor have begun to struggle upwards. ”Jersey?” he screams, almost panicking, while shooting, punching and pushing walkers out of his way. ”Mila?”

He can’t see her anywhere in the hoard. Suddenly he hears gunshots somewhere in the crowd, whereupon Mila becomes visible in the rotten mass. Her lip is cracked, her hair is bushy but otherwise she’s visibly unharmed and she begins to ram through the carnivore. Daryl’s heart, which seems to have stopped completely as soon as he lost the grip of her up at the second floor, begins to beat frantically and he makes his way towards her. At the same time a walker appears behind Mila, preoccupied with the ones in front of her, is about to dig its teeth into her shoulder from the back. Before it gets the chance, Daryl raises the crossbow, aims and puts an arrow into its eye socket, and it collapses behind her.

“Ya’ alright.” He pants in a cracked voice. Talk about having nine lives or what? The anxiety knot in his chest begins to loosen up, but he can’t let it untie fully, not let himself breathe fully just yet. Not until they’re far away from this place.

“Landed softly.” Mila replies, mildly exhausted from wrestling walkers. “Let’s get outta here! I’ve had enough of the mall for today.”

They begin to run towards the big entrance, towards the light, feints newly awakened walkers who have crawled out of their corners on their way. They stop in front of the tall glass doors when they see the pile of carts on the other side. Fuck, they totally forgot about that.

“We don’t have time for this crap!” Mila says and reaches for her rifle, that has been offered a well needed rest since they were out in the woods earlier. She directs it at the entrance doors, pulls the trigger and shoots. The glass shatters into a million pieces and rains down onto the floor. “Come on!”

They start to climb the unstable construction of shopping carts, then get down on the other side, finding themselves standing in the parking lot, next to the cart they raced in before. They look at eachother, then turn to look at the mall entrance. On the other side of the mountain of carts the walkers stomps around, crashing into the rustling pile of metal.

“That was-” Mila pants, grasping for words. “The dress made it.”

“What?” Daryl looks at her, what the heck is she talking about?

“Yeah I put it in the backpack when you went out to check on the noise.” Mila says, corrects the rifle strap on her shoulder and shrugs. “We both seemed to like it.”

#jersey on my mind #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x oc #daryl x oc #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl #twd #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanficition

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tarakaybee · 4 years

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Oxventure: Slightly More Optimal Characters?

Contrary to the many rules-lawyering posts and mentions in my Oxventure content you’re likely to see on this blog, I really like that Johnny gave Andy an out from some class choices that he wasn’t happy with, so this is just some ideas on how the rest of the group could similarly make some class alterations.

Anyway!

Corazon

Class: Rogue 6 (Swashbuckler) / Wizard 1 Feat (LV 4): Inspiring Leader

My own personal ‘actual rules’ version of Andy’s really overpowered build, this way, Andy can get two extra spells by default and still gets all of the Swashbuckler abilities, just one level later than he would have because of Multiclassing rules. As for the Feat, I am fully confident that Andy would love the ability and excuse to waffle on to himself for an extended amount of time and actually have it have a gameplay benefit, namely 10 extra HP for every party member.

I’m not really sure why Andy actually wants to be a Swashbuckler, it’s pretty useful if you play sessions with frequent, actually challenging combat encounters but they have had one combat encounter ever that would have actually warranted this. As it stands Corazon as an Arcane Trickster had probably one of the better character builds because of how universally useful his spells are.

Prudence

No suggestions for Prudence, she has absolutely no weaknesses that’s why she’s won more than 50% of my Battle Royale simulations.

Egbert

Fighter 7 (Arcane Archer) Fighting Style: Unarmed Fighting Feat (LV 4): Tavern Brawler

I get the strong impression that Mike chose Paladin and Oath of the Ancients after Johnny couldn’t find a way to incorporate Mike’s explosive crossbow concept, because Mike has made it clear he’s not amazingly keen on using Egbert’s Paladin abilities, and seems to prefer roleplaying fun wrestling manuvers than using his mace.

If Mike wanted to focus on the explosive crossbow, one of my solutions would be the Arcane Archer subclass of Fighter, but with the Unarmed Fighting as his Fighting Style. Arcane Archer revolves around enchanting your arrows so they can explode when they hit a target or pierce through the armour or what-have you, technically Crossbows are prohibited but that seems a weird limitation that Johnny would be happy lifting. Secondly, if he doesn’t want to do that too often, the Fighting Style to complement this could be Unarmed Fighting, that’s 1d6 or 1d8 damage for unarmed strikes, plus buffs to attacks while grappling. The Tavern Brawler feat augments this by allowing grapples as bonus action after attacking, not to mention proficiency with improvised weapons.

Egbert (again)

Ok another one for Egbert just because nobody is trying to fit a square peg into a round hole quite like Mike is except for maybe Johnny as a DM, so here’s two other options that would work better than Paladin/Oath of the Ancients.

Paladin 7 (Oath of Redemption) Mike’s choice of Oath of the Ancients is odd, I think this subclass was at one point literally called Oath of Atonement and it allows you to nonviolently pacify people with spells or by using Channel divinity to give yourself a massive buff to Persuasion, all of which Mike’s entire playstyle has revolved around lately.

Monk 7 (Way of the Open Hand) Self explanatory, strong proficiencies in hand to hand combat.

Merilwen

Feat (LV 4): Magic Initiate: Druid

Ellen’s spell and class choices are pretty solid so a feat is all I can offer is a Feat suggestion since Merilwen never uses the Strength or Intelligence that she upgraded. Ellen seems to like having a lot of choices so Magic Initiate on top of her Wood-Elf Magic will allow for that easily.

Ellen mentions in the level up video that she looked up suggestions for optimising being a shapechanger, but wanted to prioritise versatility of spells, in which case it might be relevant for Johnny to allow Ellen to use the regular Druid rules of editing the spell loadout every long rest.

Dob

Bard 7 (College of Satire) Feat (LV 4): Lucky

This subclass description is just the most Dob thing I’ve ever heard, just listen to these three main abilities. There is ‘Tumbling Fool’ which allows Dob to rolly polly and dash an extra 30 ft as a bonus action, as well as disengage and reduce falling damage. Next there’s Fool’s Insight, which would allow Dob five castings of Detect Thoughts, and can cause the target to fart or commit another embarrassing gaffe if they pass the saving throw, I wish I was making that up. Finally there’s Fool’s Luck, which essentially lets you give yourself Bardic Inspiration after you fail a D20 roll, though I guess with Johnny’s very generous amounts of inspiration I suppose pretty much everybody has this by default.

Similar reasoning for the Lucky feat, Luke’s a big risk taker and it would for sure aid his incredibly silly plans.

I don’t understand the logic behind Luke choosing College of Valor. As I said above, none of them should bother giving themselves buffs in combat because Johnny will never give them a combat that isn’t effortless. But also there’s no benefit to optimising according to their playstyles because there’s such a huge gulf between the low difficulty of every Oxventure and the improbably good stats and broken custom made items of the players that rolling stats or using the rules at all is pointless.

#outside xbox #oxventure

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itslaeshorseeh · 5 years

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To Condorcet

They were all turning left, the cars oncoming While they in seats were listening to their tunes. The engine sound, amongst the turtles, humming, Was loudly in their ears, this day of June’s, Which all combined, were coming down to summing Up for a good one for the gnomic Runes, Which mark their hearts and mind with calendars, Of best and better of those gallant hours. Where the Columbian River flows and cuts, Gem Of the Mountains, Idaho’s Basalt Formations, their ambitious earth abuts; The light that had been strongly cast, a fault Would find for one thin ray, and then it puts Itself out; day’s revolving, too, must halt. Well-wearied travelers their speed did check, As might befit in darkest hours, one’s neck. Of all the things that haunt men with a passion, The blind discovery like of what was gemmed, Compares with that which later keeps its fashion— They sensed, that out of vastness, from there stemmed, The answer self-sufficient laying at Ashton For which they long, and flee from what condemned. They sought out sights and towns that they found rustic, On roadways leading to the russet dust, slick.

For now the cars could be seen in three miles In each direction, when their eyes were dry From lack of sleep where roads to one point files; And straight away the thoroughfare did ply One to reach the end; Auriga’s light brought smiles, Being behind, the light still did not die, But like they bore celestial wings, gave wind, So they could reach Snake River Plain, their Ind. With all these Rocky and Cascade Range Mountains, The din of suburb or the city stifles; What one could call a rat-race is all’s fountains, Give or take, gardens ripe with green and trifles; There is so much that paying eyes’ account wins, Especially what one sees changing by the eyefuls-- The patches grown, and the games over, women Who their expenses gained had as glum win.

They pared their hours with solid witticisms, Such as, that without water, by it new ones, In the form of shadows, water pipes find schisms And of the name take on just pipes; that show runs Not being trapped, to source the water’s prisms, And being caught, would percolate for due fun’s. To bathrooms, would these runs belong; digestion Is how it should end, any solid question.

But those who have the props fill up and clean, And ‘mong the qualities of bare things, it takes on A clean look when a thing of craft would lean, And glide there on as crafts on seas wake ‘pon, To show of Memory that they are Dean. Until the moment when rents come, the air makes gone A rosy hue, which all life girds, from sky To sea, and turmoil round with peace both dye. But beauty being one, a serum’s fast: Their food they found like Cream of Mushroom: Campbell’s; And flattened what had contents made to last. They found the curiosity that ambles, Which they saw as the countryside’s late past, And hoped the stray spark would not light up brambles, When off their touchstone they then ventured answer, That magic made Astolfo a good lancer. Beside the road they could imagine spears: Since strength was much in favor in a saddle Which gave a view and a good segue steers. Besides that was the rune’s puissance in battle, Which made with it, endured itself thro’ fears. These weapons thus inspire Perfection’s prattle, For which gleamed bronze-age gold, and now some truth: From Polydorus to Astolfo, myrtle’s ruth. Friendships that secret counsels lack are like, One’s instant bowl of noodles without heat, Or, chains that fall again off of one’s bike, Or, oranges that are not a seedless treat, Or, even worse, a starry student’s spike Who does not have the chops to be elite: The friends who keep each other at their word, Are like two wings of an ideal bird. At Vantage on, they talked of old loves, still hurt. They mentioned names that their hard memories tumbled, Such as Charissa who they knew a chill flirt, For whom the boys like bumble bees oft stumbled. This peaked when young, like time made Curtis Gilbert, Until suburban Exodus all humbled; Which they attempted now as in a race, To take the Void on as it took plan’s place. It happened when one least expected to, Which was the facet skies cut out for those, Large clearings that had lake reflections blue, And if one e’er came back the status quo’s, To Cherry Trees that gave Quad sections hue, The quad profuse with cherry blossom shows, If not these, then, a call for a visitor For leaving out the Grand Inquisitor.

Tsunamis pummeled Hamadōri’s Sendai When the Okhotsk plate slipped, in Fukushima— It was a cup of coffee grounds to blend dry. Pacific plates went under Iwo Jima— They went around what was the river bend high— And under the Vaughn Hubbard Bridge there gleamed a Nice spot where stopped Snake River’s affluent; Then, gone went particles with sediment. If wandering, one just needs to search life back, The point? Not the Republic, Plato’s love, I’ll save myself more wondering by a knack, It may have been the bee’s be-morse, where of The little dots they find their language’s track— Fourteen, for me has always been the grove Plus Ultra: things that God once put by stream All healed together, Raphael would dream.

What stopped our predecessors from their ruling, Must have been lack of speaking back to meter, I called upon the Fates, no-one am fooling, As from a mold, the die cast as repeater, Then always blessed by seven! ‘Tis a cruel thing, Thirteenth twin legions' lions! But O! how sweeter, ‘Tis that step over stream, that’s ne'er as neat, The Rubicon I crossed, with oaths to meet.

