#Cattle Fencing Supplies
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Supporting Your Plants for Cheap
This is my fifth post in a series I'll be making on how to increase biodiversity on a budget! I’m not an expert--just an enthusiast--but I hope something you find here helps!
Once you start gardening, you’ll find a lot of things go into it, and it can be a bit daunting to think about--especially if you’re trying to keep things low-cost. Fortunately, it doesn’t have to be as hard--or as expensive--as it initially appears.
Composting
There’s several different ways to compost, any of which are helpful indirecting food waste and nutrients out of landfills and into your soil--which in and of itself can help increase biodiversity by making the space more livable for microorganisms and insects, which then cycles around to the rest of the habitat.
The classic one you see is hot composting. Most of the time, when I see hot composting set ups online, or hear people talking about them, it’s like listening to a wizard cast an intricate spell and prattle on about ratios and temperatures and special ingredients while standing over a detailed self-built setup made of the finest wood money can buy. Fortunately, it doesn’t have to be complicated. First off, there’s lots of ways to make compost bins--some can be more expensive than others, but there’s definitely options asides from buying pre-made tumblers or getting an engineering degree. I’ve seen people use metal trash cans dug into the ground, make compost pile setups out of old pallets, or just pile stuff up and leave it. While using different ratios of certain items can help them decompose faster, it’s ultimately not something you need to worry about a lot. If it can break down, it’ll break down--it just might take awhile. Composting this way can also help provide habitat--some insects like bumblebees have been known to make nests in compost heaps. In addition, it provides a robust ecosystem for decomposers like worms and other organisms, and bats and birds will be attracted to open-top piles to eat flying bugs that live off the compost. Amphibians enjoy them for humidity, warmth, and feasting on insects. Do note that sometimes snakes may also rest in and lay eggs in compost heaps, so be careful when turning them.
Do note, though, that if your compost pile looks like that you're getting roaches and rats and raccoons out of your goddamn mind. Bury the food scraps.
Personally, when I compost, I use a worm bin--they’re a fantastic option for limited space and limiting smells. I keep mine outside in a big rubbermaid tote with holes drilled into the bottom, sides, and lid. I put a layer or two of weed block on the inside, so it’s still able to drain but keeps the worms from trying to escape during rainy days. There is an initial cost of buying the worms, getting enough bedding materials, and getting a new bin if you don’t have an old one suitable for use. But with occasional feeding, it should sustain itself and provide valuable worm castings that can be used in the garden. Please do note, however, that earthworms are considered invasive in some places.
Look at that worm bin-y goodness. This is a pic of my bin, from earlier this month!
Though I’ve never done it, I’ve heard of people having good results with bokashi composting--a method that’s done in a bucket, and is relatively easy to do indoors.
Once you start a composting system, keeping it stockpiled with organic material can become pretty easy for cheap. In general, if it comes from a plant, it’s safe to use. It’s also a good idea to avoid putting already-cooked things in a pile, as salts and sauces can kill beneficial bacteria in the compost while also attracting animals. Adding meat is also generally avoided to not attract animals. But below are some things that I’ve put in my worm bin quick, easy, and cheaply; or things I’ve seen friends put in their compost piles.
Cooking scraps/snack leftovers--things like cut up bell peppers, the ends of tomatoes, strawberry tops, apple cores, watermelon rinds, coffee grounds, and orange peels are amassed somewhat quickly in my house--my dad likes to cook. Around holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas? Corn husks, potato peels, sweet potato fibers, leftover greens and other trimmings are a feast for compost piles and worm bins.
Vegetables and Stuff that went bad in the fridge/pantry--we’re constantly victims of the ‘forgot it was there’ conundrum. Fridge cleanouts are great times to decide what can be tossed to the compost--moldy bell peppers, spotty celery, questionable carrots, onion halves, old eggs, bagged salads, and stale/moldy bread have all been tossed into the pile before!
Grass clippings--though my worms don’t like grass clippings, they’re still great material for a classic hot compost set-up!
Fallen leaves--another classic addition to a hot compost pile. Some friends keep them stocked up and stored for later use.
Plant trimmings--what is plant clean up if not compost material? I’ve put cleaned-out sunflower heads and stalks in my worm bin, and they decomposed after about two months. If you get blossom end rot on your tomatoes or peppers, they’re still fair game for the bin as well!
Shredded mail--just make sure to not put in the thin plastic that covers the address section on some envelopes. Otherwise? As long as the paper isn’t glossy, it should be great for a bin or pile! Shredded paper or cardboard also makes great bedding for worm bins. Put those Amazon boxes to good use!
Pumpkins! Snag your neighbor’s halloween pumpkins in November and toss them in my compost! Last year my dad went around the cul-de-sac and nabbed all of the post-halloween pumpkins, the worms loved it.
Christmas tree needles--can’t confirm I’ve tried this, but it seems like it would work.
