#grenade journal

[feminerds]

17 FEB 2024

The MCR that exists inside the minds of obsessives (me) is kind of like the holy mother (Mary) -- it's not the thing or even a representation of that thing anymore. It's not even a simulacra (? I might be pushing it with this - because upon reflection I think I might be describing a simulacra quite accurately actually - haha)

it no longer bears a likeness, really at all. An idol is what the k-pop darlings call it, and that makes sense to me. I feel it's closest to an effigy. An item that has had so much projected upon it, it becomes holy*.

Wholly unrecognisable

GIMME ALL THAT PAIN

That Gucci Scent - The Last Day of Summer

*Holy - to the holder, and item of ultimate projection. Like close reading. Like for what you really collect is always yourself**. Like all fan art, is just art, is just a reflection of self and now. A light bent through the body.

**Baudrillard, The System of Objects

I also saw this 30 day song challenge, the other day and I'm thinking I might do it.

God help me, do I have an artists' practice at all? Or is my artists practice just hanging out and participating in the goofy little teenage challenges and what-not. Is my artist practice just being a very online teenager for ever?!

[ltwilliammowett]

The grenade

The grenade (grenade is likely derived from the French word spelled exactly the same, meaning pomegranate, as the bomb is reminiscent of the many-seeded fruit in size and shape. Its first use in English dates from the 1590s.) as we know it today is not a modern invention - on the contrary, it has its origins in late antiquity and the early Middle Ages.

First grenades appeared in the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Empire not long after the reign of Leo III (717-741). Byzantine soldiers learnt that Greek fire (a mixture of sulphur and oil), a Byzantine invention from the previous century, could be thrown at the enemy not only with flamethrowers but also in stone and ceramic vessels.

Byzantine " Greek Fire" Grenade, c. 800-1000 AD

With the invention of gunpowder in Song China (960-1279), weapons known as ‘thunderbolts’ were created by soldiers packing gunpowder into ceramic or metal vessels with fuses. In a military book from the year 1044, the Wujing Zongyao (Collection of Military Classics), various gunpowder recipes are described in which, according to Joseph Needham, the prototype of the modern hand grenade can be found.

The grenades (pào) are made of cast iron, are the size of a bowl and have the shape of a ball. They contain half a pound of ‘divine fire’ (shén huǒ, gunpowder) inside. They are sent by an eruptor (mu pào) towards the enemy camp, and when they arrive there, a sound like a thunderclap is heard and flashes of light appear. If ten of these grenades are successfully fired at the enemy camp, the whole place goes up in flames.

Grenade-like devices were also known in ancient India. In a Persian historical account from the 12th century, the Mojmal al-Tawarikh, a terracotta elephant filled with explosives was hidden in a chariot with a fuse and exploded as the invading army approached.

These encrusted hand grenades were washed up from a 17th-century pirate shipwreck, Dollar Cove, in the coastal Gunwalloe district of Cornwall's Lizard Peninsula

The first cast-iron bombs and shells appeared in Europe in 1467, where they were initially used in the siege and defence of castles and fortresses. In the mid-17th century, infantrymen known as ‘grenadiers’ emerged in European armies, specialising in shock and close combat, usually using grenades and engaging in fierce hand-to-hand combat. But grenades have also been in use at sea since the 17th century. They were used to inflict as much personal damage as possible below deck after boarding a ship by throwing the grenades underneath.

After the middle of the 19th century, grenades were used extensively in the Crimean War and the American Civil War. Before they changed in design and function to be used in the trenches, especially in the First World War and later. They are still in use today.

Forbes, Robert James (1993). Studies in Ancient Technology

Thomas Enke: Grundlagen der Waffen- und Munitionstechnik

David Harding (Hrsg.): Waffen-Enzyklopädie

Bertram Kropak: Die geschichtliche Entwicklung der Handgranaten. In: DWJ Deutsches Waffen Journal. 1970

[cthulhusstepmom]

Evidence that Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish is not what he seems-Lt. SR:

Soap smells like rain, it took a while to put it together because it's not Soap himself that emits the odor, it just follows him. It's less potent inside and when it's sunny outdoors but if you concentrate it's always there.

He has never been observed touching a gun or grenades without gloves. Almost every other explosive he handles with no regard for his own safety gloves.

HE EATS WEIRD SHIT. While he doesn't eat much of the food on offer from the cafe, he does eat consistently when outdoors, usually plants or flowers. Things he has eaten: dandelions(edible), garlic(edible), thistle(edible but he ate it with the thorns), foxglove(toxic, showed no adverse reaction), Several unidentified flowers and berries, grass(technically edible?) Etc.

Will sometimes refuse to enter a place before abruptly going in. The data is not consistent between different buildings or locations. Further research is required.

Sharp teeth.

Groups things in nonsensical ways. He will only fill a magazine with bullets that total a multiple of 7 or 3. The same for what weights he uses in the gym. When drawing or eating he sorts by 4s. He traded his room to get #13 (right next door, coincidence?).

Cameras will not focus on him, whether photo or video he is never in focus regardless of distance or conditions.

He has never once been in medical for more than half an hour, usually much less. Even though his hands have light burns on them almost constantly.

Dogs hate him. He seems ambivalent towards them and he's never been bit that Ive seen. Cats adore him as do birds.

John MacTavish does not blush. Not for lack of trying even when genuinely flustered or hot, his skin does not flush.

Ghost sets down the small notebook with a minute sound of frustration. The evidence is all there but looking at it, what does it really say? Other than that he's an obsessive creep. A series of quirks and coincidences compiled by a paranoid son of a bitch into a fucking stalker journal. But still, Simon can't help but feel like he's right and he'd be dead a million times over if he simply disregarded his intuition. Even if it is something batshit insane.

At this point however it seems that it'll drive him mad far before it yields any answers. After scouring what little resources were comprehensible on the internet he'd started growing out his hair, intent on tying it in knots to prevent charms. Leaving him with a problem he'd not encountered since he'd first donned the mask: unruly curls and balaclavas don't mix well at all. He'd also kept a piece of stale bread in his pocket for days as he'd read it was a repellent to- and he can't even believe he's considering it-fairies. It backfired, if anything Johnny had been more attached to him and even more touchy than usual. He'd left a small deli cup full of coffee creamer outside his door overnight and found it neatly placed upside down where he'd left it with not a drop left. Ghost chalked that up to some wise guy playing a joke or an exceptionally dextrous cat and firmly shut the door on any other possibilities in his mind. His next test had been a gift of clothing mixed with complements, he'd read that both were likely to drive away any Other. It hadn't been a very extravagant gift, a new pair of gloves and a gruff "well done Johnny" but at the time it had seemed to be the final nail in the coffin as Soap had gone white as a sheet(he can do that but he can't blush???) and scurried off. A quiet dread had filled his stomach the whole day until Soap turned up at dinner, a little quieter than usual but wearing his new gloves and eating more than usual(a scoop and a half of mashed potatoes with 4 packets of butter and 2 packets of sour cream as well as a cookie. The main course of spaghetti and meatballs went untouched though Gaz snapped it up before it could truly go to waste). Though when Ghost returned to his room late that night after trudging through hours of paperwork he found a pile of tiny, aromatic, pink flowers on the floor in front of his door and on top of them a shiny metal comb. Simon's tired brain hardly stopped to think of any of the dire warnings he'd found on forum posts and folklore sites alike, crouching and tenderly retrieving the piece from its bed of flora, careful not to crush any of the tiny blooms. Well... With all the knots in his hair-purposeful and otherwise-he's going to need a sturdy comb anyway.

[msbarrybeeson]

Before You Go | Future Donnie & April Insight (Part VI)

(Reader Included)

A/N: Any constructive criticism is appreciated. Reader comments and feedback are also welcomed a lot. 

I have been gone for a long time. Just occupied with my studies! No fan fiction author curse or anything (yet).

Summary: You’re both adopting-parents of Casey. The story follows the perspective of Donatello and April O’Neil during the Kraang apocalypse. You and Leonardo decided to ask them to watch over thirteen-year-old Casey.

In other words, familial interactions between April, Donnie, and Casey Jr.

Reader: Gender-neutral pronouns are used, except the terms “(Mom / Dad)” are also used. Second POV.

Pairing: Rise! Future! Leonardo X Reader

Warnings: Bittersweet.

Word Count:  ~3490

Parts: One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / ...

~

Donnie knew how much of a genius he was.

It was no surprise after all. In his late teens, he improved NASA’s satellites to communicate with planets light centuries away. He cured breast cancer through the use of protons in radiation therapy to target specific cells, rather than affecting the harmless. Hell, he even managed to discover a new type of radioactive particles: mutons. By that point, he—.

“—should have been given a Nobel Prize in Medicine and in Chemistry.” Donnie cursed under his breath. He strolled over to his lab bench, equipping his goggles.

Squeeeak. 

April– who was found seated on Donnie’s roughed-up, spinning gaming chair– raised an eyebrow. Her hair had grown out and was left unbounded. Faint wrinkles and eye bags on her features displayed maturity, in contrast to a couple of years ago. However, everyone was well aware that time was not the only factor. 

“Whatcha going on about now, Donnie?”

The softshell huffed. “Recall when I wrote a report about my experimental findings with an invention meant to revive a deceased human being?”

“...You mean the one where you thought it was a good idea to open up Curie’s tomb? Even gone as far as to ask for my help?” April grimaced. “Who’d ever forget that.”

She proceeded to massage her temples. 

“God. You were in all kinds of messed up for that, Don.”

Lightning-like yellow sparks flickered as Donnie had his robotic hands occupied with a butane torch. His goggles were sealed tight around his eyes as he built a oval-looking device on his lab bench. Titanium outer-layer over a seriously complex circuit-board; appearing as if Samsung marketed grenades.

He scoffed. “Oh please. It wasn’t as if I’d taken long to understand how Marie Curie deserves her rest for her great contributions to radiation. Thus is why–.”

“–You decided to take a poor random husband of an old wife,” April interjected.

“Ahem.” Donnie pronounced. “The poor woman was begging me for her husband to be alive again. I was simply gracious and generous enough to not charge her for the process.” He set aside the butane torch. “At least it progressed well; he stayed alive for an additional two years. It gave his wife psychological comfort, and I was able to submit my paper to the N.S.F..” 

He picked up a screwdriver. “Except....” 

April could tell her friend’s eye was twitching. 

“They rejected my findings, nearly had me detained, and claimed it was far too ‘unethical.’” Donnie raised his volume. “Scoff! As if those researchers weren’t committing the crime themselves! Taking bodies away from families and claiming them as scientific property without permission.

If I could go back in time and shove my documents in their jaws, you bet I would.”

April smirked. “Well, I have my regrets too, Donnie.”

“You sound rather amused, April. Is that so surprising? And here I never thought you would regret your part-time job at Albearto’s. Or the fact you wasted money to switch to journalism in university.”

WHACK!

April threw her bat at Donnie’s head, flying back to her hand like a boomerang.

“Watch your mouth, mister. I may have regretted Albearto’s, but not a single moment in my life did I ever regret my journalism passion.” She stood up.

“Ouch.” The softshell vocalized, squinting his eyes toward her. His robotic clampers paused, setting aside the torch and taking off his goggles. 

“Mind yourself, April. Horse-playing is forbidden in the laboratory. I am not consenting to having yet another silver-titanium apparatus get scratched because of you.” Donnie gritted his teeth. “Can you hear the negative connotation?”

“Seriously, Donnie? Where’d that come from? Not only was that years ago but it ain’t anything except a simple accident.” 

“‘Simple accident?’” the softshell repeated with dramatic offense. “An accident, like many others in science labs, which could have caused severe damage! Remember the incident when your teacher dumped bleach and vinegar into the trash bin?

You know, if you had paid any attention in your chemistry class, those two would make mustard gas?” Donnie side-eyed his friend. “Simple accidents can have serious consequences, O’Neil.”

A hand crept up the lab bench.

“Uh-huh, and I’m supposed to believe an instance of me knocking over your phone and books would kill somebody?” April crossed her arms. “If anything, the blame’s yours for not organizing your desk when you got drunk on coffee.”

The hand took ahold of the butane torch.

“Donatello? Disorganized? Sounds cheap coming from you, a student majoring in Journalism.”

April pulled up her coat’s sleeves. “Oh boy, you’re about to get it—.”

Squeeeak!

Heads spun and found a 13-year old boy, replacing April’s spot on Donnie’s chair. Casey eyed the torch with a great yet concerning amount of curiosity.

“Yo, what’s this for, Uncle Don?”

At lightning speed, while April ran to move the gaming chair away further from the workbench, Donnie snatched the tool from his hands. “Child. Casey. Young man.” The softshell heaved loudly. “I must inform you this is NOT meant to be handled with such casual ease. How in Hawking did you even—.”

“Don’t your lab have a passcode or something?” 

“–Is what I am wondering myself, O’Neil. I refuse to believe this child remembers the beginning thirty numbers of π–.”

“Nope, only us.” April and Donnie lifted their gazes to his lab entrance. You leaned on the frame while a dear red-eared slider stood just behind. A couple of steps inside, and the metallic lab door shut close. 

Donnie– strangely– was quick to hide his device-in-progress off to the side.

“You’re back!” April grinned. “Hell, you would not believe the convo Donnie and I were having a minute ago.” She hurried to hug you.

“Figures,” Leo remarked. “We could practically hear you yards off.”

“Sounds like things never get old.” You smiled.

There was a side-eye between Donnie and April, before the Commander proceeded to inquire, coughing: “Anyhow.. care to explain the occasion? You two don’t seem to be in a hurry.”

“The only times you ever visit my laboratory are to prepare for immediate combat engagement, and you look awfully collected.” The softshell furrowed his brows.

“No, no.” You waved your hands, shaking your head. “Thank God no. We came here to ask if you two could take care of our Casey here while we head out.” The other turtle scrunched his in-quote eyebrows. “You— You came here to request us to... babysit him?”

April jabbed him in his plastron.

“You see? Just like I said.” Leo turned to you. “I know my brother, love. Don’s not the kind of guy to take responsibility for a kid. Or anyone, really.”

“Hold on.” Donnie narrowed his eyes. “I never said I refused, Leo.”

“Don’t know, it sounds like it to me.”

“Well, my misinformed brother, contrary to your belief, I am perfectly capable of handling a child.”

You huffed with amusement. Your husband only winked back.

“If you say so, Don.”

“Where are you two heading off for if you needed us to watch over him?” April inquired. “Wondering, ‘cause this never happened even when you two leave for patrol.”

“Just finding some time for ourselves.”

April exclaimed, “As in a honeymoon? Why not just say so? We’ll leave you two alone–.”

“–In this economy and climate?” Donnie interjected. “Has it also not been six years since your yet-to-be-legal marriage?”

“Alright, alright,” Leonardo chuckled. “Cut us some slack, bro. Finding time wasn’t easy when there’s Kraang above our necks.”

“Right, and you’re going on a honeymoon, how?” The softshell crossed his arms. “Simply because you’re the leader does not equate to you making wise decisions, Leo.”

“His ōdachi can teleport anyone to anyplace, we have some hope we can easily teleport to a remote area,” you answered. “One without Kraang infestation. It’ll be hard, but we may as well try.”

“Bonus points if we find clear skies and an ocean.” The red-eared turtle grinned, wrapping his arm over your shoulders.

“What’s a honeymoon, (Mom / Dad)?”

Your hand went to caress Casey’s cheek. “Parent quality time. It just means you get to handle yourself like the responsible grown-up you’ll become one day. Just promise me you’ll be on your best behavior around Uncle Don and Auntie April?”

“I promise, (Mom / Dad)!”

“Good boy,” Leo laughed, ruffling the kid’s hair.

“You didn’t ask Mikey and Raph to help out too, or?”

“Between you and me, I think you guys are better of making sure Casey doesn’t get into any chaos,” you whispered to April. “Don’t tell them that, though.”

She laughed. “Okay, I see how it is. You both have fun.” 

Donnie bit his lip. Right as Leonardo and (Name) turn to exit the laboratory, he extended his arm out to them.

“Leo, (Name).”

You two faced back to him once more.

“Don’t kill yourselves out there.”

Everyone’s eyes widened– April, you, and Leonardo himself. But the brother in blue snickered, holding a smile that reached his eyes. “So you do also care for me, Don. And all this time I thought you were plotting to put me in my grave or something.”

“We won’t.” Leo placed a hand on your shoulder. “You got my word.”

“Bye (Mom / Dad)! Bye Papa!”

“We’ll be back soon, Casey!”

Donnie stood in silence as you finally left, leaving himself with none other than his best friend and his nephew. “I refuse to believe this is the future we have to deal with.”

“Times changed all of us, didn’t they?” April spoke. “One day we wish each other a good one, and the next, we hope we just don’t die. I could’ve been a famous news anchor by now, make my mother happy, fight crime without worrying about dying the next second.