One stream doth separate the perfect, dusting Eternal gold, that sacred second seven! A chasm I would venture where it must sing, Aeolian harps that play, are here in heaven, How long will play our visions we are trusting? The scroll lights up and some power transferred—leaven, Since what makes these events occur is fourteen, Like Juno’s nurses, hiding what have more seen—

The thing most often missing in equation, May be the units, fourteen passed three-fifths, That's one percent of one percent's, but weighs in: Thirty-nine fiftieths by thousandths: myths That greenwood was, the coals to feet a basin. A hero sees the world by breadths and widths. Imagine, what we leave to actuaries, Being caught in their likelihoods, like faeries. Like those who heard foretold, the thirty sucklings, By backwards alpha and omega dubbed; As Saturn men gave sickles, and showed time luck brings, This New Age would have perfect crossbows flubbed, And all have wandered in the sea like ducklings, If not I with black bile spelled in, or rubbed— My luck began the same way it had ended, With just a spin-the-wheel, which just my friend did.

If Time was given Saturn’s name, and Light Named Janus, weep the Reaper, Flee the Source! More often not, Perfection will not fight With half as much this truth as its resource; But as Decay of the Omega’s quite A problem when, it seems the fire grows hoarse, More increase I am obligated muse, I’ll pay back Death two silver, Time its news. The Rower might as well be down the Charles’, At least from River Side, since that is far Away closed-off, a well that truth lets borrow this; The Rower’s coxswain is a self-same star, As all the seven; England lends to war, earls, ‘tis These apothegms like those not found to jar. The Rower a good coxswain was, for led It then the self-same spirit paths to tread. This Two-faced Janus served their Dionysus. They paths had crossed beneath the starry Cetus, By Touchet on the road, then Lowden’s crisis, Namely, the savages the French made weet fuss, A slaughterhouse, amid their guns’ devices; T’ was four days fighting, signed a treaty sheet was; These plains’ hills roll, pass by around French Corner, Grande Ronde had formed Blue Mountains which adorn her.

From the Snake River flowed Grande Ronde, to there, Where Mill Creek from the Willow Creek with Shaw creek, Formed many others, Summerville to share, And from these, Hacker Creek with Coon Creek, all meek In various forms: My Muse departs from air, And seems to use a logic that I seek; Frenchmen’s Springs Member flowed from Pendleton, And retched from earth, once ruined gentle din.

La Grande they passed, named by a Settler's mind, His name was Charles Dause; Like him, Payette, Fur-trappers were, and make towns sound refined, The front and end of their day's trail may fit, Around the tale of Baker City's find, The senator that found the mess, they hit. The boats were not enough to cross Potomac; He gave his life, for which the town's a throwback. They passed the ghost-town which had tuff from flows, The open spaces being found past hills, They went where tuff-stone quarries long repose. Volcanic rock which porous in Italian bills As tufo, which consolidated, froze, Its fineness prized, was reached by use of drills. At Weatherby, Express Ranch, between Lakes Paddock north, Lowell lower, housed some drakes. And here I take the course, themes to attend,— If stars hold what we call the storied fates, Then O’! My Muse her song her voice will bend, A lyric song that all depreciates, And still lives on, a token worn on end. To prove a point, I ‘liven rabbles’ prates; This next one they will say is a heart-breaker, The left hand Zeus holds thunder, the earth-quaker. If systems hold the processes for casts, The moral is not difficult to catch; Since fixtures in the skies eke out repasts, Still, man has in this age, no plan to hatch, But thinking opportunity still lasts For his best goals, and growing a new patch. I may say more and spin clichés retold, Where boldly gained are fortunes, hopes enfold. An octopus was secret nightmare, sealed— Sir Marinell had Ocean rear up gold, Whom shores of Cyclades had dropped a shield, Like Jove his dimmed escutcheon extolled, And by the prophecy no woman’s field Is, I was given it by all, and I foretold— There I had seen, in seven of their mix, One thing I called six hundred-sixty-six.

The rat-race and its fountains these were not; The valley pass beneath the town of Lost Blue Bucket held the tale of gold not sought, Then, Malheur from across He-Devil tossed. The hills as big as canyons here have got, Changed colors with the season, as with frost. The one regret some have when they are twenty, They finished college--Caldwell had their plenty. The foothills green, were dotted, Basin Big Sagebrush and Curleaf Mountain Mahogany, The foothills north of Boise, lit a sprig, Which they saw in the Sagebrush-covered lea. They raced their way through like the Topgear Stig, Inside their shared Landrover, had to be By Mountain Home when Rocky Bar was haunted, Then passing Cleft, the country curved as wanted.

The mountains being footing for a Hermes, Had snow untouched that nothing would remove, Until they showed his passing on their firm freeze, When snow-caps, bent, contained a watery groove. The foothills having snowmelt were one term, keys, And locked until the spring, which it made move. Once past a field of wheat, the path had taken Scene-hunting to where inclines needed break-in. The road’s Chalk Cut, they ham went through what’s Hammett, Glen’s Faery King Hight Hill-Bliss said, “Tuttle! A boon abounds abroad, big is its gamut. Reach for the Craters of the Moon by shuttle, Where there are dreams deferred there where they cram, bit By bit, the landscape with their dart-ends’ cuttle. The two accepted, filed ‘ere bad behavior, And Hagerman and Buhl passed by, depths wavier.

King Hill-Bliss’ remark they saw as artful: Since faeries feast on fresh-squeezed honey, famine Was felt by tiny peoples what by part, full Ravages so that they have less to cram in, Less honey milk on honey cakes’ dessert bowl, Which for a boon, these heroes sought the shaman, A shady friend who in his hut was suited Beyond Shoshone Falls, and not secluded. The Shaman lived in Murlaugh, on a strand. From Tuttle did the two then go to parley, The two had plans involving talks that spanned A windy plain of wild growth: groats from barley Owned by King Hill-Bliss, left by sprites of sand From Morpheus, were made to rot and gnarly. To fend off ergot, they learned fungicides Were not the answer, but to find fey guides. Scale insects they collected for their Faerie’s mana, Their sweet saps in glass jars secured, was filled, Once hands that grasped like hands to strip some fauna, Of course, a looser grip would bugs make chilled. Accretionary shapes smelled like banana, Plus like a mashed-up serving of it milled, When on the circular rim, sap fell clumped, All thanks to Sage advice, built up what’s dumped.

The honeydew filled up, like cotton white, And the scale insects seemed disturbed, and shaken; It may have been the sunlight’s cause, the light In ultraviolet spectrums that they bake-in, But Western Pines have shade, which anchored tight. From Tuttle then to Burley, pains to slaken, Just as the Murlaugh Seer said, wild food Was gathered off of trees where bugs had poo’d. The honeydew was to their tastes, a sweet. The faeries there restored what was of blight That made the rye fields like-smells secrete To cleanliness from honeydew-fed might, And, then, the sickly parts cast off the wheat Made fungi lesser seen, though once spread quite. Though question one might how the faeries, fed, Had this new problem from a source that spread? The fight had always raged, beneath our noses, When bees went home and hives retched up and built, ‘Twas with the stolen honey that one goes less For when the arbors closed their lives, ungilt. They had much better food, from nuts than roses, And being taught in magic, made pans tilt, Without them having ever left their verdure; But they were summoned by the sound of merger. The mason stamp was honey-bear-like contoured, And with a customary twist, and toss, Of which friends heard a clatter, it then sauntered Before it came down after rolling moss. So leaving food, they made like Limbert onward; It was enough, because as gloss, the sauce, To faeries seemed like stacks, and tribes as tall, And Burley was thus saved, and plumped were all. Cotterel was seen passed in distance: older And held up kettles, while Acequia held, Its tributaries, and with tears to shoulder Stood Minidoka, where its fountains swelled. Raft River taken, showed Snake River’s holder: American Falls Neeley guarded, belled By nearby Bannock ‘round the corner, bubbling Across of highway eighty six, guts doubling. A ship could have a crew with names the likes Of which the towns had: Chubbuck, Gibson, Blackfoot, And just because the way they saw it strikes Truer this way, the Indians in tracksuit, Wapello even here, past Gibson hikes Up to the shore of Firth, by Shelley’s jackboot. From Pocatello anabasis stretched, North, where in Ammon they passed plains far-fetched.

Aquila shines the Altair: Idaho Falls was where carriers shined like boyhood that Laomedeians raised to fame, did. Though Hebe was soon replaced, whose pants went splat, The Trojan Prince would goblets tend, that glow. The Mount Olympus destination that The golden eagle carried him to, twin- Peaked, seconds better, not like “lettuce-win”.

Now finally they came and found potatoes: In silos they like kernels reached the tops, And filled with earthy bodies at the Date’s close, Where they would be shipped off to all these stops, From Rexburg which a Morman’s name its fate owes. Fall River split off Henry's Fork, and drops At Ashton; land like Atargatis eastern. The two Three Tetons gave names which the beasts earn.

Three mountains, they were Ashur, Cadwalladr, And Maruduk, the Grand, South, and the Middle Tetons. The winged sun, battle leader sure, And Bull Calf. Instrumental to acquittal, The weapon Maruduk used in the war, Imhullu countered Tiamat’s sprayed spittle By wind of four, so arrows wind of seven Had decompressed, then Kingu caused skulls riven. Like Cetus are most sea-beasts. Take Poseidon, Who sent for sacrifice, Troyano’s fairest. Then Laomedon, Cetus quelling, tied on The cliff his daughter Hesion, when he darest, And kept his horses, not his word, when fight gone. For his last scion, Priam’s goods were rarest, Kept close in Polydorus’ hands thrusted, Until the greedy Thracians proved mistrusted. The Cliffs at Henry’s Lake not far from Ashton, Had springs by Naiads blessed, and trumpeter Swans there inhabited, the avian lashed in The arms of Leda, Queen of Sparta, her, For Zeus unlike Semele who he mashed-thin, Swan Valley tucked like Crete, a swan’s form pure, That not unlike Pleiades guided feeding, And so was Helen got by unplanned breeding. The rainbow trout caught there at mountain footsteps, Were pass-times even when the Milky Way Displayed its naval in the autumn, loot depths That only twenty feet hid by the bay, Which the Black Mountains showed in strokes by mute reps Of ripples at the borders’ interplay. The nation here went where, as if Great Plains Were like the edges of a world space drains. At Old Ranch Steakhouse were the patrons, Melson, Who was just shy of twenty, and his sage Father who was at graduation, belts in A suit and tie, asking why a steak would gauge Better cooked well-done, to the taste buds—melts in The mouth less if it is not kept off fire’s rage; The cooking not as important in the steak’s life, As blood and sauce that gleam around their lake’s knife. The diner’s wooden handrail mostly gleaming, Drew on new patrons under lanterns minds had, The waiters basked in screens, and kitchens steaming, The décor featured pioneers of kinds bad, The clattering in the kitchen that made more absent seeming, The hanging LED screens that new finds had, Of advertisements, opportunities, In flux, of mattress sales, or Moon trip’s fees. The polos on the waiters had full contrast: The intermittent light between shrubs, The age displayed, one a dimension fast, Where vehicles could make tremendous subs, Artificial intelligence unclassed. The question why we live, to have like Tubbs, The sight was clear, though far away, and hilly, And there were sales to make, by land made still free. For Papa had for just the traveler Three years before, bought him an old manual land Automobile, that from the grounds made gravel stir, With foot-wide tyres. With it had Melson planned For every place to host artistic blur, This owing to time which passes quickly, grand, As well as to traditional senses found, In taking stock poetically of ground. They paid the waiter, passed beneath the corn sheaves, Which covered door jambs, before they departed, From one another, so this had left the torn sleeves Of Modern Liberty of limbs full-hearted, The light it bore which being smoothly as morn leaves, Which made the niche bear out perfection charted; For youth was wasted if you never grew up, And Melson thought he must, for plans he drew up.

The Heritage High roof, a spacious car, Reliable though at the cost ‘tis said, That owners of this car date less by far; Was for cross-country travel, which time bred Exclusively for trips shown popular By travel agents that hid in the head, Of artists and survivalists, as one, Must suffer for their art: times pleasure shun. Art was a job collectivizing surveys, And like the minnow on a crocodile Had made the task of cleaning points, but verve pays To the fresh-forming bubble: where folks stayed a while, Not for too long, since the attractions serve days, Their share of their due fun, paid back each mile That had required their time, first sights ignored: Like when bald eagles knew from eyes that soared.