Mulch
Mulch is an excellent way to keep your soil moist, while also beginning and continuing to improve soil conditions as it breaks down into organic matter. You’ll have to water less, and it’ll prevent/slow down the growth of unwanted weeds (which is always the final straw to gardening for me, I get so overwhelmed I just stop going outside). Win-win situation, right? Except stepping into a Home Depot and finding mulch being sold for five dollars per square foot and knowing you have to cover a whole garden with it all can add up… pretty quickly, to say the least.
Fortunately, there are a few solutions to this, and likely from your own backyard!
Grass clippings are the first that come to mind. If you’re mowing your lawn, or have neighbors who are, collecting the clippings and spreading them over your soil is a cheap and easy option for some quick mulch. It’ll be very nitrogen-heavy, so keep that in mind, but it’ll still prevent weeds, retain moisture, and break down into organic material over the course of a few months. Do try to not use grass clippings you know are treated with pesticides, since the aim is to use this mulch to help increase your biodiversity, and having insects around plays a big role in that.
Fallen leaves are the next that comes to mind. If you’ve got a tree in your yard, or in your neighborhood, then you or someone around you knows the neverending avalanche of leaves or pine needles that drop come fall. As mentioned before, they can be used to make brush piles for creatures, or added into compost, but they have a fantastic third use as mulch. Add them on top of your beds!
Want free wood mulch? A program called Chip Drop might be the best solution for you! They team up with arborists to find cheap drop sites for shredded wood, logs, etc. that are produced as they maintain trees! If any local arborists tied to the program are operating in your area, instead of paying to dump the resulting mulch at a landfill or some other dumpside, they’ll simply dump it at your place! Now, you won’t be able to control when the mulch gets dropped--I’ve heard of people coming home from work one day to find a chip drop in their driveway. But… free mulch!
Want wood chips but not a whole truck load? If an arborist is working in your area, and you can muster the courage, its worth a shot to ask! One time someone in my neighborhood was getting a tree removed, so my Dad and I parked near their car with a tarp in the trunk, some shovels, and an old storage bin. We approached nicely and asked if we could have some chips, and they were totally cool with it! At that point, how much you get depends on how big your trunk space is, and how many times you’re willing to ferry mulch back and forth out of your car so you can go back for more. But it is an option! Alternatively, you can ask them to dump the whole load in front of your house, but at least you’ll know when and where it’s happening!
Trellises
Many plants need, or will appreciate, some kind of climbing structure. But trellises aren’t often cheap to find. To that, I say--we’ll create our own!
One popular option is to grow taller plants, and then plant climbing species are few weeks/years later so they’ll climb the taller plants! I’ve planted passion vine near a tree in my garden for it to climb, and I’ve seen people do similar concepts with sunflowers, corn, and other such plants! Sunflower stalks can provide support even after they’ve been cut back.
A combination of wood, some stakes, some nails, and some string can create a great frame trellis that can be used for beans, tomatoes, vines, etc--so I’m sure if could be put to good use for native climbers, especially since my dad’s used this structure for passion vines before. You may have to replace the string every year, but most of the time, the string is compostable anyways!
This may take a bit more setup and have a more upfront cost, but creating a trellis out of cattle panels makes a durable structure that can support all kinds of vining plants!
Of course, there’s always the easy alternative of simply letting plants climb along your fence! This is especially easy if you have a chain link fence, but wooden fences are plenty suitable for some species as well! I’ve seen passion vines do great growing along chain link fences as supports, and one of my favorite sights as a kid was always seeing bushels of trumpet vines growing up and over fences on the drive home.
Why are we worrying about trellises? Creatures are attracted to diverse landscapes with a variety of plants within them, so having a few climbers can be a great way to attract more wildlife! I know some plants in my area that pollinators are attracted to, or even rely on as host plants, are climbers that can get upwards of 15 feet tall, and will climb any surface you give them. A trellis provides you a great place to put extremely beneficial plants.
That's the end of this post! My next post is gonna be about how different 'kinds' of plants can all be beneficial in a biodiversity standpoint. Until then, I hope this advice was helpful! Feel free to reply with any questions, your success stories, or anything you think I may have forgotten to add in!