..I wonder if there’s anyone else out there besides the small number of us down here.”

“..I doubt it.”

Donnie pulled himself together and walked back to his workbench, operating his clampers to work once again. He put on his goggles. Casey, being a young teenager of enthusiasm, peeked over.

“Watch yourself, boy,” April warned.

“Don’t worry about me, Auntie. I’m only standing over here.” Casey narrowed his eyes upon the glowing and metal-like ball his uncle had his tools on. “What are you working on, Uncle Don?”

“A sphere.”

“A sphere?”

“You heard correctly.”

“That sounds kind of boring.”

Donnie had to hold himself back from remarking with: ‘That is exactly what every child whose intellect is doomed would say.’

“I’m sure your mother would find it rather moving.”

“(Mom / Dad)? I don’t understand what’s emotional about a ball, though.”

“Hey Casey.” April coughed. “Why not tell us about your mask here? Haven’t taken a good look at it before. Maybe Uncle Don would like to hear it too.”

“You actually want me to talk about my mask?”

“Ain’t a problem, is it?”

“No.” He fidgeted with his fingers a bit. “You don’t have anything else to do?”

“We were just told to watch over you, kid.”

“Yeah, but everyone I know is always busy with the Kraang or supplying weapons. I never really get chances to hang out.”

There was a brief pause in the butane torch’s flame.

April’s expression softened. Her hand came up to brush his black hair. “Things have gotten calmer up there. So you’ve got plenty of time with us now.”

Casey smiled.

“So your mask?” 

The boy alternated between covering his face and removing it. “(Mom / Dad) gave it to me. She told me it is based on the one worn by my biological mother. (Mom / Dad) also said that my birth mother was kind of crazy-funny and likes to be loud. She would have a stick to play– what was it– hockey?

I don’t know what kind of game hockey is supposed to be, but I guess it’s nice to know how life was like before all the Kraang.”

A sad smile crept on April’s lips. 

“Anyways, I thought the mask looked kind of plain, so I decided to draw red marks on it. See?” Casey showed his mask off, fingers tapping the surface. “Guess who it looks like!”

There were two bold and thick streaks of red. Each one ran through one eye, truly a defining characteristic. The Commander chuckled, already imagining how much pride her friend in blue would feel from the fact a kid– let alone one he had been parenting– looked up to him so much.

“You know, I am seeing someone familiar here.” April hummed as she put on a thoughtful facade. Fingers holding her chin and everything. “Got to be Uncle Don.”

Named turtle paused for a moment and raised a brow.

“Seriously, Auntie April?” On the other hand, Casey gave her an incredulous look and shook his head. “You probably want to get your eyes checked out, ‘cause Uncle Don doesn’t have any red stripes.” Off to the side. “And even if he did, he won’t look as cool as Dad.”

April snickered behind her palm as Donnie eyed the boy from behind his goggles.

“You’re right, you’re right. Just messing with you, kid.” Her hand ruffled his hair once more. “Sounds like you really admire your Papa, don’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Dad has an awesome sword that opens up portals. He always moves so quickly whenever he’s fighting. Bam! And the Kraang’s gone!” The teenager stretched his arm for emphasis. “Even as the leader, Papa knows when to get serious and when to make people laugh. He also cares a lot about me, (Mom / Dad), you guys, and everyone!”

It made even Donnie himself smile. 

However, the way Casey’s enthusiasm died down had not gone unnoticed. “I’ve always wanted to help out though.” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I want to fight the Kraang right by his and (Mom / Dad)’s side. Except I barely get the chance to, because they keep telling me to stay close to base and hide behind a giant rock.”

April crossed her arms and went quiet. His feelings were nothing new. In fact, she experienced the same thing herself, seeing she had always been a human. It was like that until–.

“Have no hard feelings,” Donnie spoke up, his hands and eyes remained on his spheric gadget. The sparks were flying. “Your parents are merely worried about your well-being.”

“I know, I know. They won’t have to though, if I can have enough training or something.” Casey sighed. “Then again, I also know I’m only a normal sensitive human.

...Why can’t I be a mutant instead?”

“Ahem. You are classified as a human. That is a true statement and one you cannot change.” Donnie hummed. “However, that does not mean you cannot be strong and capable in other ways.”

“Why does it sound like you’ve been in my place before?”

“Perhaps I did. Did you truly think being a soft-shell turtle is easy? I happened to be born as one of the only Testudines species whose outer shell cannot protect.” Donnie remarked. “Casey, your mask.” His hand signaled.

“What about my mask?”

“I merely want to add something.”

Confused, he hopped off the chair and handed the mask over. “Hmm. As long as you don’t mess with the stripes, Uncle Don.”

“Who says I won’t?”

Casey kicked Donnie’s leg.

“‘Ow,’ I say sarcastically without feeling physical pain.”

“Hmph.” He crossed his arms. “Why do you keep saying things like that?”

“Such as?”

“You say those action verbs, even when you’re already doing them.”

April snorted. “Just his thing, kid. Uncle Don’s got his special quirks.”

“Do you have a quirk?”

“Picking unnecessary fights for one,” Donnie commented.

“You only call them ‘unnecessary,’ because you never want to fix the problem.”

He rolled his eyes. “My solution would’ve been ten times more efficient if you had allowed my technology and I to do the work.”

Casey wondered. “Does your tech ever go haywire, Uncle Don?”

“No.”

“Oh man,” April began, “you should’ve been there for this one time. Your Uncle Don was building some kind of overprotective bed to keep your late Gramps from waking up from his beauty sleep.”

“Gramps likes to sleep?”

“You’d be surprised to hear that he sure does.”

“Then what happened?”

“Uncle Don asked your Dad, Uncle Mikey, and Uncle Raph to try punching, slicing, throwing whatever they could on the bed. They were attacking it like crazy!”

“And then?” 

“And the bed was even more insane, ‘cause there were actual missiles shooting out! They went straight for his brothers. At some point, it got overboard, so Uncle Don tried to command it to stop.”

“I’m hearing a ‘but’ coming.”

“But it malfunctioned and thought Uncle Don was the enemy!”

“However!” Donnie pointed his finger up, interrupting the story-telling. “It did not take long for my creation to recognize his master.”

“Still went haywire in my book,” April remarked. 

“Ignoring that.” His robotic hand tapped the edge of his workbench, grabbing Casey’s attention. “Come here, young man.” He slid back the mask, except in his hands, it felt as if the frame had thicken.

“It looks the same, but it doesn’t feel the same?”

“Try wearing it over your face.”

The boy did as told. All of a sudden, a bunch of green rectangles and words appeared in his vision. He gasped in awe. He spun around slowly, watching the rectangle focus on a figure through the wall.

“Yes yes, I know. I am well aware of how amazing I am.” Donnie huffed in pride. “I have opted to construct an interface with your mask. I cannot see why you shouldn’t have something to defend yourself with,” he reasoned. “I have other updates in mind later on. As of now, however, your mask will help you detect life forms across other rooms or through other objects.” 

“That’s so cool!” The boy hesitated though. “But I don’t want to break it or anything.”

“Hey.” April rested her hand on Casey’s shoulder, giving a firm squeeze. “Our resources are already scarce. Using then losing them is better than nothing. You better make the most of our tech. Understood, soldier?”

Casey grinned underneath his mask. He fixed his posture up and saluted. “Gotcha–! Understood, Commander!” 

He faced the inventor, whose hands were already back to being occupied with the “sphere.” “Thanks so much, Uncle Don!” Casey exclaimed, leaping towards the turtle to give a tight hug. “You’re the best!” 

Upon contact, Donnie stiffened up, but his lack of experience with physical touch did not prevent a smile forming on his face. He extended a robotic arm, patting Casey’s back. 

The boy then scanned around curiously with his mask. “Hey! Think I spot Uncle Mikey and Uncle Raph two floors down! They’re holding hands over a table or something. Why are so many people circling around them?”

April rolled her eyes. “Sounds like another arm-wrestling match between the our youngest and oldest brother.” 

Just like that, Casey booked it out of the laboratory so quickly, it reminded her of a certain red-eared slider. “What the–! Casey!” April groaned. “And here I thought we don’t have to deal with runaway kids. I better catch up to him.” 

“Would not worry about him too much,” Donnie commented. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Considering we will not always be alive to protect him... the sooner we leave him to himself, the easier it will be for him to survive alone.” 

“Hey. Come on now.” April walked to her best friend’s side. “Don’t you say things like that. We’re all going to survive this together–.”

“April.” Slight pain wavered in his voice. “You know as well as I do how our current reality is. It is only a matter of time before the Kraang finds everyone.” 

“Yet you’re still here trying.”

No response.

“It’s all because of the kid, isn’t it?” April affirmed. “He ain’t any genius prodigy you were expecting long ago. But he gave you a reason to try– he became someone worth fighting for.”

“I would not put it as simply as that.”

She shrugged. “That’s how I’d say it. You know you’re not the only one whose life changed because of Casey.”

Donnie paused his work, turning off the butane torch and finally pulling his goggles off his eyes again. “...Casey reminds me of when we were young, being rash and immature teenagers like any other. I hate admitting to such thing, but I was one too. And I hate admitting much more how much I missed those times.

The child has known nothing of the trouble we’ve experienced outside, April: when Cassandra was killed, when Draxum was torn apart, when Dad decided to sacrifice himself despite the slim odds.” His hands clenched into fists.

“Do not expect me to have any false hope for our future, but do not assume I would want Casey to feel the same way. For as long as he can, I want him to hold onto that false hope.”

“...” April had her arms crossed. Her eyes slowly came to linger on the workbench. “Is that ‘sphere’ his false hope?”

“..No. Not his.” Donnie traced his thumb over his contraption. “It’s for (Name).”

[lizzieraindrops]

BRING ME PINS FOR MY RED STRING BOARD

Eris looked to the last card. The Wish puzzled her. A wish is desire, the greatest power in this universe. Eris had wished before. It had led her here. Would she be asked to wish again? What else would her desire wrought? Turning away, Eris left the cards on the table and took her questions with her.

From the Ex Diris exotic grenade launcher lore. This will obviously be highly relevant to the resolution of Season of the Witch. What does Eris really want??

guiding others down the same path that saved me. But... I might allow myself to want more than peace. What, I am not certain. Is joy the word? Might I find that again?

From Eris' last radio message in Season of the Haunted. Once resigned to misery, Eris now wants something more than the peace she has gained helping others process and survive trauma like hers. She even entertains the once-impossible idea of seeking joy in her life.

"Hey," Drifter said. "You find that joy yet?" "Soon," Eris answered. "Joy is built... but I have taken the first step."

From the IV. Tether in the Purpose lorebook from Season of the Deep. She's seeking the joy, folks! But still, what does she want?

I am lost in these lunar tunnels. Out of ammo. Short on Light. I am out of moves, save one. I clutch an Ahamkara bone in one hand, and my dead Ghost in the other. I hear a whisper. My vision is gone. My face itches from the viscous flow from my eyes. Though I can't see, I find that I suddenly know the way out.

From the Cloak of the Great Hunt lore all the way back in Forsaken. She wants what she's always wanted, what she originally wished upon an Ahamkara bone for. A way out. Of the Hellmouth, of her personal misery, of the Sword Logic and the greater horrific positive feedback loop of violence that the Hive have been enacting upon the universe for billenia.

Your star got its name from the oldest myths in that archive. and when your mother told your father that story...the star became your name. A prayer that all will go as it must... and the way it must go is struggle." "Aiat." Not a word in Ulurant or any other Cabal tongue. "But Caiatl means something else." "Yes. 'It may not always go as it needs to go.' A good name for a soldier." (emphases mine)

From Caiatl's journal in the Lightfall Collector's edition. A way out!!! It keeps coming up in the lore again and again. Ending vicious cycles and finding out what's beyond them, even the Hive's unstoppable AIAT.

Recovery is a spiral, not a circle. You may return to the same patterns, but you will break free." —Eris Morn

From the Refashioned Shapes (!!!) ship from Shadowkeep. Perhaps the most iconic Eris line in the game. This is who she has always been! This is what she has always sought. By finally fully embracing and claiming the way the Hive have affected her, she is going to paradoxically END THE HIVE'S CYCLE OF VIOLENCE. The HIVE!!! She is going to FREE HERSELF and in doing so FREE THE HIVE FROM THE SWORD LOGIC!!!!!

[pocket-archer]

Don’t Tap the Glass AU - notes & timeline

I'll be writing a journal entry style fic for DTTG and posting occasional comics so this is technically spoilers but posting anyway since it's been a long time coming. Feel free to read if you like 👍

internal conflict within the Shimada castle leading to the deaths of two brothers and the clan disappearing

some time after (years?) the brothers are reborn as an oni (self-inflicted curse) and minor god (revered as a tragic victim)

centuries later, Cassidy in his early hunting days is attacked by a lycan (deadlock) and to prevent the curse, dismembered his own arm (infected area)

blood loss and shock from doing this nearly kills him but one of Death’s workers (Nevermore!Reaper) notices how stubbornly he’s clinging to life and makes a deal with him (blackwatch)

Cassidy becomes an Undead, able to maintain his human form unless weak or when it’s time to do his part of the deal on the anniversary of his “death”

his deal grants him the ‘deadeye’, able to see who is marked for death and he has to bring them to the Reaper to keep extending his life

he later acquires the new arm for channelling the magic he lost when Turning, help with reaping, and is heavily enchanted to react to non-humans with a burning touch

Cassidy heavily relies on weapons more than his magic because it's not as strong as it used to be and more akin to practical effects or smaller attacks like smoke, stuns, small explosions (ei. wind effect during deadeye, flashbang/magnet grenade, etc) and feels draining to use at the same time as keeping his human appearance

Cassidy finds a way to stay away from innocents whenever the anniversary comes around, feeling more justified in his reaping if he’s taking out those who deserve it. Refusing to reap will end their deal and the Reaper will finally take Cassidy himself

at some point, Cassidy meets Genji Shimada, a traveller who he suspects is also not human, but Genji never brings it up

Cassidy is hired by a “priest” (Zenyatta) to capture the oni lurking within the abandoned Shimada castle, frightening the citizens of Hanamura

The priest warns of a horrible fate if the oni is left alone

Genji vouches for the Priest, and explains some of Hanamura’s legends to Cassidy, who figures Genji must’ve fled from there from the association with Shimada castle, or displaced when his ancestor’s clan fell apart.

bounty money was good too

Cassidy travels to Hanamura to hunt the oni, who he is able to find because the oni is peculiarly marked for death

He wonders if that means the priest will be killing the oni himself after the delivery

Cassidy wins the fight because being Undead has its perks (still hurts tho) and the Oni fought very distractedly (lack of tactic/sense)

He seals the Oni in a lantern that is covered in a variety of seals as oni are not something he hunted before, and he rarely takes jobs involving escorting a live target, so better safe than sorry. He made the seals himself

The oni in its sealed form is surprisingly chattier and snarky, as it didn’t talk during the fight. The two butt heads and bicker throughout the journey. At this point, Cassidy doesn’t consider the oni to really be a person with the rumours that this oni was born out of the tragedies in Shimada castle alone

funnee hijinks of avoiding other monsters or hunters

Vampire hunter!Brigitte encounter

Banshee!Moira encounter

The more human the oni spoke and acted, the more Cassidy questioned what it really was

The amount of detours and unexpected delays of journeying with a live target threw off Cassidy’s predicted drop-off time. The energy on maintaining the multiple seals is draining.

Both Cassidy and oni become more irritable and tired, and argue until Cassidy decides to stop talking to the oni and focus on the job

His Undeath anniversary is soon and the only person around for Cassidy to reap would be his own target

Cassidy detours again to a town to find suitable souls to reap

Oni has become significantly quieter and falling asleep more often. Getting weaker.

The Oni shares that he finally figured out what Cassidy was, through the different magic signatures that carried into the seals. He knows that Cassidy is Undead, and that it is ironic that they’re both cursed. He falls asleep once more, as Cassidy realized that the oni was also once a human.

Encounter with a disguised witch (Mercy) who took notice of his charge, tries to cast an enchantment on Cassidy to hand over the weakened oni for herself

Cassidy catches her act, burning her hand in a handshake

Village is revealed to be false, all the people in it are puppet illusions by the witch. (looks like ragdoll!echos) Cassidy cannot reap.

Time runs out, the Reaper comes for Cassidy

Oni wakes up during the confrontation, overhearing the argument, Cassidy being offered an extension if he reaps the oni whose time was long due, just like him, and overhears that Cassidy has decided not to hand off the oni to anyone

Cassidy doesn’t want to do the Reaper’s dirty work anymore,

they fight

the lantern shatters, releasing the oni

the two of them together fight until the Reaper retreats, vowing to return even before the next deadline

now freed, Cassidy offers for the oni to attack him back, in revenge for being sealed

the oni refuses, they talk instead

Cassidy finally learns that the oni’s name is Hanzo

Hanzo asks more about Cassidy's deal with the Reaper, about Deadeye, and he figured he was marked for death. He asks if he's still marked, Cassidy reluctantly admits that he is, but it's been wavering.

they decide to continue to travel together

Cassidy laments that he will not receive the bounty for turning Hanzo in. Hanzo mentions that there was abandoned wealth back at the Shimada castle. They go back for it as their first destination together.