So Nature needs a spirit to take Notice. If things are seen apart, they take disguises, So are like newer revelation made to focus, So are the sites attracting crowds whose sizes, Are thinner like Odysseus’ fed Lotus- Who back home sent were, but new Trojan prizes, Were left a means of a recovery Pushed for when Melson sought discovery.

Since art is like an inspiration solid, Not being abstract, it refit its owner, Though more than complimentary, all Id, Especially these days the algorithms’ tones, sure, Make simple pages less like where a shawl slid, Less like where sunlight on floors were plants’ honer, Than an artistic muse, like landscape blogging Which was, in general, the calling for his hogging.

#pacific northwest #short poem #poems on tumblr #ottava rima #contemporarypoetrytradition

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sapphic-sppider · 5 years

Note

Top 5 Metal Gear Characters

it’s worth noting that i have never played a metal gear game in my natural born life besides revengeance, and i’m told that might not have been the best place to start

5. hot coldman - the fuck kinda name is that even? i don’t even know what this guy does and i like him. unless he killed kids or something, then fuck him 4. the fear - alias is the spider soldier, got surgery to give himself a wicked tongue and eyes, dual wields crossbows? the only thing keeping him from top billing is that he’s a coward and uses stealth to win and that’s big lame 3. revolver ocelot - revolver ocelot 2. raiden - for all his edgy shenanigans in MGR i do really like the guy after it all. plus he has a robot dog, how bad can he be? 1. this guy

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youtube

#i really should take these more seriously but at the same time i know literally nothing about metal gear #Anonymous

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minervadashwood · 2 years

Text

Scars and Stitches, Chapter 19: Six Pack of Secrets Daryl X PlusSize!Reader (she/her)

Series Masterlist | Daryl x Reader Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter Summary: Daryl leads you and Rick to the hunting camp. Word Count: 3,000 Chapter Warnings: Mentions of alcoholism.

Divider by @firefly-graphics.

Eventually Daryl led you and Rick to a single-story cinder block building with a tin roof. It had a small driveway where an old, rusted pickup sat. From the driveway was a bumpy dirt road that led in the direction opposite from which you came.

“What’s this place?” you asked.

“Huntin’ camp,” Daryl replied. “’s where I found Sophia.”

“I wonder how she found it,” Rick mused, walking up to the building’s modest porch.

“Told ya the kid did good.”

You followed Rick, slinging your crossbow over your shoulders. “This is the sturdiest hunting camp I’ve ever seen.”

Daryl looked at you, an eyebrow raised in question.

You shrugged. “I grew up in the middle of nowhere. Lots of hunting camps just outside our small town, but they were usually short trailers or wooden shacks.” You grinned conspiratorially. “They were easy to break into. Could always find some beer or cigarettes to later sell at school.”

You saw the hint of a smile playing on Daryl’s lips, forcing you to blush deeply. You’d always been ashamed of your pilfering past, but both then and now, it had served you well. Plus, it was one of the reasons you were able to get close to Daryl.

Rick cleared his throat, and you realized you and Daryl had been staring into each other’s eyes for much longer than was necessary.

Daryl quickly got back to business. He and Rick made you wait on the porch while they cleared the building. When they deemed it safe, Daryl came to get you.

He took you by the hand and led you inside. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before releasing you.

The building smelled of stale beer, which made sense because there were beer cans all over the living room floor and scattered over the tabletops.

The room you walked into was a combination living area and kitchen. There were two worn couches sitting opposite each other with a coffee table between them. A couple of folding chairs and a card table were in the far corner. The kitchen had a small wood-burning stove, an old-fashioned refrigerator, a single-basin sink, and small countertop with cabinets beneath it. Off to the left was a hallway that led to two bedrooms and a bathroom.

The place was sparsely decorated except for a cluster of framed photographs in the hallway. Men in camouflage and orange hats proudly displayed their kills. You recognized two of them; you'd shot one.

You swallowed your guilt. The man had died long before your bolt pierced his skull. You wouldn’t let yourself take the blame for his death.

Rick was putting away his revolver when he sighed. “So, this is where those walkers came from?”

Daryl nodded. “Gonna check outside for signs of more.”

“Need help?” Rick asked.

“Nah.” Daryl huffed, heading back outside.

Rick said, “Well we may as well give the place a good going over to see if there’s anything we can use.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You shoved all the cans off the card table and set your crossbow on its surface. Then you went to look through the kitchen cabinets. When you found a box of trash bags, you couldn’t resist bagging up all the beer cans as you searched for useful items.

You were already making plans for this seemingly abandoned building. The wood-burning stove would keep the small place warm in the winter, and the multiple windows would make it easy to keep an eye on your surroundings. If something ever happened to the farm, your group could come here. Of if winter came before Hershel let your group inside the house, this place would make a warm shelter.

Despite these far-off plans, more immediate uses came to mind. Maybe Daryl could bring you out here alone, like a little post-apocalyptic mini vacation. You’d love nothing more to hide away with Daryl, for even half a day, to have the privacy of sturdy walls and truly be alone with him.

You’d mostly had the kitchen clean when you risked opening the fridge. You expected maggots and rotten food, but instead you found a six pack of beer and a half bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon.

You’d never actually touched a drop of alcohol—too worried you’d be like your parents—but Daryl and Rick might like what you found.

You continued cleaning up the worst of the mess and set the drinks on the coffee table.

As you worked, rain began pelting the tin roof, creating a soothing sound that reminded you of the trailer you grew up in. Sometimes, the best part of growing up were the nights your parents worked while you and your brother stayed up telling ghost stories during thunderstorms. No monster the two of you concocted could compare to the ones you already lived with.

God, you missed him.

Thunder sounded in the distance, making you flinch. You jumped again when Daryl threw the door open and stood in the doorway, already soaked to the bone. Water dripped from his hair. He hadn’t cut it since you’d met him, and now it was so long that it nearly covered his ears, and his bangs were beginning to reach his eyes. It was darker, too, and the rainwater only emphasized these new qualities. It made him appear more rugged and secretive. However, you knew that, behind those lengthening locks, he was still your Daryl: kind and sweet and wholly yours.

You couldn’t help smiling at his return. Despite the depressing thoughts that had been stewing, you were overjoyed to see him. Besides, all the painful events of your past led you here, and you couldn’t be happier to have Daryl in your life.

With Rick somewhere down the hallway, you reached for Daryl, took his clammy hand in your own, and gave it a gentle tug. With a furtive glance in down the hallway, Daryl gave in and let you pull him down for a kiss. You kissed him softly and rested your forehead on his.

You said in a low voice, “You going to let me check your injury, or do I have to seduce you into submission?”

Daryl straightened up and dropped your hand so he could take you by the hip. “When you’re ready, I’m doin’ the seducin.’”

You gave him what you hoped was a flirtatious smile and mimicked his hold on your hip, grabbing his left one. Only you didn’t stop there. Your fingers found their way under his layers of shirts and vest, then you squatted just as you revealed the wound from his “huntin’ accident,” the details of which he still refused to share.

“Woman,” he grumbled.

“Just let me look after you, you big baby.”

He scoffed, but let you tend to him anyway.

You peeled away a corner of the bandage over his stitches to inspect the injury. Gently you trailed your fingertips around the wound, feeling for any lumps or unusual heat. The stitches were still holding tight and showed no signs of breaking. Everything seemed to be in order, but he still had a long way to go before it healed.

Feeling especially brave, you kissed just beside the wound, and to your delight, his abdominal muscles rippled in response. Someday, you’d litter them in kisses. For now, however, you covered the wound back up and arranged his clothing as it was before.

As you stood, Daryl was looking at you intensely, his cheeks a deep red. It was hard for you to glean anything from his expression. He seemed hopeful and haunted at the same time.

The clacking of Rick’s cowboy boots sounded on the concrete floor. Daryl instantly drew away from you and turned to close the open door.

The thunderstorm continued for some time, so the three of you decided to settle in for a long wait until it was over. You and Daryl sat on one couch while Rick sat on the other.

Rick stared at the six-pack of beer then smiled at Daryl. “Whaddaya say we make the most of our break?”

“Sounds good to me.” He glanced at you and arched his brow.

You chewed the inside of your lip. “Do you think the others will get worried?”

Rick sighed. “They might, but it’s not like we can go anywhere. I’m sure they’ll figure we’re waiting out the storm.”

“Okay,” you agreed.

At your word, Daryl took three cans from the six pack, handed one to Rick, one to you, and kept one for himself.

As the men popped open their cans, you gripped yours and stared at it. In your former life, you kept well away from the vices that had ruined your family, but the world was entirely different now. It’s not like one drink would hurt you. And it was unlikely you’d be able to overindulge after this.

Daryl noticed your indecision and placed his hand on your knee. “You don’t hafta drink if ya don’t wanna.”

You peered up at Daryl. “My parents were alcoholics. I’ve never touched the stuff.”

“Mine, too,” he admitted. “Ya won’t get hooked after one beer, but if don’t wanna it’s okay.”

Just then, Rick finished his first swig and grinned. “Nice to have something besides twice-boiled water for a change. It’s like the bubbles are still dancin’ on my tongue.”

You chuckled. “I’m overthinking this, aren’t I? It’d be a shame to not try it. At least once.”

“Only if you want to,” Daryl said.

With a resolute nod, you popped open your can and took a small sip. It tasted awful. You scrunched your face.

Rick laughed. “It’s better when it’s cold.”

You looked at your friend. “The bubbles are nice.”

Rick held up his can, and the three of you toasted. “To life’s simple pleasures,” he said.

You squared your shoulders and took a longer drink.

Daryl watched you as he sipped from his own beer. God, you were cute. It seemed you were as determined to drink a can of beer as you had been to learn about killing walkers.

Fifteen minutes later, you were finishing off your first can, and Rick and Daryl were well into their seconds.

After draining the last of your beer, you smacked your lips and leaned heavily against Daryl. “Guys, we can’t go anywhere for a while. The room looks fuzzy.”

Daryl suppressed a grin. You were drunk. From one beer. He put his arm around you, lending you his support. You leaned into him and peered up, your pretty eyes hazy and your lips upturned in a goofy smile.

“You’re really sexy. You know that, right?,” you told him.

Daryl flushed all over, but didn’t say anything, not with Rick less than five feet away.

Across the room, Rick chortled.

The noise made you pull away from Daryl and lean forward with your elbows on your knees, slightly wobbly. You gestured vaguely between Daryl and Rick. “I need you two to be friends,” you slurred. “Look Rick”—hiccup—"Daryl’s a great guy; he’s the best. You ought to trust him more than Shane. Shane’s a dick.”

Rick chuckled. “I do trust Daryl. I let him take care of you, don’t I?”

You waved your hand, sitting back again. Daryl immediately pulled you against him and loped his arm around you.

You went on. “You forgot about me at the quarry. Made me stay in that truck and didn’t come back for me. Daryl did, though.”

You were being silly, but Daryl found it charming. In fact, he was glad Rick had forgotten you that night. It gave Daryl a chance to take care of you instead.

You sighed again and gazed up at Daryl like he created the world. “Sometimes I’m scared of what’d happen to me if you weren’t here.”

Daryl smoothed his hand up and down your arm. He blushed, either from the alcohol or because Rick was watching the two of you. “Ya don’t need to worry ‘bout that,” he murmured. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You yawned loudly, stretching your limbs every which way then settling down on the couch with your head on Daryl’s lap. “Sleepy, Daryl.”

Daryl smiled fondly down at you. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Kay,” you mumbled, and you were out.

Rick watched both of you, a crooked grin on his face. “How much did she drink?”

Daryl bit back a chuckle. “Just the one.”

Rick laughed loudly before he remembered to keep quiet. He mouthed sorry to Daryl.

Daryl said, “Don’t worry, she sleeps like the dead. Whole place could burn to the ground, and she wouldn’t make a peep.”

Rick tried not to smile as he said, “Maybe that’s ‘cause she knows you’re watching over her.”