Cassidy sent a letter back to Genji for the Priest. He will not be completing the hunt.

The Priest shakes his head at this, amused, but strangely optimistic about this development. Genji leaves to search for them instead.

Cassidy learns that Hanzo does not remember everything from when he was human. He remembers his name, yes he always had this tattoo, his family was of summoners, he did something to have been cursed to become this. He thinks he cursed himself in his final moments. He doesn’t remember what his familiars were, nor anyone in his clan

Cassidy mentions Genji as the one who told him about Hanamura’s legends, and that Genji might be one of Hanzo’s technical descendants since they share a last name. Hanzo doesn’t recognize the name Genji.

Hanzo learns that Cassidy enchanted one of his bag’s pockets for hammerspace. Cassidy uses this for multiple hats. Hanzo hates that.

Werewolf!Winston encounter. They fight until Winston turns back. They thought he would’ve turned back into a human. He didn’t.

Hanzo eventually remembers what he looked like as a human, for a supply run into town where he needed to be disguised like Cassidy

Same town has Einherjar!Zarya who is also a hunter, not an active one, but protects that town. She keeps squinting at them.

Anytime time they try to mention/question about Winston's.. condition (gorilla), something interrupts them

the witch returns, having captured the Reaper (Jack-o-Lantern!Reaper) as a servant after being denied the oni

Cassidy makes a new deal with the Reaper, that he will forget about Cassidy and Hanzo’s souls in exchange for being broken out

[more time for adventures here]

Will-o-wisp!Tracer and Satyr!Lucio “help” them through a forest

catch a ride on a ship with pirate!Torbjorn, warning from pirate!Baptiste about monsters in the water, (unseen, pirate!Ana in background talking w Genji)

Siren!Symmetra encounter

here comes the giant fist (swamp monster!doomfist)

Ana is there after they arrive, makes fun of them for getting attacked by the swamp monster

There’s a circus! (roadhog, junkrat, soldier)

Genji finally finds them. Hanzo remembers. He does not take it well.

Hanzo's death marker revealed to be referring to his humanity and identity, as being in isolation as an oni he would've eventually lost himself. Suddenly remembering what he did and being overcome with the emotions drives him out of control

Genji and Hanzo fight (reference to dragons animated short except big oni attacks), and meanwhile Cassidy recreates his seals to suppress the frenzy to help Genji's words reach Hanzo

probably some crying but 👍

Other notes/encounters

Widowmaker is a monster hunter

Sombra is another monster hunter (knows Cassidy’s secret)

Kiriko (Matsuri?) is still a shrine maiden, or helps care for it, specifically the shrine Genji is connected to. They hang out :)

Ramattra is a necromancer that puts souls in dolls and bots (haunted doll!Ashe, victorian doll!Echo, gearbot!Bastion? what a weird family...) (this means ashe technically appears twice but it's possible because the lycan attack was years ago and she could've died since then and doll!ashe isn't the same

Enchanted armour Pharah and Reinhardt if they appear

No one ever sees Zenyatta's face under the cloth, and Genji only ever describes it vaguely

Junkenstein's Revenge and Wrath of the Bride could still happen to a degree but very different dialogue/origins for the four heroes

Cassidy can't see death markers through glass so he couldn't see Hanzo's having changed during travels because of the lantern

Cassidy can safely lose and reattach limbs as an undead but can't heal/regenerate too much lost mass on his own. He cannot have his head or heart pierced, that could still kill him

Hanzo has to physically eat as well for strength so part of him getting weak over time was seals, the other was cuz he was starving. He could eat people technically, but tries to stick to animals, and magic-adjacent stuff is more filling (he got a couple birds from the fight with Reaper)

Genji's abilities as a deity are wind and weather based (swift strike no cooldowns) and he can still summon his dragon familiar from before. He still uses weapons unlike Hanzo who is more melee now as an oni (though has storm related effects like lightning)

They probably stop by the town that had Zarya and Winston every once in a while because it's actually a chill town once they get to know you

[incorrect-murderdrones]

ANDDD WE HAVE A QUOTE MASTERPOST! ALL QUOTES BELONG TOO: @the-island-of-quotes HAVE FUN AND FOLLOW THAT PERSON :D -Mod Kai

N: This is what Victor would look like if he was doctor Seuss.

Uzi: There's a socket in my pocket, maybe this will help me fix my sprocket.

Uzi: It's not a 5, or a 6, or a 10, I have seem to have lost all of those again.

Uzi: And when it comes to wrenches, it seems all of them have disappeared off my fucking work benches.

Uzi: So even though there is a socket in my pocket I can't even use it to fix my fucking sprocket

*Next day*

Uzi: Another tool another day, I dropped some more shit in this fucking engine bay.

Uzi: But it's okay because I bought this car to get from point A to point B.

Uzi: And after one week of ownership I'm kinda hoping this thing gets crushed by a fucking tree.

Uzi: I've wanted to sell this car since week one, but nobody wants to buy it when it has every problem under the sun.

Uzi: This car will just remain broken and collect some dust, and eventually this piece of shit will start collecting rust.

Uzi: But at this point I don't really care! I have the time, nor money or energy to try and repair.

Uzi: I'm just gonna say fuck this, and sell this shit on craigslist to some guy named Chris.

______________________________________________________________

V: I now proudly present, the life and times of earnest Hemingway in aproxamently 3 and a half minutes. GO! Born in Chicago in 1899, son of a physician and a musician, reasonably uneventful childhood, decided to study Journalism. Enlisted with the Red Cross during World War I, got BLOWN up in Milan and spent 6 months in hospital with severe shrapnel wounds in both legs. Fell in love with a nurse, they decided to get married. He came home to prepare, she stayed there and ditched him for an Italian soldier, which initiated a life long pattern of him rejecting women before they had a chance to reject him. Got a job as a foreign correspondent, fell in love with his roommates' sister, married her and moved to Paris. They hung out with Gertrude Stein. They kicked it with Pablo Picasso. He started writing in earnest, no pun intended. Moved to Toronto, had a kid, moved back to Paris, published a couple of books. Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman. Converted to Catholicism... Cut his head open after pulling on a cord thinking he was flushing a toilet and instead ripped a skylight from the roof and smashed it onto HIS FACE! Moved to Kansas City, had another kid, his dad committed suicide, he shot a lot of bears for some reason. Had a car accident, had another kid, went to Africa to kill some wild animals and got dysentery karma! Published another book, moved to Cuba, SHOT HIMSELF IN THE LEG WHILST AIMING AT A SHARK! Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman. Published "For Whom the Bell Tolls," sold half a million copies in a couple of months and got nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman. Became the self appointed leader of a band of village Militia outside of Paris and was subsequently brought up on charges for contravening the Geneva Convention, and GOT AWAY WITH IT LIKE A FUCKING CHAMPION! Got pneumonia, moved back to Cuba and spent most of his spare time on his boat TRACKING NAZI U-BOATS WITH A MACHINE GUN AND A PILE OF HAND GRENADES I AM NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Had a few more car accidents, three more concussions, got CLAWED WHILE PLAYING WITH A LION... Got depressed, drank. Got fat, published a couple more books, went back to Africa to shoot some more wild animals, and barely survived two separate plane crashes in the space of 24 hours, winding up with a fractured skull, internal bleeding, cracked spine, ruptured liver, first degree burns, and a paralyzed sphincter muscle karma! Won a Nobel Prize, had a file opened on him by J. Edgar Hoover, left a bunch of shit in a safe in Cuba and moved to Idaho, paranoid that the feds were following him WHICH THEY WERE BECAUSE HE SPENT MOST OF THE 1940S WORKING FOR THE KGB, AGAIN NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Suffered from hepatitis, nephritis, hypertension, hemochromatosis, anemia and impotence, karma. Got committed, received way too much electroconvulsive therapy and came out all fucked up, started hinting at suicide so immediately got recommitted, received another couple of months worth of electroconvulsive therapy, got released, put both barrels of his favorite 12-gauge shotgun into his mouth and BLEW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF! WHAT A GUY!

______________________________________________________________

N: Welcome to applebees! What'll it be? Apples or bees? Congrats, you get bees!!!

______________________________________________________________

Doll: Now that I've added the milk to the cereal tell me, is that milk now a beverage, a broth, or a sauce? Answer carefully Khan, you're wife's life depends on it!

______________________________________________________________

Uzi: If the conspiracies about life being a simulation are true whoever is controlling my Sim I JUST WANNA TALK!!

______________________________________________________________

N: Do you think god stays in heaven because he too fears what he's created? That's a quote from Spy Kids 2 have you ever seen it it's like peak cinema.

______________________________________________________________

Uzi: Who needs sleep when you run on equal parts NyQuil and Methamphetamine?

______________________________________________________________

V: Just remember Uzi people die when they are killed!

______________________________________________________________

V: Ha! You're pointless!

Doll: Thirty nine buried.

*Gunshot*

Doll: Zero found

______________________________________________________________

N: Which one of you was gonna tell me tea tastes different if you put in hot water?

Uzi: Y- you we're putting it in cold water???????

V: N. Answer the question N!

N: Yeah??? I thought for like five years people just put it in hot water to speed up the tea-ification process, didn't realize there was an actual reason.

J: You don't have the patience to microwave water for three minutes??

Doll: Why are you. Putting it in the microwave to boil it?

J: Do you think I have the patience to boil water on the stove?

Doll: It takes less than a minute!

J: Doll is your stove powered by the fucking sun!?

Doll: How long does it take to boil a cup of water on your stove?

J: LIKE SEVEN MINUTES!

Doll: Just stick the mug on top of the stove on medium heat and it boils in two minutes, less if you use a saucepan.

Lizzy: Crying your putting the whole mug on the stove??? On medium heat??? Your stove is enchanted!

Uzi: Every drone in this exoplanet is a fucking idiot.

Cyn: DO NONE OF YOU OWN A FUCKING KETTLE!?!?! REMEMBER TO FOLLOW: @the-island-of-quotes AS THEY OWN THESE QUOTES :D

[lounesdarbois]

San Sebastian. Je vais aux courses de taureaux. De très belles bêtes de chez Sottomayor, vigoureuses et qui font grand carnage de chevaux. Quand on pense à la gloire obscure de milliers de Français qui ramassent des grenades prêtes à éclater et les renvoient sur la tête des Boches et à celle de l'Espagnol qui se fait applaudir par six mille concitoyens pour avoir tourné le dos un instant à un taureau éreinté, cela fait rire.

Paul Morand, 9 Septembre 1917, Journal d'un attaché d'ambassade

[linkspooky]

Bungou Stray Dogs, Chapter 106 Thoughts

Aya’s backstory is incredibly interesting, especially considering her connection to Kunikida. Kunikida is another character obsessed with perfection, both in himself and others. 

There’s even a running joke in the manga that Kunikida has the perfect woman he’s planning on marrying in the future written down in his journal. Kunikida’s determination to strive towards his ideals is his greatest strength, and his obsession with perfection his greatest downfall. His perfectionist tendencies hurt Kunikida the same way that Aya’s father comparing her to her perfect big sister and mother hurt Aya. 

Kunikida lives in pursuit of his ideals, and sometimes his efforts to save other people and act like the ideals written down in his journal succeeds. In Aya’s introductory story, Kunikida makes a heroic sacrifice when he can’t live up to his ideals and Save Aya and it works out for him. He manages to save her by putting his life on the line. However, in the next story that Kunikida is feature in, he ends up failing. 

When his ideal is broken, Kunikida is not able to keep on fighting with strength and determination. He completely breaks down in the face of the cruelty of the world. Watching a child die in front of him makes him want to give up everything. He doesn’t even want to keep trying, because it means he might fail again.

Ironically Dostoesvky kidnaps the same man Kunikida stopped during the train bombings in order to have him witness Kunikida’s idealism break. THe man tells Dostoevsky his pal won’t work, and Kunikida will save everyone that day without his spirit breaking just like he did that down... only to be proven wrong. 

Even when Kunikida gets the resolve to keep trying to save others after letting that child die, things only get worse for him from there. Kunikida only managed to save himself and Aya because his comrades were there that day and Akiko Yosana was there to heal bot him and Aya. Kunkida is separated from his comrades for the next narrative challenge, and when he has to fight alone he fails again to prove his ideals against  against Jono. 

Kunikida’s grand heroic sacrifice to try to prove the strength of his ideals to Jouno once again blows up in his face (quite literally) and he’s left even more helpless than he was before. When he ends up in a hospital bed without the use of his hands, Jono’s not impressed and his mind hasn’t changed, he’s actively mocking him. 

The manga itself seems to criticize more than support Kunikida’s idealism, especially since it crosses into zealotry several times. Like, in all three of these scenarios Kunikida was quite literally willing to die and threw himself into a near death situation by jumping on an explosion and it didn’t work out for him. Kunikida’s pursuit of his ideals is literally self destructive. It’s throwing himself on the grenade to stop the explosion. It’s a running theme in the manga as well. Akiko suffers from it in her backstory, her powers that can save people from near death are abused until the people she abuses go insane and one man to commit suicide leaving a note “You are too ‘Correct.’” 

The same way her father abused Aya by comparing her to two dead people. The same way that Nathaniel Hawthorne is heroically sacrificing himself for the name of his love Margaret Mitchell only ends up with him being brainwashed. NIkolai wanted to die for the sake of his ideal of freedom, and then decided he wanted to kill Dostoevsky to see if his friendship with him was a result of his free will or not. The pursuit of a perfect ideal of love or justice is only destructive in the end. This theme was touched upon in Kunikida’s light novel story as well. Kunikida encounters the wife of an idealist like himself turned terrorist, who dies for the sake of an ideal just like her husband. 

Which brings us back to Aya’s internal monologue, “There ain’t no way to be more perfect than dead people.” Aya is characterized as a normal person that people like Fukuchi would ignore beacuse they only see the world in the terms of their high and mighty ideals. Aya’s father ignores her own efforts to become good at martial arts and her ideals about justice because he’s too busy comparing her to the perfection of her older sister and mother. Kunikida is also a character who is ignoring who he does save because he can only look at the people he’s failed to save. 

If the message of the manga is that “Perfection=Death” then the goal should be to try to live in a world that’s not perfect instead of aspiring for perfection. However, Kunikida is not doing that currently, he’s trying to throw himself on the grenade. Which is why the connection between Aya and Kunikida is so important because Aya they both share this incredibly unhealthy expectation to be “perfect” that only hurts them in the end. 

[ofthehands]

Final Girls Just Want to Have Fun

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

Disability Fan Week, Day 5: Victims

A medium, ~12k word fic about Stretch and Sally finding solace with each other after their similar horrific experiences. Also some Sally/Stretch. Warnings for mentions/ discussions of death, a little bit of post-partum depression, and fairly graphic violence, a little above usual for canon.

The fall out of that one night from hell was devastating. Stretch escaped, and took herself to the hospital quick, where of course, police arrived. She told them the whole story, and they acted like she was hopped up on drugs and talking nonsense until they got calls from folks who had seen smoke from that old amusement park. Then the investigation was on. She got snippets of news from the staff of the hospital, and her friends who came by to check on her. They explained someone had fired off a grenade in the belly of that old minecart ride and the whole thing- closed years ago for safety concerns- came tumbling down. She heard there was another survivor. She prayed to God it was Lefty, mad as she was at that man, though she would have sobbed with unmatched joy if somehow it was LG. But it was neither of them. It was the bastard she slashed in the stomach with the chainsaw- the one who cut her to ribbons as she tried to escape. 

Robert Sawyer was his name, apparently. They were the Sawyer family. Three brothers and their Grandpa. She hated that Robert got to live, but at least had the solace of knowing all the rest of his twisted family died. Their crimes were unveiled- a blood trail over two decades long starting back in their hometown of Newt, Texas. Where they had killed Lefty’s nephew and viciously attacked his niece. Just like they did to her and LG.  But now it was over. The most notorious serial killers in Texas killed off or put behind bars. She hoped, wherever he was now, Lefty was happy. Or at least at peace, in some way. She hoped she would find peace too. 

Years passed. She quit her job at the radio station, and went off to find something else, something real. Her experiences propelled her career in journalism, which should have made her happy. But it felt hollow. LG had always talked about when she finally made it- about how he’d go and get her one of those big ice cream cakes from Dairy Queen to celebrate, and she would joke that he’d have to take up as the DJ, and he’d laugh and try to mimic the way she answered calls, pitching up his voice. She’d tell him it didn’t sound like her, and toss something soft at him, and he’d yelp and they’d laugh. 