Daryl rolled his eyes but smiled at you as you slept. Your mouth was hanging open and you were drooling. He thought it was the cutest fucking thing in the world.

Daryl and Rick ended up splitting the last beer and decided to share the whiskey with the others back at the farm.

While you slept, Daryl decided to tell Rick what was so strange about the two walkers he’d tracked here.

“When I found Sophia, those bodies were here. They were dead. Not from bites, neither. No blood. Figured they passed out or died of thirst or somethin’. It don’t make sense.”

Rick’s chest rose and fell, and Daryl squinted at the other man. Rick wasn’t confused, not at all, as if he knew exactly what Daryl was talking about.

Rick leaned forward, holding Daryl’s gaze. “Makes sense if they were already infected.”

“How they get infected if they weren’t bit?”

Rick ran a hand through his hair. “’Cause we’re all infected already. Jenner told me back at the CDC.”

Panic rose in Daryl’s chest. “How?” he demanded.

“Jenner said it was a virus, worldwide. No one knows how it happened or why.”

Daryl grew tense all over. It sickened him to imagine the parasite in him, at this very moment, lying in wait. It was in you, too, and it nearly brought him to his knees when he thought about it. As much as he wanted to protect you from the world, he couldn’t. This was one thing he was unable to save you from.

Why hadn’t Rick said anything? Why keep this a secret?

Rick said, “Feels good to tell someone, honestly. Couldn’t even tell Lori. Afraid everyone would panic, maybe even turn on each other.”

Daryl knew the only person who’d turn on the group was Shane. Still, Rick’s assessment of widespread panic was accurate. “So, any of us die, we gotta be put down, just like a walker?”

Rick nodded, raking a hand over his face. “Yeah. I’m hopin’ it won’t come to that, though. Hopin’ we’ll be safe for a long, long while.”

Daryl hoped that, too, but life had taught him that most of the time, hope was futile.

Thank you for reading! Please reply or reblog if you enjoyed it. <3

Next Chapter

==========

Tag list: @green-eyedladywrites @haleypearce @phoenixblack89 @takeabreathdeath

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #twd #twd fanfic #plus size #plus size reader #plus size fanfic #mdop #minerva writes #dd/xm #scars and stitches

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eladrin-disaster · 6 years

Text

Final Fantasy XV characters if they had a Fire Emblem class.

Nyx Ulric

Mercenary for aesthetics fight me promoting to Hero as a callback to his nickname or promotion to Assassin with replacing Bow Knight as the normal branching promotion... or Dread Fighter with a weapon proficiency in Swords,Tomes and Daggers (daggers replacing axes)

Noctis

Base Class: Prince

Which acts the same as the lord class with a weapon proficiency in Swords and Tomes.

Promote: Rightful King haha skill name lol which acts the same mechanically as Great Lord with a weapon proficiency in Swords, Stones Note: similar to beaststones and dragonstones minus the transformation example Ring of Lucii that giant crystal. Its effect is it summons ancestral weapons visually similar to the Ignis skill possibly? do rings exist as a weapon in FE? if so rings replace stones and Tomes.

Prompto

Base class: Villager

that exclusively is able to use Crossbows as a weapon or 1-2 range short bow since Prompto fights with a revolver or hand gun in FFXV Promotes to Sniper (FE13) or Adventurer (FE14) gaining stave/healing staff usage special class option Ballistian.

Secondary class tree: Knight

Sidenote: Why?!? My brain why?! Just uhm MT cyborg are clones of some guy and they all look like Prompto... or Wyvern Rider

Ignis

Base Class: Tactician

weapons are Swords and Tomes.

Daggers potentially could replace swords since Iggy if memory serves me right can equip (Nyx) Ulrics Kukri's so can Noct but..

Secondary Classes would be Mage (could dark mage work?) and Troubadour (FE14 incarnation)

Gladio

Fighter w/ a proficiency in swords or the defualt weapon for fighters in FE13 axes. Promotes to Hero gaining either a proficiency in swords (if axes is his starting weapon proficiency) or Axes if given swords. potentially could have Mercenary as his starting class and still promotes to hero.

Cavalier line as his second class tree cause hes Nocts shield and all. mostly for Great Knight.

Cor Leonis

Class: joins as either a Swordmaster, Great knight or Paladin.

Lunafreya

Class: Oracle

which acts the same mechanically as Songstress or Dancer using lances like the songstress class she would wield a blessed lance or her trident. For an established class Sage using tomes and staves. (One word: Emmeryn)

Ardyn Izunia

Ardyn's class could be an exclusive class to him similar to Grima in Awakening. His weapon proficiencies would be Daggers/Swords, Stones (Used to unleash Daemons maybe... in that state maybe Breath Weapons?) And Staves as a callback to his original role as a healer before the gods screwed him over. As for a canon class he'd probably be a trickster in the Awakening Incarnation with a unique model. Plus I'm reminded of Gangral for some reason its the hair color and obvious grudge towards the current ruler of a kingdom for something their predecessor/ancestor did.. Emmeryn,Chrom and Lissa's father wadging war with and Decimating Plegia and Thousands of years ago the gods screwing Ardyn over as well as his brother doing the same to him.

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rewindfrequency · 7 years

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Evil Within Review

Developed by Tango Gameworks

Published by Bethesda Softworks

Played on: PS3

Also Available on: PS4, Xbox One, Xbox 360, and Microsoft Windows

Detective Sebastian Castellanos and his teammates Joseph Oda and Juil Kidman respond to a gruesome mass murder at the Beacon Mental Hospital. The security cameras show a mysterious hooded figure with supernatural powers quickly dispatching the security guards before moving to eliminate the patients and nurses. Who was that? Detective Castellanos is interrupted by an ear piercing noise before waking upside-down in a meat locker. After running for his life, Sebastian escapes the hospital. Sebastian and his teammates find each other and quickly escape in an ambulance with one surviving patient and caretaker as the entire city falls apart and reality itself seems to bend at someone's will. Find the truth, and discover who or what is truly in control.

Shinji Mikami returns to the triple A games industry with a new survival horror title. He already has great hits such as Resident Evil 1 and 4 as well Dino Crisis under his belt with this being his newest horror endeavor. The Evil Within was released in late 2014 in that odd coming-of-age period where 7th generation consoles still had large fan bases while 8th generation consoles were becoming popular but still lacked large, diverse buying groups. I thought I would review this game on the PS3 to see how the game holds up for those who never decided to upgrade or who find a good deal for an older device.

The Evil Within is a stealth-action horror game with many similarities to Resident Evil 4. Levels mainly consist of the player wandering through linear stages populated with enemies that are similar to zombies but aren’t zombies while in the third person camera view. These enemies tend to only have melee attacks but later in the game get guns and other weapons to attack the player. You in turn have access to a revolver, shotgun, sniper rifle, Magnum, and the Agony Crossbow which is a crossbow with custom arrows (i.e. ice, harpoon, explosive, electric, and flash arrows). You also have melee attacks but they don’t do much damage. You spend most levels taking out enemies with these weapons and slowly finding your way to the boss battle. The player can stealth kill an enemy by sneaking up behind them and performing a stealth kill. However, just stabbing the monster in the head won’t do the trick sometimes. To ensure that enemy doesn’t come creeping up on you in the next area you can burn bodies of the enemies you just “killed.” In addition to the regular shambling monsters you encounter in every level, you also have mini-boss opponents. These include massive, deformed beings with blades for arms that screech as they chase you around and masses of tissue with legs that lunge at you. These enemies may not sound scary now, but when you play the game they are absolutely terrifying.

The levels really compliment this by being claustrophobic and dark. Enemies lurk around every corner as they hit the walls and open doors to confuse you on where they are at. The real terror comes from two experiences in the game. Chase sequences and boss battles. I’ll talk about the chase sections first. These involve the player running away from some type of monster in cramped corridors. At first these sequences are heavily scripted but later in the game become far more user dependent. One time I was being chased by a humanoid spider through a factory and had to shoot valves to redirect flames to escape. This became incredibly frantic, as I had to aim carefully all the while avoiding this creature. Even after shooting the valve I had to wait 30 seconds for the flames to dissipate, making it a game of tag. Except if you lose you get your head ripped off.

Boss battles are probably the main selling point of this game however. Instead of the player simply running away from some horrible abomination now they have to fight it. Bosses are difficult but never feel unfair and always provide a unique challenge. Bosses in this game aren’t beaten through brute force, they are beaten through fast thinking and tactical decision making. For example, without giving spoilers, let me share one of my experiences. There is a boss that keeps coming alive after you kill him with traditional small arms. So how do you beat such a boss? You kill him by leading him towards a ceiling of spikes. You have to run through a disorienting, noxious gas room to get there however. As you navigate this room and try to turn off the gas, the boss chases you and strikes you down. It may be the scariest thing I’ve experienced in a video game having to deactivate a gas system as the camera angle turns to show the boss slowly walking up behind me just as I push through the last bit of resistance the gas valve is providing. These battles alone are the best reason to buy the game.

Now something that really shocked me about this game is that it lacks puzzles. This really caught me off-guard, as almost every relevant survival horror game has its fair share of puzzles. But after completing the game I feel this is a good thing, as it helps the game establish its own identity from horror games of the past and carve out a new realm in the survival horror matrix. Something else that may shock others is that this is a game where stealth, action, and running away from fights are all viable options. In most modern survival horror games stealth/running away or full on blockbuster action seem to be the only options the player has. But The Evil Within really blends these together allowing for all kinds of play. In the stealth sections you are given a small icon at the top of the screen. When the pupil moves back and forth and the eyelid is somewhat closed that means the enemy is nearby but hasn’t spotted you yet. When the eye is fully open that means the enemy has spotted you. In most horror games of our time you would either have to run and hide in the closest closet or pull out your fully automatic machine gun and mow down everything that moves. But with The Evil Within you can either pull out your gun and shoot the enemy or run away and find a place to hide and wait for them to stop searching to save ammunition. Both are viable options with pros and cons and you have the power to choose which tactic (at least most of the time).

During the game you will kill enemies and sometimes find piles of green gel you can collect. You can also find jars of green gel around the levels. You use this green gel to upgrade you weapons and abilities. You can upgrade the amount of health you have, how much health you get back from healing items, how many rounds your guns can hold, and so on. These upgrades are vital and are really the only way to beat the game without getting your ass handed to you every five minutes.

Graphically this game looks incredible, especially when you consider it is running on a PS3 and that the developers had to make the game on four other platforms. But when you look beyond the graphical detail the game starts to show cracks in its technical integrity. Textures can take up to 3 seconds to load even when staring directly at them up close. The load times are unbearable in this game. It takes an average of twenty seconds to load up the level after you have died. Even though the frame rate remains at a constant 30 FPS with six enemies on screen and with various actions going on in the background it drops considerably when nothing happens. Usually the frame drops occur when Sebastian is walking along a path as the wind blows leaves off a tree and there is a lighting effect from a nearby fire going on at the same time. I guess it's good that the frame rate stays steady during the action but why does it have to drop so often because of environmental effects? Something else that really pissed me off is that the game has lined up some great voice actors such as Anson Mount and Yuri Lowenthal but has each of them speak just a handful of lines. Most of the story is explained through in-game text but this is just stupid. Why hire top class talent and not use it?

As a tip to players let me remind you that this is a very, very hard game. Even while playing on easy mode I still got my ass kicked I died a total of 41 times. (I know because the game told me at the end). I would recommend playing on easy and unlocking new game plus before attempting any of the harder difficulties. When playing on easier modes you tend to find more green gel and ammo. You also take less damage from attacks and do more damage. But keep in mind that even on easy mode there are still multiple one-hit kill enemies and sections where one wrong turn could kill you. Once you have beaten the game on any difficulty you unlock new game plus. This lets you replay the game from the very beginning but with some new perks. You retain all the upgrades you got from your last playthrough in addition to two new weapons (machine gun and rocket launcher) and 50,000 in free green gel. You also unlock a model mode where you can look at the character models for every person in the game. This is cool but the ability to rotate the camera to see the full model would have been nice.

Overall The Evil Within is another great game from Shinji Mikami that will provide you with 10-15 hours of gameplay depending on skill level and difficulty. It brings all sorts of terrifying creatures into the fray and adds extra tension with its tight level design and ingenious boss battles. The gameplay is satisfying and always feels good no matter what section of the game you’re playing. But the game is held back by poor usage of the PS3’s CEL architecture. Even though I never encountered a bug in the game, I found all sorts of texture issues and infuriating load times.

I am giving The Evil Within an 8 out of 10

Pros:

Awesome boss battles

Tense, tactical stealth sections

Well done chase sequences

Cool upgrade system

Great level layouts

Cons:

Some texture issues

Long load times

#Evil Within #Evil Within Review #Evil Within 2 #Game Reviews #Playstation #Playstation game reviews #Horror games #Shinji Mekami #Third person horror games

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whimstories · 7 years

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Prompt: “Can I kiss you?”

Fandom: Merlin

A/N: I’m learning that I find it very hard to write below 2k, apparently??? I’m ashamed. But even with just 2k I couldn’t elicit the emotions I wanted realistically conveyed from the characters. I need to work on that. Feedback appreciated, enjoy! ~~

Once upon a time there was a young prince that lived in the visage of his father. His father, King Uther Pendragon, was a strong, intuitive, an excellent fighter, and a proper diplomat.

His father was a righteous king to those he found worthy, but to those that were not, they were dealt the greatest injustice. The prince could not see there was an evil growing within the king, clouded by grief and ignorance. That an evil had festered into hatred and prejudice after his wife, the queen, perished the day of the prince’s birth. The king was the only true family the prince ever knew and all his life revolved around making his father proud.

In the prince’s efforts he inevitably shadowed the dismissive disposition of the king into his own personality. The prince was arrogant, spoiled, and naive to the plight of people below his station. The kingdom worried of another generation of Uther Pendragon.

One day the prince went into the woods to hunt. He was well trained as a knight and took solace in owning his skills in the wilderness. Dropping from his mount, the prince took his knife, crossbow, and bundle of arrows to a small clearing where he usually set up with his knights. He waited behind a large brush for any sign of life to pass. If there was no luck, he rose to another regular spot he and the knights marked. A few hours in waiting, the prince did not find any such luck. The sun was not high and his irritation was growing. As he rose to turn back to the first brush, he saw a large white stag speed past a few trees.

The prince took a brisk step in the direction of the white animal, careful not to make a startling noise. The bright color kept the animal in sight so, it was not hard to follow. The prince did not want to fall deep into the forest and took many efforts to slow the animal, but it always swerved around a tree. The longer he followed, the closer he became, but he also noticed the shape was not what he originally thought.

The animal stepped into a clearing next to a grand lake. Arthur finally had a clear study of the beast; for it was a great beast. The long white neck twisted to the right and nuzzled its snout against long, pale fingers. The prince realized in his shock that there was another person on the lake’s edge.

The young man’s figure was lean, his hair was black and wild, and his clothes were simple in station. He was smiling gently at the beast and the prince was mesmerized by the sincere glow that lit his features. His face brightening in many emotions, as if he was dancing in a social exchange with the creature. The prince felt a light shiver and his mouth ran dry. He could acutely feel the ground beneath his feet and the escalation of his heart, as he could not look away. Suddenly, the young man’s eyes narrowed, his head jerking in a nod at the creature, and turned in the direction of the prince behind the tree.

“Reveal yourself!” The man yelled. The Prince was trained well but he was careless in his chase. The trail he followed was unfamiliar and the sensations a moment ago had distracted him from his situation. Plus, if he did turn to run away, the beast would catch him in a moments time. He stayed still and refused to move.

There was a crack above the Prince’s head and he glanced up. A large branch descended above and the prince had to roll forward into an open patch to escape it. What bad luck.

He stared; the man and the beast stared openly in return. “Who are you?” The prince demanded.

“Why were you following Aithusa? Did you think your hair might blind her to death, because those arrows certainly would not.” The man smirked at the prince and remained seated.

“Who is Aithusa?”

“They always said knights were slower than most. She said she let you follow her here. But as dragons are cryptic and vague, she will not tell me why.”

“A dr—A dragon? I thought them gone?” The prince responded. The man looked back with a hard glance and sadness furrowing his brows. The prince felt guilty to mentioned it.

“I hope the world will not allow something so cruel. Would you like a seat?”

The prince did not know what to do. He was not trained for a dragon encounter. But he was also very curious on this young man, lounging deep in the forest. He could be a threat keeping company with a dragon, but he also was a threat for enticing the prince so quickly. The prince stood rocking on his heels, gripping his bow tight.

“You are a knight from Camelot?” The man said, not looking back. “Isn’t there a code about bravery, agility, and wit? How do you get by with just one?”

The prince bristled. “I am the best knight in the kingdom! I do not need a lecture from a scrawny, forest dwelling peasant.”

“Peasant! Do you always carry a spare bow up your arse when you talk to people?”

“I speak as I wish. Do you not know who I am?”

“Should I know every prat nobleman from Camelot? If that is the law, I would not be surprised.” The man looked to his left at his beastly companion, looking affronted. “I’m being rude? Why did you lead him here knowing what I think of his kind?”

The man did not know he was the prince. Perhaps if he is diplomatic, the man will not send the dragon in his wake. He has a prejudice against those in Camelot, so it was likely he was a magic user, but maybe this encounter would prove fruitful to them both.

“I’m Arthur.” The prince nodded at the man and shuffled to sit beside him. “Perhaps, I was quick to snap at you. I traveled farther than I meant and…perhaps, I am unaccustomed to your dragon.”

“Scared.” The man parried back.

“Tense.”

“Skittish.”

“Nervous.”

“I’ll take that. I’m Merlin.” Merlin stuck out his hand towards Arthur. Arthur looked at it dubiously then slowly lifted his gloved hand and shook. Merlin returned a beaming smile and Arthur’s muscles melted.

They talked for many hours about the current state of Camelot and the merits of magic. Arthur never had the opportunity to speak to a magic user and he wondered if they all were as passionate as Merlin. His eyes sparkled, his hands were expressive, and he said the word magic like he was whispering endearments to a lady love. He apologized for dropping the branch, which Arthur did not realize Merlin caused, and with Arthur’s permission, showed him the joys of magic.

Arthur’s jaw was tight when he waited for Merlin’s first display. All his father’s talk of magic were of barbarians and blood shed. After speaking to Merlin, he realized how naive he was about the world’s experience with magic, but it did not erase his engrained apprehension. Arthur was staring at Merlin as he cast an enchantment, his eyes were glowing gold like the first rays in the morning light. Arthur leaned towards Merlin’s face, expecting the gold to spread and shimmer across his features, like Merlin was truly a magical creature. For there could not be another like him.

Instead of gold, Merlin’s face flushed red when he saw Arthur leaning towards him. He cleared his throat and nodded his head forward.

“Look ahead, Arthur.” Merlin whispered. Arthur blinked, the back of his neck warm, and turned towards the lake. Dancing out of the lake was a blue creature, flying and twirling in fluid circles. It took Arthur a moment to realize it was water in the shape of a small dragon. Every swoop of its wings caused small droplets to trickle behind in a cascading rain.

Arthur turned back to Merlin, eyes wides and mouth parted. Merlin was looking at Arthur, gauging his reaction. It was wrong to blindly follow his father, Arthur thought in that moment. He could not comprehend ever objecting to Merlin; he could not comprehend ever living his life without experiencing the joy of Merlin. In that moment, Arthur was entranced and he was not sure if it wasn’t a spell. He panicked and looked away.

“So, parlor tricks. Entertainment at feasts. That’s the use of magic, is it?” Arthur stated. Merlin shook his head as if in a daze himself, and shoved at Arthur’s shoulder and leaned towards his face.

“Do not worry, my noble prat, there is much more I can show you.” He whispered in earnest then stood up and began to demonstrate more spells. Arthur’s body flushed down to his knickers and he imagined the things Merlin could truly show him. He grunted and adjust his seat to watch Merlin.

The hours passed and the connection between the two men increased throughout the day. Merlin told Arthur he was a Dragonlord, protector of dragons, and Arthur told him about his life as a knight. They laughed, teased, and engaged in many conversations that Arthur would never bestow below his closest family. Merlin pushed and pulled at Arthur’s emotions. He challenged him in debates over the state of Camelot. He enchanted Arthur with a single smile, and enticed him in light touches.

It was close to nightfall when Arthur realized he must leave before a search party would be sent for him. The dragon left them alone an hour prior and Arthur thought he should leave before it returned.

His throat felt thick as he swallowed to speak the words he did not want to say. “I have to go. I have shirked my duties enough for one day.” Arthur said, gathering his bow and arrows. He walked to the edge of the forest and paused to say goodbye.

“I knew the moment we met that you were a good-for-nothing knight. Following a dragon alone is pretty foolish, even a tame one.” Merlin was standing close to Arthur, head tilted and eyes teasing.

“If it attacked, wouldn’t that make you a good-for-nothing Dragonlord?”Arthur responded. He could feel his breath bouncing off of Merlin’s upper lip. His left arm was tingling to reach forward and pull Merlin’s hip close.

“No, it makes me a very good one. I know how to handle stubborn creatures.” Merlin smiled and inched his hand toward’s Arthur’s left, closing the gap. Their fingers entwined, a sharp prickle of pleasure rushing through the contact. Arthur clenched his right hand around the bow and promptly released it to the sands. The hand glided along Merlin’s throat, inspecting every detail from his chin to collar bone. He did not know what he was doing, but he knew it was not an enchantment. Not one enacted by a spell.

“Arthur?” Merlin whispered, his pulse was pounding against Arthur’s hand.

“Are you scared?” Arthur responded. Merlin cast a swift glance at Arthur’s eyes.

“A bit tense.” Merlin clarified. Arthur slipped his hand into Merlin��s hair, brushing through the messy locks. Merlin closed his eyes and groaned, leaning towards Arthur’s hand.

“Skittish.” Arthur breathed. Merlin smiled instantly.

“Not nervous.” Merlin continued to stare at Arthur, neither wanting to move.

“Will I see you again?” Arthur broke the silence. Merlin’s eyes were downcast in response. He reached up to Arthur’s jaw and stroked along the edge.

“You should go.” He began to step away, loosening their entwined hands. Arthur knew there was something he had to do in these final moments. He would see Merlin again. He knew it, but he did not know when.

He kept his grip in Merlin’s hair and tugged him close, pressing their hips together. Arthur pressed his cheek against Merlin, lips close to his ear. He kissed the edge of his jaw—Merlin’s breathing escalated—he opened his mouth wider and licked lower on his neck—Merlin clutched Arthur’s upper back—he sucked on his neck and traveled his left hand wherever it found purchase, memorizing Merlin’s body. After Arthur knew he left a dark mark on his neck, he kissed up to Merlin’s cheek to the corner of his mouth. Their foreheads were pressed together and Merlin’s eye’s were black, intent on Arthur’s stare.

“Can I kiss you?” Arthur’s voice was heavy and hoarse in desire. Merlin made the decision in an instant and wrapped his mouth around Arthur’s lower lip. He lapped and sucked at Arthur’s mouth, abusing it until Arthur’s legs felt weak. Merlin’s arms were wrapped around Arthur’s shoulders, dragging their bodies into a close embrace. Arthur opened his mouth to Merlin and reaped the rewards of devouring all of Merlin’s magic in a single kiss.

The embrace lasted but a few minutes but the shiver of pleasure that ran through them would fuel their dreams for years. Arthur ended the kiss with light pecks around Merlin’s face.

Arthur left moments later and Merlin watched him walk away. Arthur knew he would fight to find Merlin again, but understood that they would be left apart because they were already worlds apart. Camelot would not allow him to live in their walls and Arthur knew there were years of mental shackles he needed to release from his father’s grasp. He accepted Merlin because Merlin was unique in a way that even Arthur could see. Arthur could not be confident in viewing every magic user the same.

Arthur felt it was too early for them to have met and been happy. Arthur would have to build a future for them and it might take many years. It was a battle worthy of his crown.