But she finally made it. And there was no ice cream cake, no lighthearted jabs, no laughter. There was just no more LG. That devastated her more than she realized at first. Of course it hurt, of course it twisted her heart- he was her best friend. But she found herself struggling to get out of bed, struggling to go into public, all twisted up and hurt. 

She needed to get past it. She desperately wanted to get past it. It had been two damn years. But she had no idea how to live like this- how to deal with the crushing weight of what she had seen, and the guilt she made for making it out when LG and Lefty were lying dead at the bottom of that cave. She had to find some way out of it. Some way through it. Some way to survive. 

Which is why she went to Sally. 

She shouldn’t have done it, she really probably shouldn’t have done it and she knew that. But there was no one else in the world who understood the pain in her heart the way that Sally did. Stretch needed that. Closure. Understanding. The guiding hand of someone who’d lived through it all before. She just hoped Sally would be willing to help her with it. She sort of knew she wouldn’t be welcome. Reporters had bothered her before, bothered the whole Enright family, which was how Stretch knew where she lived in the first place. They asked her all sorts of invasive questions, knocked on her door, harassed her daddy about his brother and her momma about her son. She had even seen pictures of Lefty and Franklin’s graves in a news article once. Which was why she was apprehensive. She didn’t want Sally to think she was like that- that she was one of them. But she had become decently well known as a reporter. So there was a chance that was how it would be perceived. 

Which was why Stretch was sitting in her car, clenching the steering wheel, looking out at Sally’s house like some kind of creep. She was scared. Scared of being turned away. And scared of what might happen if she wasn’t. 

“Oh… Fuck it. Brazos,” she said, slapping her hands against the steering wheel. She got out of the car quickly, and headed up to the door while she still had some bullheaded bravery in her. Then she actually got to the door and felt that bravery cower behind her. Oh God. she thought. C’mon. C’mon. I’ve stood toe to toe with actual serial killers, I can knock on this lady’s door. And she did. She didn’t hear anything immediately, and tried to convince herself Sally wasn’t home- got ready to leave right away. Then she heard movement. She froze, unsure of whether to stay or go or what the hell she might say. 

Then Sally opened the door. 

“Hello?” Sally asked. Stretch froze up. Sally was a pretty woman- older than she was sure, and she looked it- but she had a nice face, and pretty blonde hair, and kind, beautiful eyes and Stretch felt like absolute shit turning up on her doorstep with all this. “Who are you?” 

“I’m- I’m Vanita Brock, or Stretch- you probably heard of me as Stretch, it was my old DJ name when I was a DJ- I’m a reporter now and-” 

“Oh, Lord-” Sally started shutting the door. “Please- I don’t want to-”

“Wait! Please- This isn’t about all that- Well I mean- It sort of is but-”

“Would you give it a rest? Please? I’m so sick to death of being asked about Franklin, and my friends, and my uncle and-”

“Please- I- I knew Lefty-” Stretch said. Sally paused. 

“What?”

“Your uncle he- I- he used me. Me and my friend, LG. As bait for the Sawyers, and they came, and LG died and I… I didn’t. That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. Not as a reporter just- just as another person who understands.” Sally paused for a moment, holding the door. Stretch held her breath. 

“Come in,” she said, finally. “I’ll fix you somethin’ to drink.” 

Sally brought her in, and they settled in a cozy set of plush chairs. Sally brought her a glass of sweet tea. Sally had a nice little house. It was cute, and fairly bright, despite having little natural lighting. It smelled nice, like she had lit a candle recently, and there were lots of little sitting places throughout, though no proper dining room table. That was a relief for Stretch, honestly, dining room tables made her too nauseous to eat after her encounter with the Sawyers. She never really considered that she could just choose not to have one. Sally got situated, sitting where she could see all the entrances to the room. Stretch was comforted by that, in an odd way. Comforted in knowing she wasn’t alone at least. 

“I’m…” Sally began. “I’m sorry he did that to you. My uncle he- he was a good man, all his life but… What happened to me and my brother just drove him crazy. He just… He just couldn’t live with the guilt,” Sally said, her voice wavering. Stretch didn’t know what to say to that. 

“I… The guilt?” she asked. 

“He… He convinced me. To invite my brother along, on our fatal trip. Franklin had been upset about us growin’ apart and talked with him about it and Uncle Lefty told me and… That was that. I never blamed him but… He blamed himself. It took us another day to find an old travel wheelchair for Franklin and… And Uncle Lefty couldn’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t said anything. Couldn’t get it out of his head that if the timing was just a little different we would’ve never bumped into that hitchhiker and… and Franklin and Jerry and Kirk and Pam would all just… be alive,” Sally said. “I’m… I’m sorry for what he did- I- I don’t know how I can make it up to you-”

“No- I- I don’t want that,” Stretch interrupted. “I… I just don’t know how to… How to move on.”

“Move on?”

“After all that happened I… I can’t stop thinking about it. What I’ve seen and… and who I’ve lost and I just… I just miss LG and my old life and my old job and- and I miss Lefty and I miss myself. I- that probably sounds crazy but I just-”

“It doesn’t sound crazy,” Sally said, softly. “Not to me.” They let that sit there, for a moment. “I.. I miss the old Sally too, sometimes,” she said. “But… I can’t get her back. You know? I… I’ve seen too much. Felt too much. I’m just… different.” Stretch looked down at her sweet tea. 

“Do you think… Do you really think there’s no going back to the old Sally?”

“No,” she said firmly. “But… that’s alright.”

“How?” Stretch asked. She didn’t mean it so bluntly- didn’t want to be rude, but she couldn’t fathom how Sally could just move on after that. 

“I like who I am now. You… You can’t go back. You can’t change what’s happened. But the way I see it, you can waste a whole lot of time tryin’ to, or you can put all that effort into making a future you’re happy with.” Stretch sat on that for a moment. 

“I’d… I’d like to. I want to do that but I… I don’t know how the hell to move on. To… Get through all this I just- it’s so much.” 

“Yeah,” Sally said. “You can say that again.”  Stretch paused, trying to take it in, trying to find some easy solution or hard but simple truth. “You want an easy way out,” she said, with a bluntness to her statement and steely gaze that reminded Stretch so much of Sally’s uncle she thought she might drop the nice cup Sally gave her. 

“I… I guess so.” 

“Well,” Sally’s expression softened, in a way his never did. She took Stretch’s hand, gently. “I’m sorry, honey, but there’s no way around all this… You’ve just… You’ve got to go through it.” 

Sally and Stretch kept in touch, after that. Stretch kept coming over, and they talked. Not about that. Almost never about that. But about their lives, and what they were up to, and the hundreds of methods of healing Sally had tried. 

Sally liked yoga, and meditation, and running. She tried to gently desensitize herself to the things that she had to in order to get around- hearing men’s voices when she didn’t expect them, gas stations, roadkill. But otherwise, she just avoided the things that tipped her over the edge. She didn’t have a dining room table, she didn’t wear bracelets, or necklaces, she wouldn’t go to a farm house or watch any movie with a pig in it, and she didn’t eat meat. She also avoided alcohol, as Stretch found out from inviting her for margaritas one too many times, though Stretch didn’t think that was exactly because of the Sawyers. 

Stretch often felt like she wasn’t dealing with all of it as well as Sally did. She wasn’t active like Sally. The healthiest thing she did was join Sally for meditation, though she wiggled a fair bit during that, and journaling. Well, if the journaling was helping, like she thought it was, instead of making things harder. She was never really sure. She thought it was helping. Wanted it to be helping. But she didn’t know if it was really just dragging all her pain back up. Her pain still felt raw, just about every day, even three years after the Sawyers were dead and gone. She never felt safe, anymore, kept checking behind her in the reflections on windows, always sitting with her back to the wall, scanning every new person who came into wherever she was. Still panicking when she saw blue trucks. Smelled any kind of fuel. Met somebody with buck teeth. Of course Sally had her things too- even sixteen years after the Sawyers were out of her life. But she had far less of them than Stretch, and handled it all with grace. There was just something graceful about her. And strong too. Admirable. Stretch wished she was more like her. Less scared of every shadow, ever corner, every loud voice. Wished she dealt with her pain- at the loss of a best friend only- more like Sally managed to deal with losing her boyfriend, and her best friends, and her brother, and her uncle, years later. Wished that the day the two of them went to the state fair, feeling a little more comfortable knowing they had each other’s backs, she hadn’t broken down sobbing when she saw a pair of kids making a fry house. 

Sally took her aside, helping her find a bench and a corner to hide in, where they were back away from the crowd, where they didn’t feel like they had to keep scanning the faces for someone horribly familiar. 

“Stretch? Are you okay?” Sally asked. “Just breathe, honey,” Sally said. “Just breathe.” Stretch hiccuped and coughed, snot running down her face. “What happened, honey?” Sally asked, in that soft voice of hers. “Are you okay, Nita?” Stretch tried to control her breathing again. 

“I- I just- I saw- there were some kids- makin’ a- a little house out of french fries,” she said. “It wasn’t- that wasn’t- my friend LG did that. He did that and- and I’ve never seen somebody else do it- and I just- I thought of him- and when I think of him I can’t think of him happy anymore I just- I just hear his voice after they got him, and see his peeled off face- I can feel it- I can feel it on me, Sally-” Sally put a hand to her face. 

“You’re okay, Nita,” she said softly. “You’re here with me right now. There’s nothin’ on your face. See?” She rubbed a gentle circle on her cheek with her soft hand. “You’re here with me.” Stretch nodded. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m here with you.”

“Where are we?” 

“We’re- we’re-” Stretch had done that one before. “We’re in Dallas, Texas, at the big state fair. It’s 1989- September the 14th, 1989. And… And we’re okay. We’re safe. And.. and everything’s under control.” Stretch’s breathing was calming down, but there were still tears in her eyes. Sally nodded. Then she gave Stretch her hand to hold. 

“From the top, Nita. You can squeeze my hand.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you-”

“You’re not gonna.” She squeezed her hand.

“My… My name is Vanita ‘Stretch’ Brock. It’s September the 14th, 1989. And.. I am… I am thirty-two years old. I’m at the big state fair in Dallas, Texas. And I’m.. I’m safe.” Sally nodded. Stretch didn’t feel good by a long shot- she felt like she had roadrash on her soul, and some kind of emotional grime she could just never let go of. But she was oriented, again, in that moment there, could smell the popcorn and funnel cake instead of blood and rot and burning flesh. Sally was watching her face, trying to read her expression, no doubt. She sighed, heavily. “God. Sorry to fuck up such a good day-”

“It’s alright-”

“I’m sure you’re gettin’ tired of me-” 

“No,” Sally said, sharply. “Never.” Stretch couldn’t help but to believe her. 

In another year, Sally was married. Stretch didn’t really know the guy all that well, but he seemed fine- just generic. Stretch had no interest in any of that. She was focused firmly on her career. Though, unfortunately, her career was exactly what got her into trouble. 

She wasn’t even told about it. Just heard through the grapevine that the issues had been resolved with land rights or whatever, and the police department had finally started to excavate Texas Battleland. 

She stayed away from it for the first few days. She heard stories about it, about how the men on the job couldn’t believe how many bodies they were digging up, that the county had to bring in a bunch of new coroners to work just on that case, to keep the official county coroner from getting too backed up. 

Then she heard, from Mrs. McPeters, his mother, that they finally found LG. She was invited to his funeral. It was going to be a small service, just family, done all very quietly so the press wouldn’t show. Mrs. McPeters told her over the phone she was invited because she was as good as family. LG told his Mama all about her, and she always thought she would be her daughter-in-law someday. Stretch was just glad Mrs. McPeters couldn’t see her sobbing through the phone. She agreed to come. Of course she agreed to come. She asked if she could bring her best friend along, just for support, and sweet old Mrs. McPeters said yes. She called Sally up about it, sobbing, and she promised to take the day off of work and come with her. 

The day of LG’s funeral was a hard one. Stretch had gotten better at keeping those thorny memories from catching her and driving her crazy with fear, but it wasn’t the fear that worried her. It was the sadness. At least, at a funeral, it was okay to cry. 

She managed, for most of the funeral- it was a quick service, the McPeters didn’t have much money. The funeral was just the basics, a casket and a headstone paid for by the state, as a quick apology for the deaths their ineptitude caused, and an attempt not to get sued for even more. But when the ceremony leader asked if she was his widow, she broke down and sobbed. She stayed strong, as long as she could, making it through the rest of the funeral through tears, breaking down properly in the bathroom of the funeral home after the service. She felt like she would never stop crying, and as soon as her sobs died down she thought of something else to cry about. She thought about why it was a closed casket. She thought about how likely it was she would’ve died in his stead if he hadn’t come by, just trying to bring her coffees. She thought about how his face over hers, his hat on her head. She thought about how he used his last moments to save her. How he might not have even heard her tell him she loved him. And she cried until finally she just couldn’t cry anymore. 

Sally was there, patient and put together, when Stretch was finally able to leave. She had tissues in her purse, and a little makeup wipe. She drove Stretch home as she whipped her face and cleaned the smudged, wet mascara from her cheeks. Stretch didn’t say much, didn’t have the energy to, but Sally didn’t press her. She just turned on the radio, to a soft jazz station she liked, that didn’t remind Stretch too much of her old radio job, and drove. 

Stretch wondered, for a minute, if she should’ve married LG. If she would’ve married him eventually, like everybody thought. She did love him. And he loved her. Though she wasn’t sure they really loved each other the same way. And she could never imagine being all wifey, or having a bunch of kids. She didn’t hate the idea of kids all together, she just wasn’t so sure about the pregnancy part, or having kids of her own. She was happy just having kids in the family. But maybe LG would’ve been happy with that too. She didn’t know. She just really didn’t know. 

They settled in, in Stretch’s little apartment for a moment. Just trying to decompress, both checking in on each other. Stretch really thought she would be the only one breaking down- thought of herself as the weaker one between the two of them. But when she came back into the living room, after getting up to get herself and Sally some sweet tea, she saw something that surprised her. Sally was quietly drying her tears with one of those tissues. Polite, and somewhat under control, but still it was clear she was crying. Stretch sat close on the loveseat with her. 

“Sal?” she said, softly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… I’m fine I just…” She paused a moment. “We… We never got anything to burry, you know?” 

“Huh?”

“Their graves. My brother’s and my uncle’s they’re just… empty. Headstones is all it is. Their bodies are just gone. God only knows where Franklin is and… Uncle Lefty’s down there in that chasm of lost souls somewhere. I just… I… I hope they’re at peace, you know? Just… Wrapped up in God’s heavenly love instead of stuck somewhere down in that hole…” Her lip wobbled, and the tears started to build up heavy in her pretty green eyes. “I just… Don’t know.” Stretch comforted her, hugging her tight, and stayed with her till she was ready to leave. But after that conversation, she had made up her mind. Even if she may have made it up foolishly. 

People were allowed to try and identify loved ones at the excavation site. Every time a new body was drug up with some part of its face intact, dozens of grief stricken people surrounded the body as the crew tried to wheel it away to take it to the coroner, to determine cause of death and to try to confirm the identity. About fifty people had been identified by their loved ones- bodies kept in disturbingly decent shape sometimes, and noting but worm food in other cases. 

For the next three weeks, after work, Stretch joined them. She brought with her a news article- the headline of a cowboy chasing chainsaws she kept all those years. And she fought her way through the crowd, to get a look at those mangled bodies, to see if maybe she could find him there, and give Sally her peace. 

It was gruesome, awful work. She felt bad for the crew who had to dig them up, and worse for the people who didn’t even know if their loved ones were actually among the bodies down in there- who were just praying to finally have closure in a missing person case. 

Stretch worried, all the time, that she wouldn’t be there when they found him. Or that the grenade would have rendered him unrecognizable, to the point even the coroner would never know who he was. But she kept looking, when she could anyways. 

On the fifth day, she thought she saw him. Half a body was drug up- from deep in the ground they said. The corpse was mangled to the point that facial features didn’t help much, but the way it was torn looked like damage from a grenade to Stretch. And etched into her mind forever were the corpse’s bright blue eyes, wide and fearful, and somehow preserved. Most of the bodies didn’t have eyes. She took that as a sign- it had to mean something- it had to be him. But, at the coroner’s office, it was determined to have been a woman, and the eyes were taxidermy marbles. Seems the Sawyers had used her body as some kind of grisly decoration. Stretch wasn’t sure she would ever unsee that woman’s corpse, or overcome her fear of ending up just like her. But regardless, she pressed on. 

The next false positive was in the middle of the second week. When they took up a body from one of the lower levels- the dining room of death, as the excavation crew called it- and the word ‘shrapnel’ echoed through the crowd of mourners like a ripple. Everybody knew the killers died to a grenade- quite likely to shrapnel. But Stretch knew Lefty had too. Or at least, she hoped he had. Nobody jumped forward to see that one as much as Stretch did, as it was carted past. She got a really good look at it. It was a man’s body, that she was fairly certain of- she was getting good at telling bodies apart. The size wasn’t too far off, he was a bit thin, but decomposition could’ve done that. His spine was severed- his torso and hips still attached by some kind of mummified tissue but nothing more. He looked like he was crushed. His skull and ribcage were flattened. It probably would’ve been quick. Maybe even painless. His body still wore the tattered remains of a suit- though it was covered in dirty and rot to the point she couldn’t tell what color it had been. The thing that finally clicked in her head, however, the damndest thing- was the pair of somehow almost perfectly preserved shoes. She stepped back into the crowd, away from her would-be killer, once again disgusted by the visage of Grandpa Sawyer. 

There was nothing of note on the third week. No bodies that seemed more or less Lefty than any of the others. He should’ve been there- he should’ve died somewhere near the dining room, if his death happened how she thought of it. But she hadn’t been there. And she didn’t know. 

Stretch always assumed he went down fighting. That one of the Sawyers pulled the pin on the grenade because of him- and he died to that. Maybe painful, but definitely quick. He didn’t suffer. It was a blaze of glory. 

But she didn’t actually know that. 

She saw a corpse dragged out, a body people sobbed as they tried to compare it to their loved ones, that sent a chill down her spine. It was the naked body of a man, face hard to recognize but contorted in pain nonetheless. His legs were mangled- broken. And there were chunks torn out of his neck, and his torso. Stretch wanted, desperately, to believe it was from decay. But she couldn’t shake the idea in her head that they were bites. 

She started to wonder what really happened. If they overwhelmed him. If the grenade didn’t kill him, if the cave in didn’t kill him, and he died of thirst, trapped down there with his body broken for days. Waiting for help. Thinking, maybe, that help might come. Maybe the blast didn’t kill all the Sawyers immediately either. Maybe it trapped them all together. Maybe they tortured him, while waiting to die. Maybe they ate him. Stretch worried herself so much over it all that she had to run to one of the trash cans around the site and vomit. 

She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone put their hand on her back. She whipped around, nearly slapping the other woman in the face, before realizing it was Sally. 

“Stretch?” she said, softly. 

“Sally? I- I’m sorry- I almost-”

“What are you doin’ out here?” Sally asked. Stretch felt almost guilty. Definitely caught. 

“I was… I’m just…” She bit the bullet and told the truth. “Lookin’ for Lefty.” Sally looked like she was about to cry. “I wanted to bring him home for you- didn’t want him lost-”

“You’re sweet, Nita, but you don’t have to do this-”

“I don’t want him left behind, and I don’t want you to have to do this- You’ve been through so much-”

“So have you!” Sally said. “You went through so much because of that crazy man-” 

“I know but-”

“Stretch- there’s- you don’t-” Sally paused. “I don’t want this makin’ things worse for you. I don’t want you comin’ back here. Promise me you won’t.”

“I-” Stretch paused. “If you promise me you won’t either, then I will.” 

“I promise,” Sally said. Stretch took a deep breath. 

“I promise too, then.” She paused. “I just… How do you know you’ll get him back? Is it just… faith?” Sally smiled, sort of, then. 

“A little bit of faith,” she said. “And a little bit of luck. He blew out his knee real bad when I was a kid, had to have surgery… They’ll know it’s him. He’s got three metal pins in his right knee. I’m sure they’ll know it’s him.” 

Another two years went by. They didn’t find Lefty. But Sally and Stretch both avoided the hunt around the pit. By that point, all the bodies had been excavated. It was just a matter of identifying them. Sally divorced her first, forgettable husband, and remarried, some other man Stretch cared very little about. Though this one, at least, she remembered the name of, if only because Greg gave Sally her very first child. Sally and Stretch and Greg were all over the moon excited. Stretch and Greg were there at her every beck and call, one of them always around to make sure Sally was alright and had rides to doctor’s appointments and whatever food she happened to be craving. Sally was worried she would get fat, from all their attention, but Stretch kept reminding her she was eating for two, and told her if she got fat, nobody had any right to judge her, after everything she had been through. She was older, to be pregnant, so the doctors were diligent, checking in on the new little one constantly, especially with her family history of birth defects. But everything was right as rain. Until they found out the sex of the baby she was having. 

Stretch wasn’t at that appointment with her, it was Greg, but she found out soon afterwards when Greg called her up about Sally, saying she had locked herself in the bathroom, and wouldn’t stop crying. Stretch came over quick, a little pissed at Greg for not helping his own pregnant wife before she got there. She parked like an asshole and ran to the door. 

“Oh! Vanita, I’m so glad to see you-” 

“Where is she?” 

“Guest bathroom,” said Greg. “I just- I tried to help her but she won’t let me in. I think… I think it’s got to have somethin’ to do with the chainsaw killin’s, I just don’t know what.” Oh. That’s why he called me. 

“I’ll talk to her.” Stretch came to the door. She could still hear Sally crying inside. She knocked, softly. “Sal?” she called. “It’s me. It’s Nita.” She heard the sobbing subside, for just a moment. “Are you alright? Can I come in?” She heard the door lock click. She came inside, and closed and locked the door back again. Sally was sitting on the toilet lid, snot and tears running down her face. Stretch got some toilet paper for her to wipe her nose on, which she did, as Stretch sat down across from her on the rim of the tub. “What’s goin’ on, darlin’?” Sally tried to calm herself down. 

“I’m- I’m- the doctors told me I’m havin’ a boy.” Stretch tried to think of why that would be a problem- what about that could catch on those thorny memories of the Sawyers. She supposed they were all brothers. 

“That’s gonna be alright. He’ll be a sweet boy. A kind boy, I’m sure. Like.. Like Uncle Franklin-” That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, as Sally broke down crying harder then. 

“That’s the problem! That’s the problem!” Stretch was confused. 

“Are- are you worried he’ll be sick like Franklin was?” Stretch asked. She had no idea what spinal issue Franklin had exactly, or if it was common in Hardesty men- she also wasn’t sure if whatever made Lefty so unstable was an actual condition, and if it was, if that was genetic too.

“I don’t know what to name him.” Stretch was just getting more questions. 

“You don’t… You don’t know what to name him?” 

“If I was having a little girl, that would be easy- her name would be Pamela, but- but I’ve lost so many men I just- there’s my friend Kirk, and my old boyfriend Jerry, and there’s my own brother, Franklin, who died instead of me, and my uncle, Boude, who died to avenge me and I- I just- I just don’t know-” Stretch felt a sudden flare of genuine, intense anger. 

“Sally Ann, you listen to me,” she said. Sally looked up, a little bit surprised. “Your life is not a mausoleum! You don’t have to name that baby after any of them! Not even your brother, or your uncle.”

“It’s- it’s important- for the family-”

“Do you think Lefty would want you doin’ all this, and cryin’ about this? Do you think Franklin would? I knew Lefty, at least for a little while, and I don’t think he would. And from what you’ve told me of Franklin, I don’t think he would either! I think they would be overjoyed to hold their little nephew, or great-nephew, no matter what you called him. You… You don’t have to do all that. You’re drivin’ yourself crazy over absolutely nothin’,” Stretch said. “You name that baby whatever you want and I’m sure your friends and family will smile down on him just the same.” She didn’t quite smile, but peace returned to Sally’s face, and that was enough. “And if any of your living relatives have somethin’ rude to say about it, tell ‘em they can take it up with me.” 

“And me,” Greg said from the other side of the door. 

“And Greg.” Sally laughed a little then. She stood up, and she and Stretch hugged tight, Sally just holding on to her for a moment, comfortable there in her arms. 

“Thank you, Nita. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

His name was Andrew. Stretch loved him like he was her own son, and he loved his Auntie Nita too. There was a certain undeniable resemblance, and the boy was left-handed too, so his grandparents often called him by his great-uncle’s nickname, but Stretch just called him Andy. She wasn’t sure she would ever stop looking over her shoulders, or jumping at loud sudden noises, but as he was born she kicked some of the bad habits she had picked up, like drinking to deal with the emotional overwhelm, and her avoidance of places with big crowds and a lot of noises, like grocery stores. When it came to taking care of little Andy, she felt a lot more fearless. And, of course, she found, with repeated exposure to some of those details that triggered her fight or flight response and sent her spiraling, eventually they lost the bite they had- some of them fading out altogether. It was nice, when he was four, or so, to be able to drive little Andy around and play for him the songs that she and LG used to love. It was nice to find the Sawyers hadn’t taken everything away from her. 

Little Andy was four when he found out he was going to be a big brother. He seemed pretty alright with that. Stretch didn’t have any siblings of her own, so she didn’t quite know the feeling, but Andy seemed to just regard the bump in his Momma’s belly as a potential new playmate. Though he was rather impatient, wanting his new little sibling to come out and play right away. 

Sally had some unusual cravings that time around- cravings that made her scared, made her worried about the way that baby in her belly would turn out. After being vegan for over twenty years, Sally had a hankering for red meat. For the first few months, she fought it like hell- refusing to eat even something easier, like chicken, or fish. But eventually Greg convinced her it was alright to give the baby what it wanted- and she agreed to eat one, single steak. She refused to let somebody at a restaurant cook it, but couldn’t stand to cook it herself, so she had Greg make it at home, with Stretch there for moral support. Then, finally, Sally took a bite. And tears welled up in her eyes. 

“Sal? Sally? Are you alright?”

“What’s wrong, Momma?” 

“Honey?” 

“I- I- I just-” Sally began, shaking a little. “I don’t know why my baby wants this. I just… I just don’t know-”

“It’s alright, honey,” Stretch said. “It’s probably just the protein, or the calories.”

“Besides, you know we all eat meat,” Greg said. “And we’re all alright.” Sally nodded, slowly. 

“Maybe it wants meat ‘cause it’s gonna be a velociraptor,” Andy said, softly. 

“Andy, hun, I don’t think that’s it.” 

Sally got excited again when she found out it was the little girl she always wanted. Of course, everybody loved Andy, and Stretch didn’t doubt for a second that her dear friend would still love him just as much as she always had. But there was a different set of expectations and hopes with a girl, and in Stretch’s mind at least, seeing that baby girl and her big brother grow up happy, without a care in the world or a cannibal in the house across the field was kind of like a do over, for Sally. Ever since she found out she was having a girl, Sally was walking on air. 

Until came the day that little Julia was born. 

Stretch was in the waiting room, with little Andy, waiting on some news, when she heard Sally start to wail. And she knew, immediately, something was really wrong. She took little Andy’s hand and barged into that room before anybody could stop her. 

“Sally? Honey? She’s okay- look- she’s okay-” Greg said, holding their newborn daughter. 

“It just don’t end- it just never ends-” Stretch came quick to her side. 

“Sally?”

“I don’t know why this happened- I- I don’t know-” Stretch went quick, to the baby, expecting something wrong with her- expecting, maybe, something wrong with her spine, or maybe something unusual about her face- but little Julia looked absolutely average to Stretch. As much as she would never admit it to Sally, newborns always sort of looked like wet hairless squirrels in her mind, and Julia was much the same. She was born with a little tuft of hair, dark and curly, that would probably be similar to Greg’s, or her Uncle Franklin’s. She had a short button nose. Big green eyes, like Momma, when she opened them. And bright red- healthy cheeks. 

Or at least one of ‘em. 

She turned her little head and Stretch abruptly realized the problem. Sally’s little girl had dark hair, and green eyes, and a big red birthmark right on her little cheek. Which, though Stretch had never even seen pictures of him, sounded a hell of a lot like that goddamn hitchhiker as Sally described him. Stretch looked up at the sky, mad as hell at whoever up there had such a bent sense of humor. She let Greg hold the baby, and went to Sally’s side, pulling up a hospital chair. 

“Sally? Sal?”

“This ain’t fair. This just ain’t fair,” she said softly, shaking her head so slow it was barely perceivable. “He… My uncle died to make sure this was over but.. But it just… It just don’t ever end.” Stretch swallowed, heavily. 

“Sally…” she began. She thought of what she knew of her friend, of how she help her see what she saw- a healthy, cute little baby girl. “I’m sorry this has to be so hard for you,” she said softly. “I… I wish right now you could just be happy, and excited like.. Like before. But… Though it’s a hard one I think… I think this might be a blessin’ in disguise.” Sally paused, looking up at her, with a pained expression, covered in sweat. 

“How?” she asked, softly. “Just… How?” 

“It’s one more little way they’re just… gettin’ removed, you know? Taken right off this Earth. From… From here on out- even somethin’ like that- even somethin’ so… unusual. Ain’t gonna be theirs anymore. There’ll come a day when you look at that mark and don’t even think of him. It’s just gonna be part of somebody that you love… It.. It ain’t easy, but I think… I think this is God’s way of gettin’ rid of him.” Sally relaxed, just enough, still in pain, still teary-eyed, but so much more at peace. 

“I.. I would hug you right now but- I- I don’t wanna get my sweat and snot and who knows what else on you and-” Stretch hugged her then. 

“I don’t care, honey. I promise you I don’t care.” Sally snuggled close to her, getting the crook of her neck wet with tears. Stretch stroked her hair, gently, and just held her close. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Eventually, after a long time, Sally sat up. ���Greg, can I… Can I hold her?”

“Of course, darlin’,” he said, sitting on her other side, and gently passing her the baby. Sally held her, grimacing just a little as she looked up at her, curiously, with those big eyes. “She’s got such pretty eyes.” 

“Yeah,” Sally said, softly, but not happily. 

“Like yours,” Stretch said, hoping to help Greg get his point across. Sally’s expression softened, just a little. 

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah… Like mine.” Sally gently rubbed her thumb against the baby’s cheek. 

“She’s so little,” Andy whispered to his father. 

“Yeah, she was just born,” he said. “You used to be that little.” The boy seemed quite surprised by that. Stretch almost laughed. Then, softly, for the first time, little Julia giggled, reaching out to hold her Momma’s finger. Sally broke down then, smiling at her. 

“Hello, Julia,” she said softly. Julia started to fuss then, and Sally fed her new little girl for the first time, and Stretch felt like everything was going to be alright. 

It was. For a time. The kids grew fast. Andy was nine years old, and Julia was five. Sally and Greg’s marriage had gone on a nosedive. But in an odd way. A way that somehow, despite her constant presence, Stretch didn’t quite understand. There was something inbetween them- something stopping them from being all that close to each other. But they were kind, and friendly nonetheless. Stretch was glad for that, of course, too many people she knew had had terrible, rocky divorces. But Sally and Greg just seemed to drift apart. 

Stretch never married. Never even dated. She just didn’t have any interest, and she worked hard all day as a TV reporter. Romance just wasn’t something she looked for in her life. Besides, she already had a family, with Sally, and the kids. And Greg. 

Her life was good. She was really, really happy. 

Until the day that Robert Lambert Sawyer somehow, someway, broke out of prison. Having to report about it on the news, with a straight, calm face, was nerve wracking enough, but she was a professional, and she managed to get by. 

But seeing that letter. That goddamn bloody piece of paper right there at her front door made her feel fit to die. She hoped beyond hope for just a second it wasn’t what she thought it was. But she picked it up. And opened it. And read. 

Hey Radio Girl! 

She closed it again. Looked around, frantically. But saw no signs. She thought about going inside to read it, but then considered he could be in there. So she went to her car. She drove, quickly, to the first place she could think of- the police station- and sat in their parking lot to read it, only feet from what should be help if something happened, if somehow she was there. 

Though, after her run in with the Sawyers, and with Lefty, the presence of cops hardly made her feel better. She opened the letter, slowly, and three little metal rods fell out- in her lap. They were stained with old dry blood, and she flinched, immediately, and threw them across her car, into the passenger’s seat. She shook it out, in case anything else awful was contained down in there, before sighing, heavily, and opening up the letter, slowly starting to read. 

Hey Radio Girl!

Long time no see. It’s me- Chop Top- in case you didn’t know. I saw you became a big shot reporter- saw you on the news! So I thought I would give you a big big story! And It’s one I’m sure you’ve been wunderin’ about. I’m gonna tell you how I survived the big cave in. 

You killed my Great Grandma in front of me, then cut open my belly with her saw. I’m sure you rimember that. Then I fell down that long pipe, and the whole ceiling came down, like Atlas droppin’ the world. Then I had to crawl around in those pipes a minute- ‘cause they were so strong and didn’t get crushed. 

I dug around and found my family. You killed my Grandpa with that cave in. Your little piggy friend killed my baby brother with that saw he brought. Big brother was in so many pieces I couldn’t tell which of you bastards killed him. But that’s okay!! My twin brother lived okay. He’s still livin’ down there, unless y’all brot him up and locked him up in jail too. The two of us found your little piggy friend with his saws all busted up. And his back too. I think when you sabotogued our house, you got him crushed too! But lucky for me he weren’t too bad to eat. 