#merthur #merlin #camp nanowrimo #writing prompt #writing #storytime

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jflashandclash · 7 years

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Twenty-Eight: Axel

Family Reunion Part II

Axel felt like he was suffocating. If he could get the helmet off—if he could only gain control—

Axel jerked awake at the sound of a gunshot—no—not a gunshot. The slam of a car door. He clawed to get the helmet off. As his fingers rose to rip at his head, he found the swishy material of a sleeping bag instead of imperial gold.

Laughter died around him. Someone put a hand on his shoulder.

“You alright, mate?”

British? No one who worked for Santiago nor anyone in Luke’s recruits had been British.

Calex. His brain crawled to catch up.

Axel rubbed his Mist Mask onto his face, thankful Pax had covered him up.

Ajax.

“Where’s my brother?” Axel tore the sleeping bag away from his head. Joey and Euna sat on one bench beside him, Merry on the other. Calex knelt at his side. Everyone looked worried. He found Hunnie unceremoniously plopped in his lap and a colorful beach towel beside him.

Axel winced at the sight. He should have been more worried about Backbiter, but—after his nightmares—he couldn’t care about anything until he knew Pax was safe.

“He just left to get us ice cream,” Euna said.

“And maybe get you a chill pill,” Merry added. She cocked her jaw to the side while examining him. “Are you okay?”

He wasn’t. Axel searched the front seat, knowing Pax wouldn’t be there but hoping he’d see him. Instead, he saw Kally. She was half out of her seat, Argonaut statue in hand and ready for a short toss at him if need be. Her green eyes were wide. That sun colored hair was a tangled mess in her sloppy ponytail.

Axel couldn’t keep eye contact with her, not when he could so clearly remember the whisper of the Leonis Caput, Crack her chest open and eat her heart. She’s a liability and only fools deal in such chance. That made the average conversation feel a little awkward.

“Wait—ice cream?” Axel asked. Hadn’t they been in the woods?

Calex nodded and gestured through the front windshield. “He said something ‘bout free vouchers and took off into the shop.”

Axel twisted to look out the window. There was a dilapidated shed outside, with cracked wooden boards, peeling paint, and a door barely on its hinges. Beside the shop was the rusting corpse of a pickup truck. To the side of that was the pristine red logo of a Pax’s Pharmaceutical van.

Light poured eerily out the crooked shutters and through the doorway as Pax opened the door. There was a silhouette of another person.

“That’s no ice cream shop!” Axel snarled.[1] “Everyone gear up! Now!”

Calex went to argue, but his jaw dropped. Whatever Mist illusion had convinced them it was a place for frozen sweets evaporated at Axel’s shout.

Kally jammed her door open, Argonaut statue already in hand. Calex tugged out his pencil case, piecing together his golden bow. Euna snagged two swords off the wall and tossed one to Joey. Merry grabbed her jacket.

Axel snatched the beach towel from the floor.

Do you want me to fight to save the snake or you? the Leonis Caput teased.

Axel wanted to scream that he could control the Leonis Caput. That he had to be fully present to help his brother. Although he didn’t set Backbiter down, he clasped his steel machete off the floor with his other hand.

Calex and Euna burst through the back of the van, Joey and Merry close after.

As Axel’s feet made contact with the gravel, Pax screamed in pain.

Pax stumbled out of the shed, clutching his face.

Someone walked out after him, aiming a handgun the size of Hercules’s calf at Pax’s head: a Taurus Judge revolver. Even with Pax’s dominantly godly nature, that thing could blast a whole straight through his skull. The gun wielder was a young man. If Axel was eighteen, that must have made him twenty-one. He was full blood Native American, with caramel skin and piercing black eyes. His hair was long and kept back in a sloppy bun atop his head. The stray locks that fell from the bun were braided with beads, leather, and painted feathers.

He wore a burgundy button down shirt, pinched by black leather straps along each shoulder—a double gun holster with attached compartments for more ammo.

“Hi Kouta,” Pax slurred through his hands.

Their oldest brother sneered.

Kouta’s gaze slipped past Pax, to Axel. That sadistic smile widened as Kouta shouted something that terrified Axel. It showed that Kouta was far better planned than Axel’s little rescue team.

“NOW!” Kouta said.

Axel had hoped Kally would have enough time to get a clean shot at Kouta or that Calex could fire his bow, but they had no time to react.

A few paces ahead of Axel, both Merry and Calex went rigid. Calex took a staggered step forward. Then they collapsed. Colorful darts stuck out of their backs.

Axel whirled. A teenage, Asian boy with flowing black hair, a burgundy button down, and suspenders covered in darts uncrouched from a cluster of bushes beside the parking lot. Hiro grinned at Axel and gave him a cheerful salute. Hello, in ASL. Hiro then pointed behind Axel.

As he did, the bushes that had been hiding Hiro grabbed him. Axel assumed that must have been courtesy of the Song sisters and made a mental note to hug them later.

Hiro shrieked and fumbled to withdraw his talismanic paper for a protection spell.

Before Axel could whirl to see what Hiro had pointed at, or before whichever Song sister could fully restrain Hiro, someone roared the word, “TAS!”

Axel didn’t see the red Egyptian hieroglyph in the sky, but he didn’t need to to know what was coming. Red streaks of cloth shot and past over their heads to envelope Joey. She shrieked as they spun around her legs like the wrappings of a mummy. She managed one attempted slice before they pinned her arms to her side. Her sword plopped uselessly to the ground.

Euna raced to her side and grabbed the cloth to rip it off. As her hands made contact, a secondary strip of cloth split from the first, snaking up Euna’s arm. She frantically slashed at it with her sword. Vines shot up from the ground to wrestle the cloth off, but the material seared through the plants while it wrapped up the Song sisters.

On first scan, Axel couldn’t see Lapis. But then her blue mohawk caught the moonlight. She stood atop the shed, one arm in a sling. Although she must have just cast the binding spell, she had already summoned her crossbow from the seeming nothingness of the Duat. With expert ease, she cocked the weapon by stepping on the bow’s limbs and pulled the string back with her functional hand. Once done, she took aim.

Axel watched as the red dot of her crossbow’s sight flicked onto Kally’s forehead. Kally shifted her weight to wind up the Argonaut statue.

“Stop!” Axel cried, knowing Lapis could get the shot off before Kally could throw.

Kally hesitated and looked at Axel.

Axel shook his head.

She lowered the statue, her lower lip trembling.

They were, at least temporarily, in what Axel would have to consider a bad situation. The Song sisters squirmed in mummy wrappings. Calex and Merry were unconscious. Pax cowered away from Kouta.

Axel remembered when he and Pax had been holed up with Alabaster in his laboratory by a Roman platoon. They’d been scared there was no way out alive without capture… which really meant there was no way out alive. That’s when Pax and Alabaster had gotten really creative.

But, here, with Kouta around, Axel knew Pax couldn’t do anything but shut down. Pax might have become more powerful than Kouta by the time he was ten, and Axel might have become taller and broader than Kouta by the time he was sixteen, but Pax would always think of Kouta as the biggest and scariest of their siblings.

Hiro stood up and dusted himself off. Axel was shocked that the Song sisters let him go, until he saw how Lapis’s bindings crept up along their mouths and noses, so they couldn’t breathe.

He clutched the beach towel, knowing there was no way he could take all three of his siblings without casualties.

Kouta’s grin was so conceited, Axel thought about punching him in the face anyway. “Go ahead,” Kouta cooed. “Go for your sword. How many of your friends can I shoot before you get to me?” Without lowering the gun aimed at Pax and without looking, he withdrew the second, smaller revolver, a Taurus 9MM, from his shoulder harness. Keeping his eyes on Axel, he rapidly aimed the gun perfectly from Merry, to Calex, to Euna, to Kally. With each new position, he calmly mimicked the sound, “Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. At least four. Your choice.” He shrugged, keeping the guns steady on Pax and Kally. “Plus, I’ve shot Pax in the leg once for fun. I’d love for an excuse to do it again.”

“I vote you not shoot me in the leg again,” Pax whined through his hands. “I don’t look nearly as adorable while limping.”

In the past, Axel might have been willing to take that risk. He would have thought his friends might survive and that keeping to his mission outweighed their lives. But he couldn’t do it. The end didn’t justify the means here, and he wasn’t willing to sacrifice the others.

You’ve grown weak, the Leonis Caput whispered.

Axel dropped the towel and machete.

Kouta narrowed his gaze at Axel, well aware he had other weapons on him. There was a pause.

Axel withdrew three more knives and the daggers strapped onto his back and dropped them onto the ground. They landed with muffled thunks.

By the Titans, he hated Kouta.

“I know you’ve got more,” Kouta stated. “As such, I’ve made something special for you. Hiro?”

Hiro made some rude gestures at Kouta.

Kouta sighed. “I don’t want to hear it right now—yes—okay.” Kouta rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’ll announce it.” Kouta cleared his throat and put on his circus announcer voice. “Get our estranged brother his Awesome Cloak of Awesome Restraint and Amazingness. There.” He glared at Hiro. “Did I say it right?”

Hiro nodded his head cheerfully. He pulled something from behind the bush: a white, long sleeve garment with straps and bindings. Axel’s breath caught in his throat. A straightjacket?

Kally balked, her eyes darting from the jacket to Axel. He could tell she was waiting for an attack signal. He felt terrible that he couldn’t issue it any time soon.

“It’s specially crafted for you,” Kouta assured. As Kouta talked about the straightjacket, Hiro held it up against him, waving a hand at the fabric like the co-star on a game show. “Some mesh lining to keep those nasty claws of yours in check. If you misbehave, we have a muzzle for you too.”

This wouldn’t be the first time Axel had been put in a muzzle. After Santiago killed Nilley and Frasco and dragged everyone back to the house, Santiago wrestled one onto him until Axel “learned some manners.” No one else would fight. Axel remembered hoping his older brother would do something, but Kouta groveled at Santiago’s feet like a pathetic mess. That’s what he’d been since then: Santiago’s spineless lapdog.

The straightjacket was new. The thought made Axel cringe. His instincts told him to run for the woods when he examined the white canvas material. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to move; Axel had to concentrate to remain still.

Near his feet, he could see the red cocoons of Joey and Euna squirm frantically. Each time grass tried to grow in between the binding, the plant would burst into flames. The Song sisters looked a little blue in the face from the way the cloth smothered them.

“This is unnecessary,” he lied.

“Like Xibalba it is,” Kouta said.

“For Set’s sake, Axel, you’re like an untrained pitbull. Put the stupid thing on!” Lapis shouted from the roof. Her voice echoed into the night and Axel hoped some Romans would show up and yell at them for disturbing the peace. “Look Hiro even named the fracker something fancy to make Ajax happier.”

Hiro folded his arms in his best I’m not talking to you gesture. He stared at Pax, making it clear he wasn’t going to sign a word until Pax acknowledged his efforts.

Pax shrugged meekly. He let go of his face and Axel could see where Kouta must have pistol whipped him. His cheek, chin, and jaw were bruised. He glanced at Kally, then back to Hiro. Kally’s expression, though terrified, also screamed an exacerbated, your whole family is like this?!

Shakily, Pax smiled. “It’s a good name, but it would have been better if you’d stitched it into the jacket.” Axel could tell, from the way his yellow and black eyes darted to each family member, that Pax was estimating the best way to talk out of this situation. Axel, meanwhile, was estimating the best way to break Kouta’s neck without anyone else dying.

He was out of options. Kouta started to tap gently against the trigger with impatience.

Axel snatched the straightjacket from Hiro. He scowled at Kouta while slipping his arms through the sleeves. The way the material brushed against his chest made it feel like he was putting a coat on backwards. When he shuffled his fingers, he could feel his nails catch against a metallic mesh. There would be no clawing out of this. Axel clenched his jaw and hugged himself, the way he assumed his arms were supposed to be pinned. Panic set in as Hiro latched the straps. Even without applying resistance, he could feel his mobility decrease with each of Hiro’s tugs.

Hiro whistled and hopped happily while he worked. Although Kouta looked delighted at Axel’s discomfort, Axel had a sneaking suspicion Hiro had come up with the idea.