Stretch closed her eyes tight a moment, and tried to control her breathing. She had wondered, years ago, what happened to Lefty, but she hadn’t thought about it in a long time. They officially determined they had found Franklin a couple years ago, pieces of his skeleton woven into his wheelchair by the cave in, and the flashlight he brought with them still nearby. But they never found Lefty. She tried not to let her mind be overcome by the images of the bodies she saw them dig up. 

He didn’t react much, but when we found him he was still wigglin’. 

Stretch paused again, focusing all her energy on not picturing it, and losing slowly. 

He didn’t squeal like a good little piggy, but I stripped his legs of meat, and then took a few big healthy bites out of him- ripped open his neck and his chest all up. I think I made him cry. Got a few good pictures of him too. Gonna send those to your little friend. Also found these weird things in his knee when I made my snacks out of him. Figured they might help somebody find him. And we can’t have that!! If my family don’t get to be happy, neither does his, and neither does yours!! See you soon :) 

XOXO 

Chop Top 

Stretch processed, for a moment, what was laying in her lap. The horrible truth, there in front of her, the knowledge she never wanted to keep- the pins from Lefty’s knee, undeniable proof that Robert did find him- did tear him apart. Stretch hadn’t realized she was crying until the tears hit the letter. She was tempted to bring it in, walk right into that police station and show them what she had- get those bastards off their asses and shooting holes in that son of a bitch before sundown. But then a little more of that horrible letter processed in her mind. 

Gonna send those to your little friend. 

Sally. 

It’s about Sally. 

He’s gonna go to Sally. 

Stretch whipped out of that parking lot like a bat out of hell, flying down the road to Sally’s house faster than the law would allow. She was lucky no cops tried to stop her, because she wouldn’t’ve stopped, and whatever the result of that was would just have to happen. 

She parked like an asshole and outright ran to the door, slamming on it hard. She didn’t hear anything inside. She slammed on it again. She looked down to her feet, and saw a drop of blood on their doormat. She slammed so hard she could’ve broken a storm door. 

“Sally! Sally! Please-” The door flew open, and she found herself face to face with a gun. 

“Oh- Stretch-” Sally lowered it, tears still in her eyes. “Get in here! Get in here, now-” Stretch did as she was told. 

“Where’s Greg? Where’s the babies-”

“He- he’s got the babies-”

“Robert?”

“Greg- Greg’s got the babies he- they’re- they’re he’s gettin’ ‘em ready to go to his parent’s house-”

“I got a letter-” Stretch began. 

“Oh, God, he sent somethin’ to you too-”

“What did he send you?” Stretch asked. “What-”

“These pictures-” Sally said, tears streaming wildly down her face. “He sent me these awful pictures and- and I just-” She started to sob, harder, never letting go of the gun. “I- I wanted to just get rid of ‘em but- but the police might need ‘em as evidence. They’re just- they’re just so awful- I don’t want my babies to see it- I don’t want my babies to see him, Nita-” Stretch glanced at Sally’s kitchen counter, at the small group of slightly bloody polaroids. 

“I think there’s a fingerprint,” she said, walking towards them- “Or at least a partial- here- He left-” She looked up, just a little too far, and saw what Sally had seen. She felt nauseous, and she started to shake, overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of Texas Battleland- hearing that goddamn dinner bell the cook had rung when they called Grandpa to kill her and the roar of saws and Bringin’ in the Sheaves- smelling gas and cooked up bodies and LG’s cologne, and the whiskey on Lefty’s breath- all of it, just at once, overwhelming her every sense. 

Then, suddenly, she remembered the last body she ever witnessed the excavation crew dig up. The man with the bites along his neck, and his chest. The battered broken legs. The final expression of pain. Stretch couldn’t explain why she did what she did next. She should’ve looked away- God knows she should’ve just looked away. But she didn’t. She picked up those pictures, determined to face the truth, even if it hurt her. 

It was Lefty. The same as he looked the last time she saw him. The last time anybody saw him alive. Though, fairly clearly, he was dead. His clothes were in pieces, framing his bloodied, broken body, the same way they had done to LG. He was cut up, clearly, and had a mess of bruises along his face- maybe from the cave in. Hopefully from the cave in.  And bites- big fleshy chunks, taken out of his throat, and his chest. Toothy imprints on his shoulder. His face was blank- thank God, that of a dead man. Though his eyes were forever wide with surprise. And at least a spark of pain. Stretch had a horrible, horrible feeling he truly had been alive when that started. She put down the pictures. 

“You didn’t have to look at that-” Sally began. 

“I know,” she said. “I just… We should hold onto these, but put them somewhere them babies won’t see. It’s got his fingerprints on it, and… And I think… Seein’... Seein’ the wounds that… That took him. Could help. Could help with the investigation-”

“What do you mean?”

“I think-” Stretch took a breath and calmed herself. “If the coroners can see those pictures they’ll be able to identify his body. I… I think I saw him-” 

“If they were gonna find him those pins in his knee-”

“The same son of a bitch who sent you those photos sent me a letter,” Stretch said. “And he had those pins in it. He took ‘em out, on purpose, said as much in the letter- he didn’t want us to identify Lefty- he wanted Lefty’s family to suffer.” With each word her voice became more strained, until the last word was a hoarse bark- almost a yell. Sally paused, then, struggling to find any response to that. 

“Stretch… Me, Greg, and the kids are goin’ to his parents’ house. ‘Cause while he knows about me, and mine, I.. We don’t think he knows about Greg’s.” Stretch nodded. 

“That’s a good plan. I want y’all safe.”

“And I want you safe,” Sally said. “Come with us.” 

“Is- is Greg okay with that?” 

“Yes-” Greg said, coming into the room with the kids, holding their little suitcases. “He is.” 

They went to Greg’s parents’ house, all together. The kids were confused, and little Andy was old enough to be scared too. They just kept asking questions, all the way, which the adults tried to answer vaguely enough no to scare them, the whole car ride there. Fortunately, the kids loved their grandparents, and when they saw their Nana and Papaw, questions about their sudden departure faded away. 

“Oh, uh, Ma, this is Stretch- Sally’s friend. She.. She got somethin’ in the mail from that guy too.” 

Just like that, Greg’s parents were fine, welcoming Stretch in without another word. Sally asked if she could use their phone, and they agreed. She quickly called her parents, the Hubermans, the Willards, and the Waisains as well- warning them that Robert was at large. Stretch asked if she could do the same, suddenly fearful that the bastard might go after Mrs. McPeters. She called her, quick and desperate, trying to keep her voice steady and her eyes free of tears as she explained the situation. Mrs. McPeters promised to stay safe, and made Stretch promise the same. She hung up the phone and started to shake, uncontrollably. She felt Sally’s hands on her shoulders. 

“Nita?” she asked softly. “Vanita? Are you alright?” She tried to keep herself steady, and images of LG and Lefty clear from her mind. 

“If he does anything to that sweet little old lady I swear to God I’ll kill him,” she said, jaw starting to hurt from how hard she had clenched it. 

“I’ll help you hide the body,” Sally said, softly. 

They had dinner with Greg and his parents. Despite knowing that Sally and Greg were breaking down their marriage on good terms, somehow, she didn’t expect dinner to be so… amiable. There just wasn’t any anger between Sally and Greg- and his parents either didn’t care or didn’t know. There was a little awkwardness, due to the circumstances of their visit, but it was nothing that seemed too severe. The kids, in the very least, didn’t seem to notice. There was a tension, in all the adults, a fear of what may come, the urge to check every window, the slight flinch at every odd noise from outside. But everything seemed alright. 

For a time. 

Eventually, Sally and Greg were doing the dishes, while Stretch looked after the kids, trying to keep their minds off it all. She hoped she was doing a good job and not making them too nervous, as she glanced up at the windows and looked behind her in every reflective surface. Though, generally, they seemed alright. Andy was just a little more reserved than usual. There seemed to be something on his mind. It became more prominent, as the minutes dragged on, and he went from playing with his little cars unusually slowly, to just sitting there, holding them. 

“Hey, you alright?” she asked, lifting his little chin up. 

“Auntie Nita…” He started. “Were… Were those pictures real?” Stretch thought she was going to drop dead right then and there. 

“Pictures? What pictures?” 

“Today, in the mail, Momma got… Momma got some weird pictures.” No. No, God, please no. “She… She went to get Daddy, and Julie, and… And she put them up kind of high but I’m pretty tall so I… I looked at ‘em. A little.” Stretch still had hope, somehow, someway, that he hadn’t seen what she thought he saw. 

“What… What was in the pictures?” she asked. He paused. She figured he knew he saw something he wasn’t supposed to. “It’s okay. Just… I just want to know what was in the pictures.” 

“There….” Andy started to whisper. “There was a man. And he didn’t have any shirt on, and he was all torn up. And bloody.” Stretch closed her eyes tight, and felt a tear roll down her cheek. She hoped to God she never saw Robert Sawyer in person, because if she did she would end up in jail in a heartbeat. “Was it real?” Stretch had no idea what to tell him. What would help him, and what would fill his little head with nightmares, forever. She didn’t think it was her decision to make- she wasn’t his parent- she was just his Momma’s best friend. She held him tight, it was the only thing she could think to do. 

“Thank you for tellin’ me, baby.”

“Was it real?” he asked again. Then, barely a whisper. “Is the guy who took those pictures gonna do that to us?” 

“No, baby,” Stretch said, firmly. “No he’s not.”

“How do you know?” he asked, clearly scared. 

“Because if that guy ever came around you, or your sister I would-” Rip his fucking head off. “Take care of it. We’re not gonna let anything happen to you.” He nodded, and burrowed his little head against her chest. She held him, tight, till she heard Sally and Greg turn off the sink. “I’ll be right back, honey, I- I’ve gotta talk to your Momma a second-”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No- No, baby. You’re not in trouble.” She maneuvered the little boy off her lap, then stood up slowly, trying to keep herself calm. She went into the kitchen, where Sally and Greg were talking. They looked stressed. She was shaking, and it was hard to get a single sound to come out of her throat. 

“Sal?” she said, softly. “Greg- I- there’s somethin’-” she didn’t want to cry, she didn’t want to cry right then and it made her mad at herself, but the tears dripped down anyways. “Somethin’... There’s somethin’ I need to tell you about.”

“What happened?” Sally asked. 

“Are the kids okay?” Stretch took a deep breath. 

“Andy saw the pictures.” 

“What?” Greg asked. 

“No-” Sally began. 

“Which pictures? What-”

“The pictures of Lefty.” Sally looked on the verge of sobbing too, and Greg’s eyes went wide. “He- He seems to be taking it okay he just.. He kept askin’ if they were real and… and if the person who took ‘em was gonna hurt us. I told him he was safe but I- I don’t know what to tell him about those pictures.” It hung heavy, over the three of them, for a moment. 

“I…” Sally began. “I’ve… I’ve read up on this and… and things like this… Kids are… Kids are resilient,” she said. “So long as you support ‘em and… and don’t make ‘em feel scared, or ashamed.” Stretch was so glad, as she had been for years, that Sally was there and knew what to do. “I…” She took a deep breath. “I can talk to him. I’ll… I’ll take ‘em both aside and talk to ‘em for a minute.” 

“I can go with you,” Stretch offered. 

“Me too-” Greg added. 

“That’s alright,” Sally said. “I.. I’ve got this handled.” 

Stretch and Greg sat in the living room, alone. Greg’s parents had gone to sleep, and Sally was busy with the babies, trying to take care of all that mess. It was tense, at first, then Greg got up, and got himself a beer. 

“Do you want one?” he asked, softly. Stretch thought she might should stay sober, in case Sally needed anything, or in case Robert did come and she had to kill him properly this time, but she was also so on edge she could hardly think. 

“Yeah I’ll… I’ll just have one.” 

One became three. Though she still had her wits about her mostly. Greg drank about the same, and the two of them started to feel a little less distant from each other, and got to talking. 

“If I ever see that little pencil-neck son of a bitch I’ll kill him myself,” Greg hissed, waving the bottle around and talking quiet- not wanting the kids to hear. “Sally didn’t do a damn thing to him- I wish they’d just given that bastard the chair.” Stretch nodded, slowly. 

“Yeah I… I almost killed him,” she said, softly. “I wish I had… Wish I’d done it properly.” 

“Don’t blame yourself,” Greg said. “You… You ain’t done nothin’ wrong. You cut his stomach open with a chainsaw and kicked him off a cliff- The fact that he didn’t die that’s just… The devil’s work.” His moment of religious fervor, a bit uncharacteristic for Greg, had Stretch clench the bottle just a little bit harder. 

“Yeah,” she said softly, letting those horrible images pass through her mind without much attention. “By all means he… He should’ve died.” She couldn’t help but think about the letter. The way he survived. Stretch wished that was something she could’ve avoided, something that didn’t have to happen, but she had no other real options in that moment, and no way of knowing what would happen. She thought about Lefty, really thought about him, for the first time in a long time. It was his own damn fault he died like that. And he pulled her and LG down into it. But… No matter how mad she was at him then- how much she wanted to kick his ass too when she first got to the hospital and thought he might have made it- she couldn’t say he deserved the end he got. She couldn’t think of anybody who deserved all that. Well, maybe a few people. A few brothers, to be more precise. But not Lefty. 

Over the years of knowing Sally, and her family, her views on Lefty had become more complicated. The first year, after he died, she was furious with him, blamed him just as much for LG’s death as the Sawyers- was outright glad, sometimes, he was dead. But knowing Sally, and her parents- her father especially- had dimmed that anger some. They had loved that crazy, stubborn man. And she loved them. And a little of that love rubbed off on her. She wished she could’ve known him, really, when he was alive, maybe before he lost his mind completely. He sounded like a good man. 

Stretch realized, then she lost track of what Greg was saying. She looked over, at him, and her confusion sparked up again. He was a plenty nice guy. And he and Sally didn’t seem to have any real problem between them. They seemed happy. But somewhere, somehow, something was wrong. She had never seen anything like it. Well, almost never. 

She had gone on little dates with LG that were like that, she supposed. It was fun- goin’ out with him, to bars to go dancin’ or on late night coffee runs, or out to go hiking. She really enjoyed spending time with him, and she loved that man, she really did. But there was always something not quite right, about their little dates, about the idea of LG being her man. She wondered if that was what it was like for Sally. And she wondered if she had married LG if they would’ve ended up like Sally and Greg. 

Stretch looked over to Greg. He wasn’t unattractive, he looked fine- average. He wasn’t mean, or a drunk, or wrapped up in something bad. He was good with the kids. Had a fine job. Listened to Sally when she wanted to talk. Stretch wasn’t exactly attracted to him herself, but he seemed like a fine man for Sally. Greg seemed to be at the end of whatever tangent he had been going on. 

“I uh-” Stretch began, interrupting him just a little- “I… I wanted to say thank you.”

“Huh?”

“For bringin’ me along. For bringin’ me here. You didn’t have to-”

“Nah,” he said. “It’s nothin’. Sally loves you, and I love Sally. Simple as.” Stretch paused, for just a moment. Then, spurned on by alcohol and unconcerned by the consequences she asked. 

“It’s not my place at all but… I just… What happened with y’all?” she asked. “You just- you’ve always seemed happy, you know and…” Stretch started to think again she shouldn’t have brought it up. “I just don’t understand why you’d wanna split up when.. You love her so much.” Greg laughed, a little, and Stretch found herself rather surprised. 

“That’s why I wanna split up,” Greg said. “Because I love her.” 

“What?” 

“Look I just… I love Sally. I love that woman with all my heart, and I love our kids, and her parents and.. And all of it. But Sally… She don’t love me. She’s just not capable of it.”

“What?” Stretch went quickly to Sally’s defense. “Sally’s capable of love-” 

“Oh, I know that,” Greg said. “That ain’t what I’m sayin’. She loves our kids to death, and… I think she loves me like you love a good friend, but I… I know she don’t love me the way I love her.” Stretch tried to catch up. 

“Do you… Do you think there’s somebody else?” she asked. 

“Oh, I know there is. I’m surprised you don’t.” 

“She’s never told me anything like that-”

“Stretch, it’s you,” he said. 

“What?”

“It’s you, Stretch. It’s… Sally and I have been as happy as we could be, for a long time. But… I don’t think… She’s never… Stretch, I don’t think she’s ever had any real interest in men. At least none she’s mentioned to me. But… Every time you walk in the room she just lights up. You know? When things are goin’ wrong she goes to you- she wanted you around every important moment in our lives- you were there for the birth of both our children I just… I thought you two might already be together.” Stretch was beyond shocked. It was one hell of a day for all that to come out too. 

“And you- you were okay with that?” Stretch asked, in a hushed tone. 

“I already told you, Stretch,” he said. “I love Sally. And I want her to be loved. Even if it ain’t by me.” 

Stretch had a hell of a lot on her mind that night. So, as she tucked in the guest room of Greg’s parents’ house, she expected to have some kind of dream. For years after her run in with the Sawyers she had nightmares. They had lessened over the years, but occasionally, suddenly they got stirred up again. As she laid down, and tried to sleep that night, that was what she feared. 

She was at the radio station again. In her old DJ booth. It was nighttime. And nobody else was there. She was tense. Deathly tense. She thought she knew what would happened next. Was fairly confident she remembered exactly what happened next. She heard chattering, through the walls. Someone was talking in the lobby. She knew someone was talking in the lobby. She didn’t want it to go on longer than it had to. So she stood up, with all the confidence she could muster and walked that way. 

What she saw there still surprised her. 

There was a massive dinner table- laid out there instead of the couch, and around it were about a dozen people she recognized immediately. The Sawyers were there- of course- all of them- even her brain’s best conjuration of that damn hitchhiker- but among them were the Hardestys- Sally and Andy and Julie and Franklin and Lefty- and though Stretch wasn’t sure of the accuracy of their faces, her mind told her the other three at the table were Jerry, and Kirk, and Pam. They were eating, together, talking like nothing was wrong, joking with each other, passing around what looked like normal meat like some kind of macabre Thanksgiving. The old man Sawyer- the cook- Drayton- was the first to notice her. 

“Oh. Well. Look who decided to come out of her room,” he said, in that annoying, jokey way her uncle used to say the same damn line, completely unconcerned by the way his jaw was hanging half off his face or the shrapnel in his chest. 

“What?” she asked, unable to drag her eyes away from it. 

“We were wonderin’ when you were gonna come join us,” Lefty spoke up. “There’s still plenty to go around, of course. I didn’t let the boys finish off the dinner rolls without you.” He looked happy. Sounded happy. But his clothes were wet with blood and his face was bruised to hell. She could see a bite mark peeking out from his shirt collar. 

“This ain’t right. None of this is right,” she said, taking a step towards it all anyways- against her right mind and her will. 

“We saved a seat for you, girl!” said Robert. The son of a bitch was smiling, sitting in the chair next to Sally- like he had any right to be anywhere close to her. 

“You…” She began. “You-” She felt a hand on her shoulder- a big, wet hand. Then she heard a harsh whisper in her ear. 

“Darlin’, I think you need to wake up.” 

Stretch bolted right up, sitting up like she was awake. Then, in the corner of her eye, she saw a man standing by the window of the bedroom she was in. And she screamed. In a heartbeat, everybody else was there, Greg’s father weiling a double barrel shotgun wildly. The man ran- of course- when she screamed. 

“What happened? What was that?”

“There was somebody- I woke up all of a sudden and there was somebody-”

“Do you think you just had a nightmare, dear?” asked Greg’s mother. 

“No-” Stretch said. “I don’t- I-”

“Let’s go look,” Greg said, firmly. Greg and his dad ran outside, while Sally and Stretch stayed in with the kids, and Greg’s mom. Stretch was pretty confident she was the most prepared to beat the shit out of Robert if he ever came back, but she also refused to leave those babies alone for even a minute. She had seen what the Sawyers did to a trained man who brought three damn chainsaws. She wasn’t confident Greg and his father would be able to stop him either. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Andy asked, softly. Stretch wasn’t sure what to say. 

“We’ve gotta stay down right now, and be quiet,” Sally said, softly. 

“Is it him?” Andy asked. “Is it the man who sent the pictures?” Sally held her little boy a little tighter. 

“We don’t know. We’ve just got to be careful right now. Your Daddy, and Papaw are checkin’ it out right now, just to be sure.” 

Suddenly, they heard a scream. Stretch wrapped her arms around Sally and those kids tight, ready for a fight. She heard the blast of the shotgun. Once. Then everything was deathly quiet. There was shuffling, at the front door, someone coming in. She tensed up, and slipped away from them, grabbing Andy’s little aluminum baseball bat and holding it tight in her hands, standing at the door, ready to bash the fucker’s head in if he came through. 

“Sally-” Greg said, opening the door and almost getting hit in his already bleeding face for it. “We- we got him!” 

Stretch found out what happened that night in pieces, as the cops finally showed up. 

It was him. Robert Sawyer. Chop Top. He had broken out of prison, left behind the letters, and the pictures, and gone on a killing spree. They weren’t his first targets. His first kills were completely random, strangers he met along the way whose things he wanted, or someone he just thought might taste good. Then, he went after a couple of cops, and their families. Determined to have himself a ‘pig roast’ it seemed. And finally, he came knocking at the wrong door. He had cased the house, with few problems. Sneaky as he was capable of being. But then, for some reason, Stretch woke up. 

She was never as spiritual as some people- not even close to as spiritual as Sally had become, as she aged. But it was hard to find any other explanation for what happened that night. And besides, it wasn’t the first time LG had saved her. She thanked him, for watching out for her again, and hoped wherever he was up there he could hear it. 

Then, of course, Greg and his father went out looking. Just to check. Chop Top slashed Greg across the face, and Greg’s father shot him with a double barrel shotgun. It didn’t kill him, though it should’ve- that fucker was like a roach. But he couldn’t come after them when he couldn’t walk from the pain, and he was stuck in the yard until the cops finally arrived. 

He went back to prison, and they went back to their lives. Things were different. But in many ways, things were the same. 

It was the summer of 1999. Thirteen years after Stretch’s run in with the Sawyers. Twice that for Sally. Things were looking up. Sally and Greg did divorce. Stretch thought about what Greg told her, a few days after that night, and for years proceeding that. But nothing came of it. Stretch stayed single. She had a career to focus on, of course. And, admittedly, she was utterly uninterested in men. 

She was around throughout the kids’ childhood. They called her Auntie Nita, or Auntie Stretch. She was there for Sally throughout the divorce. And she was there when the Hardestys had a small, informal funeral for Lefty when his body was finally, actually laid to rest- identified by those nasty photos left on Sally’s doorstep. And she was there when Sally’s father was laid to rest with his brother and his son. She was just always there. That was where she wanted to be. 

Sally and Stretch sat outside, watching the kids kick a ball around, drinking sweet tea on the porch. Sally paused, thoughtfully. 

“Did you ever want kids of your own, Nita?” she asked. 

“Huh?” Stretch nearly spat out her tea. “What’s got you askin’ that?” 

“You just… You’ve always been so good with Andy and Julie. But… You never had kids of your own. Or a husband, either. I mean, you’ve still got time, you’re only, what, forty-two?” 

“Well, I guess-”

“And you’re very beautiful,” Sally said. Stretch felt her cheeks warm up, just a little. “Anybody’d be lucky to have you.” 

“Oh, is that so?” 

“Of course,” Sally said. “You’re… I’ve… I’ve always admired you. You’re strong, and clever, and… Gorgeous.” Sally glanced just a split second at her lips- Stretch knew damn well she did. “Sorry- I- uh, I don’t mean it like that, of course,” Sally said, looking away. 

“That’s too bad,” Stretch said softly. 

“Huh?” 

“I wish you did,” she said. Sally was looking at her like she was seeing her for the first time. “Mean it.. Like that.” They leaned towards each other, almost subconsciously, almost like magnets. And briefly, but warmly, they kissed. 

In that moment it felt like everything just clicked right into place. It was a good feeling. A really, truly good feeling. They both smiled, enjoying just a moment of being in each other’s warmth. Then, leaning against one another, they looked back to their kids. 

The day she met the Sawyers had changed her life forever. In a lot of ways, for the worse. But as she sat there on that porch, sipping her sweet tea, subtly holding’ Sally’s hand, she found she could breath easy, knowing she had finally made a life that she was happy with.

[eretzyisrael]

BY: KAREN BEKKER

In complete contravention of journalistic standards, CNN continues to advocate for US sanctions on Israel in a televised segment by Katie Polglase that aired on The Amanpour Hour on July 13 and in a nearly 4000-word written article posted online. (“The US held off sanctioning this Israeli army unit despite evidence of abuses. Now its forces are shaping the fight in Gaza,” July 13, 2024. The byline of the written article said that it was “by CNN’s International Investigations team,” but Polglase is listed as the investigative reporter.) Moreover, the segment that aired included a baseless claim that echoes the medieval stereotype of Jewish bloodlust.

The Society for Professional Journalists’ Code of Ethics states that advocacy and commentary should be labelled. Neither the online article nor the segment that aired are labelled as commentary, and the segment appears to be a news report. Yet, it’s obvious in both that an agenda is being pursued.

The televised segment was ostensibly about Israel, yet it included seven references to supposed U.S. inaction:

Katie Polglase: This is the Netzah Yehuda battalion, an Israeli army unit showcasing their military might in a promotional personal training video. But the unit has a decades-long history of abusing Palestinians in the West Bank. And the Americans know it. A state department investigation found they had committed gross human rights violations but this finding never led to U.S. sanctions. Even media reports of possible sanctions outraged Israel…. Polglase: So despite their track record, the Netzah Yehuda battalion is still receiving American arms and is now operating in Gaza…. Charles Blaha, Former U.S. State Department Official: That is very bad news. That shows first of all, that Israel, that the government of Israel has no intention of holding the Netzah Yehuda battalion accountable. Polglase: He says the U.S. is not following their own laws by sending them weapons. Blaha: Of course, we treat Israel differently and that really undermines our human rights advocacy and the rest of the world. The law that Congress passed and our taxpayer-funded assistance is going to Israeli units that have committed gross violations of human rights. Polglase: This assistance, despite the growing evidence of abuse. CNN exclusively obtained the names of three more Israeli units found by U.S. officials to have committed gross human rights violations prior to October 7th. All are still operating, including the Yamam, seen here in Gaza in an operation that rescued four Israeli hostages, but left nearly 300 Palestinians dead, according to local health authorities. The Israeli military dispute that the toll was so high. As the death and destruction mounts, it is U.S. weaponry supporting these units, begging the question for how much longer will Israel’s greatest ally choose to turn a blind eye.

(Emphasis added.)

The segment seems to be less about Israel and more about U.S. support for Israel. And Polglase does not present anyone advocating the contrary point of view, who might point out, for example, that Israel is fighting a defensive and existential war, one that it did not start and did not want, and it needs the support of its allies now. The segment crosses the line from journalism into advocacy.

But that’s not the only problem with the televised report. Polglase relies on an anonymous source and presents his opinions and speculation with no pushback. The anonymous soldier tells Polglase, “There were some kids throwing rocks in a small village. That normally isn’t a big deal. But the company commander decided, let’s throw them a party. So they took the emergency response team and 20 soldiers. They walk door to door, throwing flash-bangs and gas grenades into people’s homes as a punishment for the kids throwing rocks.” 

“Isn’t a big deal,” seems an odd way to describe the large stones frequently thrown at both soldiers and civilians in the West Bank, as they have the potential to be lethal – unlike the stun grenades that the soldier seems to think are, in fact, a big deal.

Polglase then prompts him with a leading question, “Collective punishment?” He obliges her, “Yes. Collective punishment.” This is not the first time we’ve seen Polglase use this type of leading question to elicit a response to condemn Israel. But “collective punishment” is a defined term in international law, and this is not what the term means. Nor does either Polglase or her anonymous source know whether the commander had other reasons for his decision to which the low-level soldier was not privy.

Polglase then admits that CNN has used facial recognition technology to essentially spy on an IDF officer, Lieutenant Colonel Nitai Okashi. She describes an incident that happened under his command in ominous terms, complete with grim background music to set the tone – but on close inspection, she hasn’t revealed anything that Okashi himself did wrong. By Polglase’s own account two Palestinian men were “arrested for assisting the killer of two … Netzah Yehuda soldiers.” The two were beaten by the soldiers on the way to the police station. Obviously this should never have happened, and according Polglase, the soldiers involved received jail time. But she doesn’t even claim that Okashi was present when the incident occurred. Even more disturbingly, in the written article online, Polglase doesn’t even mention the reason the two Palestinian men were arrested.

[feminerds]

April 2024 (Iodine)

Getting a lil bit tired of being treated like a mug for trying to remain open hearted. Do people not imagine what tenacity and discipline is required to keep a song in your heart. in. this. world?!

Listening on Hecate - Hope - Vampire Weekend.

Weather Forecast: Cloudy with a chance of cynicism

Stay Tender

[amazinglyegg]

JAY! JAY! JAY! JAY!

The most basic survivor with the most basic story! Very long ramble about him below the cut (sorry)

Physical appearance

Short, skinny, pale (malnourished vibes)

Part way through his story he loses his eyes from a grenade and gets synth eyes as prosthetics

Has scars all over his body from that incident, as well as the average amount of scars for a wastelander

Always wears long sleeves, usually a white tshirt

Jean jacket over top with some silly little patches!!!

I am terrible at clothes so idk what pants he wears. Vaguely grey probably

Other outfits you'll see him in are any random clothes he needs when going undercover in the railroad (he keeps an outfit in his bag for synths still in their old uniform!) and rarely the Brotherhood flight suit when it's laundry day

Backpack

Big ol' hiking backpack he scavenged in sanctuary, also ties his sleeping bag on the bottom

Food, water, and caps are necessary

Sketchbook and pencil to keep him busy while having to sit around and wait, loves sketching and journalling

Teddy bear! Lovingly named Mr. Cuddlesworth, keeps him tucked away so nothing bad happens to him

Fancy Lads for any synths he comes across, also (not in the picture) a blank box filled with chems for bribing his way out of problems with raiders and the like

Uses his baseball bat, especially before he got comfortable with guns, but occasionally uses Rightous Authority and a combat shotgun

Keeps an extra knife on hand as well as pepper spray and a rape whistle, both of which he kept on his body since pre-war

Stats!

Physically weak but very perceptive - not very high charisma but his perception usually helps him along

High perception means he has very sensetive ears, which can both be useful and a problem (prone to sensory overload!)

His perks aren't based on his SPECIAL at all

Medic - he was trained as a scribe in the Brotherhood of Steel, much more comfortable healing than fighting

Vans - He's practically reliant on his pipboy to keep track of all his quests! It has a detailed map and GPS that can even give directions out loud

Rooted - He's a freeze response type of guy. 100% deer in the headlight vibes

Personality

He's a big ol' scaredy cat!

Trauma from the vault has left him absolutely terrified of enclosed spaces, the dark, and radroaches. Also dislikes loud sounds, the cold, alcohol, and chems

He likes touch and always gives out hugs and handshakes! He also likes the sun (and light), nature, sweets, sleeping, being non-violent, and brahmin

He's a crybaby and will cry at every little thing. Just give him 15 minutes and he'll be fine

He's very naive and trusting, especially starting out. He just blindly goes along with what anyone says, and that becomes an extreme as he tries to cope with how much the world changed

Everything's in ruins now? Okay. There's cows with two heads? Okay. You're going to rob me and steal all my money? Okay... wait.

Always tries to see the best in people and things, and will much rather get shot than risk shooting someone who may not be a danger to him (hey, maybe they're only aiming a gun at him because they misunderstand! We can talk things out!)

Very rarely gets angry or loses his cool - tends to just cry instead. Not too great in the wasteland!

He doesn't like kids (and didn't like Shaun, which he feels guilty about...) despite being so childish and friendly. He gets along with them great! He just... doesn't like them...

Story

Jay has two storylines of sorts, one of my first playthrough and one of my second playthrough that diverges a bit

My first playthrough is a Railroad playthrough

Jay is Shaun's older brother. Their father was a veteran and Sanctuary was a small neighborhood specifically advertised as PTSD/veteran friendly (AKA HOA had a field day with banning fireworks and loud parties, and didn't bother with much else...) - Codsworth was also part of a pack for veterans!

Jay gets some basic survival skills from Preston and the group (after becoming severely ill due to a 200yr old immune system, but whatever) and leaves with Codsworth to Diamond City

He meets Nick and joins the Railroad quickly after! However Codsworth gets pretty beaten up in Vault 114 and after staying with Arturo for a while Jay convinces him to go to Sanctuary where it's safe

At some point Jay runs off on his own to try and collect the last few of Winter's holotapes, which is where he gets cornered by gunners in Quincy and throws a grenade which bounces off the wall and back near his own feet

He was mostly blind and severely injured, and staggers his way back to Railroad HQ (thanks to his high perception + VANS to guide him) where he gets taken to Doctor Amari and gets his synth eyes

He infiltrates the Institute and befriends X6, and also finds out he's a synth after reading a terminal he was told very sternly not to look into

In the same way Shaun is sort of a test for child synths, Jay is a test for teenage synths, as well as to study personality and emotions, and how a synth would grow if they believed to be human

Barely anyone knows this, save for Father and maybe a few other scientists, so Jay keeps it a secret until the Railroad is attacking the place, where he tells Father on his deathbed that he knows the truth

Father tells him that they're not real brothers and he feels nothing for him, and Jay responds by telling Father that he loves him and that their parents would be proud of him before mercy shooting him in the head

He adopts synth Shaun and gets adopted by Nick, making a family of entirely robots (including Codsworth!)