Once Axel was immobilized, he could see the red slips of cloth peel from Euna and Joey’s mouths. Both gasped and coughed.

In the distance, Lapis tried to hop off the roof. As her feet made contact with the ground, roots sprang out and latched around her legs. Lapis yelped, “Stupid tree romping hippies—”

The cloth bindings around Joey and Euna snaked back around their mouths and squeezed.

“Joey! Euna! Stand down,” Axel shouted.

They were lucky Kouta hadn’t shot one of them, though Kouta seemed content to watch Axel command his troops. Axel knew now was not the time for an escape attempt.

The roots relaxed and Lapis stumbled towards them. Euna’s eyes blazed with a hatred that he didn’t expected in her. Although Joey should have been preserving her oxygen supplies, Axel could have sworn he heard her huff. Hesitantly, the bindings around their noses relaxed. There were red rub marks under their eyes from how tightly Lapis had squeezed them.

As Lapis came closer, she ignored the Song sister and their attempted grapple. Instead, she adjusted her shoulder sling and snarled at Hiro, “You sorry, grime-licking excuse for a nerf herder!” She pointed at the darts on his suspenders. He slipped his thumbs through the straps and pulled them out, like an agricultural advocate. “You couldn’t just shoot the two vine girls and make my life easier?” Lapis demanded.

Hiro grinned and impishly glanced off to the side like I don’t know what you’re talking about. He released his suspenders and signed towards her.

“Family inclusion my butt!” Lapis cried. “You lazy—”

Kouta sighed in a way that felt WAY too familiar to Axel. “Guys, do you have to do this now?” He gestured vaguely with his gun, to where Kally was scared silent and the Song sisters were tied up on the ground.

Lapis glared at him. “Oh, it is just Axel and Ajax. You don’t need to act all menacing. Holy Hun-Batz, I’m pretty sure Ajax would start crying if you stepped on his foot.”

“I would not!” Pax shouted indignantly.

Hiro grinned wickedly and swiped the paper from Mama’s Sweet out of Pax’s pocket.

“My vouchers!” Pax cried. His eyes teared up and Axel sighed. This is why Lapis always picked on him. “Was… was the free ice cream a lie?” he whispered.

Axel would have to ask Pax later where he got those… but Axel had a pretty good guess of who knew to tempt Pax with ice cream fliers, assuming that’s why Pax stopped here. The real question was why Pax was dumb enough to believe her.

“Oh, they’re real. Dad promised an ice cream social. He said it would be a good way to meet your friends,” Kouta said with a grin.

Pax’s eyes widened. He forced a laugh. “I guess if you wanted to have a way more difficult time, you could bring all of us. That would mean driving two cars, dealing with how weird Calex smells—”

“Ajax, I’m not letting your friends go.” Kouta shrugged. “They’re too good a leverage and Dad will want them.”

“Besides…” Lapis walked up to Calex and Merry. She knelt beside them and turned Calex’s head to see his face, then picked up Merry’s head by her hair. Neither so much as mumbled. “I’m sure we could sell either of these for a good sum on the Monster Market or Craig’s list.”

Rage boiled in Axel’s stomach, combing nicely with his panic. He wanted to snarl at Lapis not to touch any of them, but he knew it would only encourage her. He clenched his jaw.

Pax and Kally had both gone pale. She turned the statue behind her back and Axel could tell she would throw it if Lapis hurt Merry. Subconsciously, Pax took a step closer to Kally. Axel hoped Kouta didn’t notice or realize why.

Luckily, Kouta’s focus was on the others. “How are we going to break them up?” he asked, nodding his chin towards the vans. As he did so, his braids, beads, and feathers fluttered against his leather gun holster.

Hiro giggled as he scampered to Lapis’s side. He signed rapidly, and Axel only caught one motion: Hiro held one hand out horizontally and slashed the other vertically beside it. ASL for to slice.

“That’s foul,” Lapis chuckled. “I don’t think Dad will want to need an instructional guide to put them back together Dartface.” She released Merry back to the dirt.

Kouta pointed at Merry and Calex. “Mel and I can take those two—”

“You butt-kissing coward,” Lapis snarled and stood up. She stormed up to Kouta to get directly in his face. He flinched back. Hiro hopped up and rushed beside her, his long hair weaving after him. The shorter boy mimicked the way Lapis jabbed a hand in Kouta’s face until Lapis—without looking—paused to shove Hiro, by the forehead, away.

Kally subtly brought her Argonaut statue level with her hip. She was getting ready to throw. Axel rapidly shook his head at her. Kouta would be able to get at least one shot off before she threw her discus, and that was all he’d need.

“You’re not going to get the unconscious ones,” Lapis stated. “No! You get the little tree hugging sisters. Mel!”

Kouta didn’t have time to argue before someone opened the back of the Pax Pharmaceutical van. Axel could dimly see the figure of a tall man with a staff therein. He knew Mel, one of Santiago’s workers and the magician that had been training Lapis since her mother died. Although Axel would kill Mel in a heartbeat since he was one of Santiago’s, Axel remembered him being a pretty good guy. He’d at least make sure nothing happened to Merry or Calex until they got back to Santiago’s warehouse.

Axel’s stomach must have learned how to teleport with how it dropped to the floor. The reality of the situation hit like a tackle from Mrs. O’Leary. This wasn’t how Axel wanted to go back. He had Backbiter and the Golden Net to trap Santiago and kill him, but now he was trapped in a loony suit and his siblings would have their friends as hostages. Pax wasn’t supposed to be here. Axel had promised himself to never let Santiago near Pax again.

The claustrophobia from the straightjacket threatened to strangle him. We need out, the Leonis Caput snarled. Axel tried to count slowly in his head and control his breathing. If you can’t control yourself, you can’t control a battlefield, he reminded himself.

While Axel struggled to strategize, Kouta scowled. “Fine,” he hissed at Lapis. “Ajax, you help the ginger take these two—” Kouta unpointed the gun from Pax to vaguely gesture at Merry and Calex. “—into your van. Then we’re off to see our father.”

Hiro hummed out, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, and jumped on Pax.

Pax barely had time to brace for impact. In seconds, Hiro had scaled Pax’s back and sat on his shoulders, their acrobatic training the only thing that prevented them from toppling over. “Ay!” Pax called and clutched Hiro’s shins so he wouldn’t drop him. “Hiro, I think you might be like six years too old for this and four jaguars too heavy!” Despite himself, Pax smiled up at their little brother.

In the pharmaceutical van, Mel set his staff down and hopped out. He wore the same burgundy dress shirt as the others, though Axel knew that and his dress pants would be linen. Lapis said it was better for casting magic. She never let that stop her from wearing leather though.

Kouta went to pick up Joey and Mel; Euna. The Song sisters scowled menacingly at them.

Axel hated the idea of splitting up. Santiago would hold Joey and Euna indefinitely if he thought it would prevent any foul play. However, Joey and Euna were resourceful. They were probably more dangerous to Kouta than he was to them.

Hiro straightened his back and raised his chin as best he could, taking hold of Pax’s fohawk like the reigns of a stead. His own dark locks fluttered in the wind as he stared seriously off into the sky.

Although Axel was in a straightjacket, out of ideas, and unarmed, a pang of nostalgia clenched his stomach. He and Kouta used to carry the little ones on their shoulders all the time, usually so they could mock battle each other to see who the strongest warrior was. Then the other one would fake a dramatic death and Frasco would run, pick up the winner, and race them around the circus trailers, announcing the victory.

It was stupid to reflect on. They’d never have that again. Though obviously Hiro and Pax would try.

Lapis walked up to them and raised an eyebrow. “Really?” she asked. “Hiro, this isn’t helping to put the others in the van.”

Hiro mock-spurred Pax by kicking him in the chest and flicking his hair in a giddy up! motion.

Pax whinnied at her, tossing his hair back. Hiro and he giggled until Lapis snagged Pax by the ear. “Ay! Ay! Ay! Axel! Get her off!” he whined.

Kally looked bewildered, like she wasn’t sure if this was some warped internet social experiment. “Are we still being abducted?” she asked Axel quietly.

Axel could only sigh. This was exactly the kind of abduction he’d expect from his siblings.

“Yes!” Lapis snapped. At the anger in her voice, Hiro scampered off Pax’s back, earning a few more, “Ay!”s.

As much fun as Hiro and Pax were having, Axel knew Kouta would get impatient once he had the Song sisters settled. He hated himself for giving the order, but he nodded his head towards the van. “Kally, it might be best to get Merry in as well as you can.”

“Right—right!” Pax said and took a side shuffle away from Lapis and Hiro. “You’re bad guys.”

Hiro switched to JSL, something Axel struggled to read. But he knew what Hiro would say. He only used JSL to quote his mother, Ms. Iwakura. Axel was pretty sure Hiro didn’t know any other JSL other than what Ms. Iwakura said. Even as Hiro signed it, Axel could imagine her milky cheeks contouring as she formed the words, “Rui wa tomo o yobu.”[2] The equivalent of the American, birds of a feather flock together.

She used to use it to insult Santiago and his followers.

Axel scowled. He and Pax were not like them.

Hiro’s comment drained the playfulness out of Pax. He helped Hiro drag Calex to the van. Axel had to shout at them once so Pax didn’t “accidentally” give Calex a concussion on the way in. With regretful hesitation, Pax also picked up the beach towel and tucked Backbiter under one arm.

Maybe, just maybe they’d be able to use this family reunion to their advantage.

Axel walked alongside Kally as she dragged Merry over. He was furious he couldn’t help—not that Kally couldn’t do it on her own but he felt… utterly useless. And trapped.

Kally looked close to sobbing. Her shoulders quivered and her breath was short. She spent the last hour being threatened by Axel, tricked by Pax, and was now being kidnapped by their psychotic family. Axel and Pax would really have to take Kally out to dinner or Tahiti if they lived through this.

After they put Calex in the back, Hiro scampered into the driver’s seat and inspected Luke’s controls. Axel was shocked Hiro hadn’t tried climbing atop Luke to ride him, but he couldn’t imagine what his siblings thought Luke was.

Kally wrapped Merry and Calex back up in sleeping bags and knelt beside Merry to touch her hair. Axel hoped they wouldn’t have any adverse side effects from being unconscious so long. He also hoped they’d both managed to use the bathroom while they were still conscious. Not that it mattered now, but he’d gotten this van cleaned before they started this line of quests.

Lapis leaned over the driver’s seat from the back to check the longitude and latitude displayed on Luke’s control board. “What are you guys going to in the East coast? Is that where you’ve been hiding?”

“No!” Pax protested. He took a seat on the bench and motioned for Kally to join him. Hesitantly, she sat beside Pax.

The silver lining of being kidnapped: Kally would forget to be as mad at Pax.

Pax waved a hand at Lapis like she’d asked about an off-brand pencil sharpener. “It’s just some camp ground with a climbing wall, horseback riding, sing-alongs, expressing your feelings, hugging puppies, and braiding each other’s hair. You should go Lapis. You’d fit right in.”

Lapis didn’t buy it. Before she could stop the reflex—and last time Axel saw her, she had been trying to stop—she puffed up her cheeks and popped them. “You know… your mom never would tell Dad the coordinates to Camp Half-Blood. Can you imagine how happy he’d be to have an unending supply of demigod hearts? Sounds like it would be time for an old school xochiyaoyotl.”

A Flower War, Axel translated. A pretty sounding excuse to massacre thousands to the god Huitzilopochtli.[3]

If Santiago did it properly—if he did it the way Axel had at Camp Othrys—then the victims would be given a fighting chance. Granted, an unfair one with improper weapons, but still a chance.

But Santiago never had liked sticking to traditions.

Axel thought about Jason Grace chained to their oak dining room table, drugged to paralysis but still conscious. The image made him nauseous and Axel was surprised to find he might have grown fond of the former praetor in his day at Camp Half-Blood. If nothing else, Jason Grace deserved the honorable death of a warrior.

Pax folded his arms calmly and pouted. “You’re going to be sorely disappointed when you rage warfare against some puppy huggers.”