Far Harbor comes after this and stuff happens idk this is getting very long, but DiMA is his uncle!!

The second playthrough, which is forever unfinished, is a Brotherhood playthrough, follows all the main plotpoints above with a few changed details

Instead of immediately leaving to Diamond City after Call to Arms, he and Codsworth stay with Danse and his group with the promise of food, shelter, and in-depth survival and weapon training (he's still relying on his baseball bat at this point despite his horrible strength stat)

Codsworth eventually goes back to Sanctuary (all this fighting stresses him out) and Jay does still find the Railroad and go along with them, but he spends a majority of his time on the Prydwen learning everything he needs to know

Jay's still supportive of synths but is less active in the Railroad, and he finds out he's a synth around a week or two before the events of Blind Betrayal

After Blind Betrayal Jay leaves the Brotherhood and goes for a Minutemen and Railroad ending, where the two factions sort of combine, and a lot of settlers are either rescued synths or helping the Railroad in some way

Danse is also in the Minutemen! Although he's mostly unaware of how involved in the Railroad they are - Jay is trying to ease him into it slowly but it's taking a WHILE to unlearn all that Brotherhood propaganda!

Jay isn't as active in the Railroad in this playthrough, and he's more critical of their ways of doing things. He's a bit more distant with Nick (as Danse sort of takes the roll of surrogate father) but generally the vibes are the same

These two stories somehow both exist equally in my head, so I guess they're both "canon"!

Fun facts!

Jay is a genre of person. Whenever there's an RPG and I can't tell if I should make an OC or pretend to be myself, I make Jay! He also exists in Stardew Valley!

Jay is my middle name, but not on purpose. While getting my name changed my mom offered to include Jay as a middle name (unrelated to my OCs) and I went along with it. Jay had already existed for a while before this!

Jay's original design included a hard hat. I decided it wasn't for him.

Jay disliked Codsworth and Shaun before the war. He was going through an angsty phase and was a bit jealous of not being the only child anymore. He feels very guilty about it now

He can't bring himself to go back to Sanctuary anymore so most of the Minutemen's work is done at the Castle

During The Lost Patrol he finds himself alone at the Revere Satellite Array and trades a bunch of food, water, and caps with the Super Mutants in exchange for Scribe Faris' holotags (and his life). Danse is not happy about this

Despite the fact I never travelled with Curie or Strong in my playthroughs, he's friends with them! He thinks they're pretty chill

The first person he tells about being a Synth is X6, and he asks whether he knew. X6 had no idea.

He doesn't tell Nick for a looong time because of his reaction when DiMA asks if he's a synth. He asks DiMA for advice after the events of Far Harbor before he tells Nick.

[TRIGGER WARNING beyond this point for claustrophobia, suffocation, roaches, PTSD, and suicide] He spent several hours stuck inside the vault, barely able to move or breathe due to having to dethaw in an already cold room. His cryopod couldn't open from the inside and he was slowly suffocating as the seals were air-tight. He had to claw his way through the cushioning to get to some wires that, when broken, finally released the doors.

He was still too weak and pained to move, and the radroaches started swarming him once they sensed fresh meat. They didn't do much damage to him but it was still very traumatizing

The first thing he did as soon as he got out of that room was try and shoot himself with the 10mm. The safety was on and he didn't know how to switch it off, so he gave up

Attempted suicide again a few days later after the power armor from the Museum of Freedom reminded him of the cryo pod and triggered a nasty flashback (plus the general stress of everything), but gets stopped by Codsworth. After retelling this to Captain Cade he finds out that it's not a "normal panic attack" and that he does in fact have PTSD, and that he's not allowed in power armor until he gets his symptoms under control.

[mysticstarlightduck]

OC Bag Game!

Thanks for the tag, @kaylinalexanderbooks (here)!

Rules: Name five things your OC would have in a backpack or any bag at school.

I'll go with some of the cast from Supernova Initiative and Enchanted Illusions.

(Since my characters live in a either fantasy or sci-fi world and are not school-aged, Imma just go with the contents of their regular bags to make this easier)

(Supernova Initiative)

Jack Tithus

Mint bubblegum

Ammo and chargers for his guns

A miniature first aid pack/painkillers

A holo-picture of him and Cassie

Sweet and crunchy energy bars

A to-go bottle of chocolate milk

Cassie Tithus

Extra parts for her projects and robots

Scrunchies for her hair + hair dye packets

A pocket knife/box cutter

An old, skrunkly plushie

An extra tablet

Inflatable neck pillow

Aleks Keldora

The "face-changer" (his high tech mask that can turn him into anyone's lookalike)

Dozens of stolen IDs, documents and government papers

A handmade drawing of his mothers

Tiny explosives and big explosives

A bottle of nail polish

Vesper Foxx

Self-repair kit for her cyborg implants

A bunch of extra parts in case she needs to replace something

The bracelet her little sister gave her for her birthday

Knives. So many knives. And guns. Don't forget the guns, and poison gas grenades.

A list of the names of each member of the mercenary crew she is hunting down

Artemis Zreeth

Leather gloves and old goggles

Cheesy snacks

His father's old scarf

Star-dust cigarettes

Eyeliner

A foldable speeder bike that becomes a tiny disk when deactivated

Pax Stellaryn

Void Program study material

Crumpled notes, messy journals and glitter pens

His diary

A picture of his cat riding a floating skateboard (don't ask lol)

Sour candy, and lollipops

Ethean Mirannir

Extra uniform

Pilot gear and an emergency kit for his spaceship

A holo-picture of his whole family and him during his graduation day seven year ago

Neon markers and a drawing sketchbook

Fidget toy for anxiety relief

(Enchanted Illusions)

Augustus Grimmure

Bloodstained handkerchief

A small dagger

Necromancy tome of spells and his journal

Recipe for instant magical coffee

An engagement ring he has yet to give Harriet

A bag of cookies from his grandma

Harriet Sharppe

Dainty silk gloves

Extra painkillers in case her cousin forgets

Pocket knife

The latest book she is reading

Lip balm

Chocolate bar

Agatha Greenwoods

Her overflowing journal, containing clues of the case she's trying to solve

A crumpled but well loved picture of her father

Sleep medicine

Switchblade

An extra change of clothes

Cailean Telkerly

His late brother's broken pocketwatch

Worn out brass knuckles and a pocket pistol

Multiple kinds of currency, all stolen

A bottle of cologne

Crumpled candy papers

Falsified documents for any given occasion

Sam Delaways

Snacks and extra food

A dusty old jacket

Very little spare change/copper coins, on good days

A bunch of useless knickknacks he proudly collects

His brothers' plushies when they don't want to carry them

Evangeline Daemitya

Her drawing sketchbook and a travel case for her pens and pencils

A locket with a picture of her and her father

Her intricate coinpurse

An enchanted rapier that becomes a tiny ring when not being used

Poison bottles and a botany guide

Tagging: @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab, @little-peril-stories

@the-ellia-west, @winterandwords, @cowboybrunch, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites

@leave-her-a-tome, @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

[shepherds-of-haven]

reporting in to send the ask for what each of the shepherds carry in their packs 🫡 blade gets tapped for a what’s in my purse vlog and the video is just a knife. and a knife. and a knife. and a knife—

Thank you for your service 🫡

Out in the field, if you were to grab a pack and rummage through it, only to find it wasn't yours, you'd find the following (excludes the standard field kit for Shepherd officers, which includes a bedroll, a tent/tarp, blanket, canteen, soap, toiletries, various changes of clothes, equipment to care for horses/ahfuri, mess kit with eating utensils and tin plates and etc., and the obvious standards like money and etc.):

Blade: a sturdy, rigorously-organized, plain and utilitarian pack containing: fire-starting tools (flint, steel, and tinder). utility/hunting knife (for things like cutting rope, skinning deer and fish, etc). dagger (for emergencies. in case the ones he keeps on his person are taken away from him). small portable writing set (comes with a flat, collapsible tablet that serves as a writing desk, ink, parchment, and pen) for composing letters/orders/messages to send home. emergency first aid (minimalist: basically consists of a bottle of alcohol for sterilization, needle and medical thread for stitches, and some clean bandages). dried meat or jerky, hardtack biscuits (emergency rations). small cooking pot. whetstone (for sharpening his weapons). fishing hook and twine. hawking whistle. maps. rope. various small utility tools.

Trouble: a battered, worn and stained rucksack containing: fire-starting tools. charch and matches. various snacks and extra rations (trail mix, etc.). cubes of fat and bullion or various seasonings for meals. small cooking pot. extra ammunition (a lot of it). tools to maintain and clean his firearms. utility/hunting knife. rain-proof cover (can be used for himself or his rifle). extra gloves and socks. whatever novel he's currently reading. explosives (😳), various tools to create distractions (smoke grenades, etc.). signaling mirror. compass. timepiece. dice. playing cards. insect repellent salve. maybe fishing hook and twine if he expects to be "roughing" it for a long time! spyglass.

Tallys: a clean, well-maintained leather bag with Elvish adornments containing: large kit containing several different vials of various elixirs, tinctures, oils, and extracts (serve different purposes like reviving the unconscious, numbing pain, putting someone to sleep, etc.) as well as various different powders and dried herbs (some are poisonous, as Chase had the misfortune of discovering when he snooped too much); teabags; map; Elvish animal whistle (used for various purposes: as an animal or bird lure, for communicating while hunting or in camouflage, as a distraction); tifin (small Elvish flute) if she thinks she's going to be away for a really long time; Elvish hunting knife; kit of wax, resin, twine, and whittling knife to maintain her bow and arrows; first aid kit; woven Elvish mat (often used for meditation and dawn prayer rites, but can be used just for sitting more comfortably on things, as a lap blanket, or even as a scarf/shawl for extra warmth); small empty containers for foraging and protecting things like berries, mushrooms, leaves, etc.; Elvish field guide describing the various uses of flora and local plant matter; Elvish calendar and daily book of proverbs to keep track of the days (also doubles as a brief journal); pen; fire-starting kit.

Shery: Shery doesn't actually embark on missions into the field and actually has never left Haven (unless you're reading her latest short story on Patreon, lol), so the contents of her pack are at the moment hypothetical! Because of her inexperience, I'd guess that she'd both err on extreme overcaution and overpacking and also make some impractical choices, like bringing too many books, outfits for all kinds of weather, a parasol, a sewing kit, a little stuffed animal for good luck, a teapot, a nail file, an extra blanket and a fluffy pillow, and things like that! But she'd also have sensible choices, too, just way too many of them!

Riel: when he goes on business trips he typically has a whole trunk of things with him LOL but if forced to come along on a field mission, my guess would be that he'd mostly bring different changes of clothes, his hygiene and toiletries kit (complete with hair pomade, cologne, and fresh handkerchiefs), and then would just assume/rely on gold getting him whatever else he needed 😂😂 Actually he'd also certainly pack a valise with whatever current documents or contracts he's been working on, plenty of stationary and ink, a notepad for taking notes, a foldable writing desk, books, and whatever proof he'd need of being (at that time) Master of Merchants Guild, like his official stamps and wax seals and whatnot. Basically whatever he'd need for doing work on the road! 😂 Oh, he'd also pack a gun. Just in case!

Chase: a deceptively-slim, innocuous rucksack that is surprisingly hard to open if you're not familiar with it, containing: several lockpick sets. a bottle of alcohol to bribe informants with (or light a fire, sanitize a wound, what have you). rope. file. utility knife. whetstone. extra ammunition. fire-starting kit. tools to maintain his firearms. charch. playing cards. whatever book he's currently struggling through as homework. various shiny trinkets that can be traded, bargained, bribed, or used as a distraction. devices used as distractions (flashbags, smoke grenades, low-level explosives). grooming kit with comb, pomade, cologne, mirror, etc. scarf (can be used as a fashion accessory, mask to obscure lower half of face, or, in a pinch, as a method of strangling someone 🙂). wire (don't ask). mysterious vials (could be poison, could be acid to burn through locks). different accessories, clothes, and wig for different disguises. special gripped shoes for climbing and capering. small grappling hook. net/bolas (typically used to trip opponents up or rig traps). recently-acquired reed harp (harmonica) that he uses to amuse/torture teammates with.

Red: a slim, casually-packed, strangely collegiate bag (he generally travels light because he cheats and conjures most of what he needs as he needs it), containing: whatever book he's currently reading. field journal and writing implements. foldable writing desk. scroll container to protect any precious documents or papers he might come across. various Mage-y implements like chalk, lyme, certain compounds that help with arcane magic and drawing runes. measuring ruler. various charged lodestones and keystones. maps. compass. grooming kit for his endless hair needs 😳 (pomade, comb, mirror, etc.). multi-use mini game board (you can play various games on it like Elements, checkers, sui, etc.). small containers for collecting specimens. travel lantern (for exploring ruins without having to deal with a guttering torch flame). insect repellant salve. salve for burns and aches. magnifying glass. small flat cushion for sitting/laying on if the ground is extremely lumpy.

Ayla: a carelessly battered, fraying rucksack with small carved totems dangling from it, containing: backup canteens of water (emergency only). collapsible trowel to dig holes (generally to dig up roots, tubers, or to find water). maps. compass. sundial. lots and lots of rations (the majority of her pack will contain non-perishable food). sewing kit (doubles both as first aid and for emergency repairs to clothes). colored twine (primarily used to mark trails so you don't get lost, demarcate certain things you'll need to find again later, and also doubles as a Jalis hand-game to play with another person when bored). playing cards. dice. rope. hunting/utility knife. lockpick set. sun lotion (to protect the skin). extra tarp (to erect emergency lean-to/rain shelter/shade; doubles as emergency extra blanket). file. hairties for her braid. jade stone from her parents. slingshot/leather thong to hurl rocks with (this is a deadly weapon in her hands). signaling mirror. survival whistle. small torch. fire-starting kit. whittling knife for when she's bored and wants to carve things into her staff or just out of hunks of wood. field guide telling her what's safe to eat and what's not. jalis rattle (sort of like maracas: it's a small wooden cylinder filled with dry rice) in case she's in the mood to provide a rhythm to someone else's music.

Briony: a fat, cheerful pack with many charms and souvenirs dangling from every strap, containing: a field journal/sketchbook full of sketches, drawing/writing implements. a hairbrush. haphazard grooming case (eyelash curler, a bit of blush, no mirror). fingerless gloves. her latest book. extra hair ties/hair ribbons. oils and rags to maintain her armor. whetstone. fire-starter kit. maps and compass. some snacks, but typically she forgets about them. fishing hook and twine. headscarf to conceal her hair if need be. field encyclopedia/traveler's guide (more about various landmarks and places of interest she might see than survivalist tips). first-aid kit (used more than most to deal with small scrapes and wounds). hunting/utility knife. spare dagger. stargazing map. spyglass. pouch full of pretty rocks or dried flowers she picks up along the way. spellbook full of spells she's learning/practicing along the way.

Lavinet: an expensive but practical and well-made leather saddlebag containing: compact maquillage and grooming case (hairbrush, lipstick, mirror, perfume, hair conditioner, etc.). extra riding gloves. extra handkerchiefs. whetstone, tools to maintain her lance and sword. tools to maintain her saddlery. horse treats. fur throw that doubles as small extra blanket, extra warmth as a shawl, or as a cushion to sit on. extra pair of riding boots in case one set fails. Naveen signet ring and official accoutrements. writing set, desk, and seal. current book. hat to shade her head from the sun. sewing kit and patches of fabric to repair clothes. first aid manual. wax (has various uses, but she primarily uses it to plug her ears if she absolutely needs to). fire-starting kit. chainmail that can be concealed under the clothes. stiletto knife. corset (you never know, darling!)

Halek: an ordinary, standard pack containing: tools for weapons maintenance (for his spear). small compact bow and quiver. hunting/utility knife. exorcist dagger. recipe book and culinary guide regarding exotic ingredients or places of interest. various ingredients he picks up in towns or foraging in the wild. cooking oil, seasonings and spices, emergency salt, cubes of fat and bullion and stock, dried herbs, dried meat and cheese, flour. water-proof, heavy cloak for winter travel (also doubles as an extra blanket, as the standard-issue one might be too short for him). collar to suppress his blood-rage if need be. fire-starting kit. elk treats. small bell to tie to his elk in case he needs to. twine. grappling hook and rope. maps and compass. herbal teas. fishing hook. animal bait and snares. bear repellant. cooking pot and small frying pan. sand (used to scrub pots and pans when water is scarce or frozen). signal whistle. special snow boots if traveling through snow.

[tropiyas]

if you're coming from the grenade launch post i also have it on youtube, with animator journals during my month i spent working on it, if you're interested!

also yes I know CE doesn't have a battle rifle 😭 I needed a medium-long range shooter and the AR wasn't going to cut it... point out Halo 5 pistol while you're at it

[blockout 1] - [blockout 2] - [final blockout, effects 1] - [effects 2, self crit]