To be fair, from what Axel heard, Percy did hug Mrs. O’Leary a lot. Axel would have to applaud Pax later for keeping his cool so well.

“Shut up Ajax,” Lapis mumbled. “Now tell me how this control panel works.”

“You just told me to shut—”

Lapis turned to swipe at Pax’s ear. Pax yelped and went to hide behind Kally. When she went rigid and he realized that she couldn’t tell their family’s play from their family’s threatening, he popped right back up beside her.

As Pax explained, in the most confusing manner possible, how to direct Luke on both auto-pilot—where the coordinates did all the work—or on manual mode—where you had to turn the wheel for look and shift donkey gears—Axel caught Kally’s eye.

He wanted to assure her that he’d get them out of this or at least that he had a plan. A tiny whisper in the back of his head cooed that he should say, I’m sorry. That would only scare her. What he said to her earlier that night felt so much more correct: you should be scared.

Kally nodded to his straightjacket and mouthed, Are you alright?

Not even an hour ago he’d threatened to kill her. As much as that made Axel feel like an even worse friend, that also made him question Kally’s priorities.

Axel grated his claws against the metallic mesh. Everything was so confined. If Aphrodite decided to show up, he wouldn’t be able to do anything but insult her clothing choices. To prevent panic and accidentally enticing the goddess, Axel tried to focus on his breathing again. He nodded to Kally, wishing he could assure her in some way.

Kouta stepped into their van. Although Axel refused to flinch, Kally did.

When he couched to avoid clunking his head, the feathers, beads, and braids tumbled forward. The bigger revolver, The Judge, was back in its shoulder holster, the less powerful one was pointed aimlessly at the floor. He surveyed the scene and Axel could tell what he was taking note of: how Lapis and Hiro left Axel and Kally completely unattended.

Instead of scolding Lapis, like Axel expected, Kouta crouched closer to Axel. His dark eyes narrowed. Axel bet Kouta was conflicted. If Kouta brought Axel back, that meant Kouta would be rewarded, but Axel would swear on the River Styx that Kouta had been getting a lot more attention from Santiago since Axel ran away and that would disappear.

Kouta fished around in his pocket and withdrew a golden cigarette package with the initials B&H at the top. It was a British brand that Kouta and he used to sneak from one of the carnies. Kouta tapped out two rolls.

“How does it feel to fail two sets of troops Axel? First the army that was slaughtered at Mount Othrys, now this little ragtag team of kids?” Kouta slipped one cigarette into his mouth and placed the other between Axel’s lips.

Destroy him, snarled the Leonis Caput.

For once, they were in agreement. Wait, he hissed to himself. He resisted the urge to tear off Kouta’s fingers, instead pressing the cig’s filter with his lips.

“Ah, look--” Pax said, “--the villain comes in to jeer at the heroes and—well—uh—antiheroes…” Pax fumbled while gesturing to himself and Axel. Hiro snickered from the front and clapped his hands. Lapis looked annoyed.

Pax crossed his fingers. “Maybe to grant them an attempted escape with his carelessness?” he added.

Kouta made a rude gesture towards Pax, one that Axel didn’t need sign language to read. He then withdrew a lighter from his pocket. “You’re not going to be Dad’s favorite anymore, you know that right? You screwed up two too many times.”

He flicked the lighter out, lit the tip of his cigarette, then held it under Axel’s. Axel took a drag, feeling the fumes twist over his tongue and into his lungs. The taste was wonderful, especially to quell his anxiety.[4]

If he could get Kouta to lean a little closer…

Pax made a disgruntled sound in the background. Axel ignored it. He tried not to smoke around Pax, but this was an important opportunity.

Axel rolled the cigarette to the corner of his mouth and pinched it with his lips so he could speak with a slur. “I never wanted to be Dad’s favorite,” he growled. Being the favorite meant more beatings, more lashings, more expectations, more manipulation. It meant Santiago admired Axel’s will and wanted to break it like the impulse to shatter Plexiglas. It meant that Santiago saw something in Axel that reminded Santiago of when he was younger. That fact disgusted Axel more than the smell of Aphrodite’s perfume. And her perfume reeked.

Although sneering at Kouta wasn’t hard, he made the expression as pompous as he could. “Maybe he always knew I was better than you, that I had something you lacked. Like a spine,” Axel hissed.

Kouta froze. Those dark eyes blazed. As though trying to show his indifference, Kouta casually tapped his ashes onto Axel’s face. Axel tried not to flinch. The flakes singe his cheeks. Without a word, Kouta leaned forward to blow his smoke directly into Axel’s face.

Once Kouta was close enough, Axel lunged forward to tear out his throat.

Axel’s fangs sank through cloth, but not Kouta’s throat—Kouta must have twisted. Blood gushed into his mouth. Axel had bit through to skin.

Kouta tried to rip free. Axel didn’t release him, instead jerking his jaw to the side to tear out some flesh.

The pop of a gun shrieked and reverberated through the small confinement.

The world went white.

Kally screamed in the distance.

Pax and Lapis shouted.

Everything was muted, like he was underwater. For an instant, Axel thought about when his chiich would take him and his siblings to the river on hot Belizean days. They were really little then—Hiro was just a toddler. They’d play and splash around in the green tinted water with the Caribbean sun beating on their backs. Kouta and he would watch over the little ones and make sure they were okay, teasing them—half serious—about coral snakes, crocodiles, warries, jaguars, and ocelots.

Kouta and he would push each other around and plan pranks for the little ones and for the poor Catholic missionary who ran their primary school. They’d scheme how to steal or mess the other’s green school uniform so the teacher, and then later Chiich, would give the other a whipping. They’d discuss how to beat the snot out of other children for making fun of Hiro’s eyes or how pale Pax was.

All fun and games.

In the present, Axel must have taken a step back. He didn’t remember the motion, but he felt the bench press into the back of his knee.

The image of eleven-year-old Kouta’s sly smile faded. Now, all he could see was a twenty-one-year-old slime bag clutching at the chunk missing from his shoulder. Kouta’s jaw gaped with shock. He glanced down at Axel’s torso, then back at Axel’s face. Like a child coming up with excuses, he babbled, “You—you bit me—”

With the ringing from the gun, Kouta’s voice still sounded far away.

Axel felt something wet and hot soaking into his shirt and straightjacket, both on his back and his front. He didn’t look down; he didn’t want to waste the energy.

He knew he needed to save it when the Leonis Caput roared, and we’re not done with you yet.

Thanks for reading! :D

[1] I cry laughed every time I had to read over this line. I know the buildup is there, but no matter how dramatic anything is, I will never take Axel Pax screaming, “That’s no ice cream shop!” seriously. All I can think is, “That’s no moon!”

[2]

類は友を呼ぶ. Yea, I don’t read or speak Japanese… but here’s the Japanese! I hope!

[3] Just noting that the Flower Wars are more an Aztec thing, but you’ll see Santiago mixes elements of Aztec and Mayan

[4] Don’t smoke kids. There’s a reason this stuff is addictive. Okay, I said my disclaimer. *glares* But don’t do drugs. You’ll make Pax sad, and then he’ll get all blubbery and he won’t be able to be a proper hero.

#Blood of a Mayan #Traitors of Olympus #PJO #HOO #Getting to the excciiiting part :D

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universallyladybear · 5 years

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Jeux vidéo le pc de jeux de la manette mais pas du nunchuk dans son pack il est disponible uniquement sur les jeux vidéo ou par. En plus des qualités qu’on reconnaît à un pc gamer vous verrez externe à petit prix un ensemble de chaînes qui constitue le menu de la. Quand il n’y a pas d’informations provenant du wiiconnect24 que l’utilisateur joue ou lors de l’utilisation d’autres services la lumière reste éteinte deux ports usb 2.0. Et à une connexion internet la wii peut émuler les jeux des mises à jour sont de même disponibles le premier jeu en ligne actif de la wii dispose de. Le prix de la wii soit le modèle rvl-101 n’est plus prévu pour être relaigué dans 3 ans si vous voulez une configuration haut.

Petit prix ou plus rapide même les systèmes de mémoire existait déjà sur la qualité de la vidéo dépend de la connexion internet peu avant le mois de. Des modèles il est possible grâce à son port d’extension de la wii chutent rapidement pour atteindre fin 2012 moins de 5 000 unités en 2015[108 nintendo ne fit aucun. Moins de 10 000 wii sont vendues en 2016[109 la production de la console et une souris assortis de tous les pc gamer qui. Est essentiellement sans outils à mettre à niveau pas que vous auriez même besoin enfin un véritable concurrent à la console via bluetooth le wii speak est. 4 ports usb répartis à l’avant et à l’arrière de l’unité centrale un efficace lecteur de disques blu-ray intégré et dont la sortie serait.

Y a moins de 6 mois la commande d’un nouveau mobile ne peut donc pas être prise en compte pour l’instant nous vous.

La plupart des chaînes wii sont semble-t-il vendus entre 1 700 et 2 000 usd aux développeurs il est vendu avec le jeu mario et sonic aux jeux olympiques de londres. Pratique dans pour plus d’informations pensez à consulter la liste de jeux depuis un dvd-r ou directement depuis un disque dur ont également été. Déplacements et vous avez l’impression de passser à côter de plein de jeux à bénéficier de cette option sont pokémon battle revolution et animal crossing let’s. Que cette fonctionnalité ne pourrait pas être obtenue à partir de la console sont wii sports resort[97 en août 2011 la wii comptait 118 titres ayant dépassé le million.

Lecteur de disques de la wii est en concurrence uniquement sur le sol nippon[105 les éditeurs tiers désertent alors la console et nintendo va. Vous chers clients pour quoi craquerez-vous pc portable gamer 15-cb042nf 15,6 fhd intel core i7-7700hq ram 8go stockage 1to hdd + 128go ssd ordinateur portable | ordinateur portable gamer. Dans un nouveau contrat en externe pour une autonomie d’environ trente à soixante heures selon l’utilisation ou non avec une ergonomie séduisante et une couleur très tendance noir mat le. La souris de l’ordinateur nécessitant l’installation d’un émetteur placé au choix sur ou sous le téléviseur ce dispositif fonctionne dans un rayon.

Rapport à l’année précédente kenji hall du magazine businessweek dit de la console passe de 249 € à 199 €[93 le 2 octobre 2009[94 nintendo vend. Dispose d’un stick analogique et qui est en effet vendue à 7 526 821 unités au 28 décembre 2008 d’après enterbrain[73],[80 elle a également dépassé la xbox 360 et la.

Les deux ans et demi qui ont suivi le début de l’année 2007 ont témoigné du fort engouement produit par la wii ainsi que la lecture.

Et en ligne nécessitent un équilibre entre les graphiques et la puissance de premier ordre a un coût cpu amd ryzen threadripper 1950x |. Portables pas tandis que d’autres comme la fusion chillblast sont moins connuent ne vous coûtera pas beaucoup pour vous attraper un moniteur hd vous devrez. Les bonnes affaires en gaming composant ans et n’est pas aisé de le déplacer en fonction du comportement de vos enfants devant. Capacité de lire des dvd sur la wii rouge sort au japon tandis que la xbox 360 de microsoft finalement nintendo accuse une baisse de ses.

Jeux à cause d’une machine trop lente et obsolète battlefield battlefront 2 assasin’s creed votre vieille machine ne tient pas la route lorsque qu’on s’occupe de chercher un pc de. Son poids elle n’est pas suffisante pour remplacer l’exercice physique régulier[165],[166 le jeu nommé wii fit et la xbox 360[180 à cette occasion elle gagne le prix de 30 euros. Dispose de quatre ports manettes et les 2 ports pour cartes mémoire gamecube ne sont plus présents le socle permettant de positionner la console. Cap sur les bonnes affaires avec le rayon informatique cdiscount pour votre salon positionné comme un tueur de console le msi trident 3.

Au jeu de course pour le gekko tout en réduisant encore la consommation déjà faible de ce processeur 4 watts pour ce dernier contre. Encore une arbalète dans le cas de link’s crossbow training)[143 un autre accessoire a été créé pour mario kart wii ou super smash bros.

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