#biodiversity#solarpunk#gardening#outdoor gardening#composting#mulch#trellis#budget gardening#cheap gardening#ani rambles#out of queue#the biodiversity saga#i remember junior year of college me and my friends considered doing a cattle panel trellis#but then we couldn't figure out where to buy cattle panel#apparently the answer is 'tractor/farmer supply companies'#also so anyone reading these tags knows what took me 5+ years to learn#CATTLE PANEL DOESNT COME IN ROLLS IT COMES IN LENGTHS#all this time I was like 'man i wanna make a cattle panel trellis but it comes in like 40 foot lengths and i dont need that much'#and all my gardening homies were confused because theyve been getting it in lengths THIS WHOLE TIME#I WAS LOOKING AT FUCKIN ROLLED FENCING#i actually dont think any of the big box stores by me even fuckin sell cattle panel but thats beside the point#you can get it delivered though#(Delivered to the store for pickup i think)#someday i want a cattle panel trellis with like moonflowers or trumpet vine just a BURST of color and life
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Whenever I buy something heavy from the farm supply store, the cashier carries it all the way to my car, which is very nice of him and I don't mind since he's a strapping young man, but sometimes he's busy with other customers and the co-owner of the store will come out to carry the thing for me. And she's an incredibly petite fifty-something woman so it just feels wrong. I'm a short person but I'm significantly taller than her and also younger, and every time I'll desperately trot behind her insisting that she let me carry, say, the 20kg bag of chicken feed I just bought and she adamantly refuses and just goes "no problem"
I'm in awe of her. I once bought a pile of 2-metre solid chestnut fence posts that are so heavy and cumbersome I can only carry 2 or 3 at a time and she just scooped up the whole lot, threw it over her shoulder and strode away. I was fully expecting her to fall backwards on account of the laws of physics but no...?? And the tall quince tree I bought last year was no problem either
This week I saw a flyer in town advertising a cattle fair to be held in the field behind the farm store and I am reasonably certain of what would happen if I went and bought one of these animals
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Lately I've been reading "Drawdown", by Paul Hawken et al, a comprehensive set of strategies for tackling the climate crisis. Your Cambrian Wildwoods post reminded me of one of the solutions - Silvopasture, from the Latin for 'Forest Grazing'.
Essentially it means proposing to farmers that a portion of land be forested and that their animals freely graze there. It can be extremely flexible - planting trees in existing pasture, thinning down woodland to allow for forage growth, using trees as natural fencing, and more.
It's got good potential for carbon capture, and also for saving farmers money in feed and fertiliser, creating better conditions for livestock by keeping them in the shade, and potentially providing secondary income sources in fruit, nuts, etc.
What do you think of it as a potential avenue for Welsh farming? The focus in "Drawdown" is on cattle farming, but I don't see any reason not to trial it with sheep - especially since it could be spun as a hybrid of both aspects of traditional culture...
("Drawdown" also emphasises peer-to-peer uptake through word-of-mouth, rather than being pushed by outsiders.)
Oh, yes - it's basically what they did at Pontbren. That was a farmer-led initiative - one of the big expenses with sheep farming is having to bring them into barns over the winter and supply all feed, but traditionally they'd have stayed out all year. So these farmers got together and went, "How do we ethically and sustainably reduce this expense?"
What they realised is that they were paying for (a) the government-enforced decision post-WW2 to swap to high-yield breeds of sheep that weren't suited to the Welsh climate and topography (i.e. wet as fuck and mostly vertical), and (b) the decline of traditional hedgerow management and shelterbelts. And so the dream was born.
They contacted the Woodland Trust purely to act in an advisory capacity - they wanted to know which trees would be best, and where. They could take much land out of production, but the beauty of hedgerows and shelterbelts is that they're linear features that replace your fences. That was how environmentalists got on board - we were invited, and we remembered that. We were therefore allowed to do a couple of experiments as it progressed, such as testing the infiltration rates of rain into groundwater rather than run-off and comparing it between hedgerow fields and fence fields. Meanwhile, the farmers replaced their stock with native breeds - I believe mostly Welsh Mountain Sheep, which look amazing:
Ain't no rain getting in THAT.
Anyway, a few strategically placed shelterbelts and hedgerows later and:
The sheep can now safely stay out all year round, excepting storms
The sheep are actually healthier and have higher welfare standards
Floods have reduced thanks to higher infiltration rates
Soil erosion is reduced so the fields and river are healthier
The farmers have saved money
The farmers are now making extra money, because they started a tree nursery and sell trees as a side project
You can read multiple publications on it here
So yes! Silvipasture is actually a huge tool for the future that we need to be embracing, as is agroforestry for arable farming, and the frustrating/hopeful part of it is, these are tools we used to use. This isn't new knowledge - it's forgotten knowledge that we need to reclaim. But even aside from the immediate benefits, it also has massive implications for resilience in a world with a warming climate, and we need to do it faster.
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𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐈𝐕𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈’𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔) || 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍
summary: it's his fault. daryl knows that. he should've realised sooner that he knew exactly what those mushroom's would do to you once you ate them.
cw: 18+ only. dark fic [ft. sex pollen, dubcon, mentions of previous noncon drugging (on daryl), outdoor sex, grinding, fingering, squirting]
a/n: soo here is my first big daryl fic! honestly, this might be my favourite fic i’ve ever written :3 it was very fun to write and somehow i really liked writing daryl dialogue/inner monologue (his accent is just so fun lol). once again, this was supposed to be a very feral smut fest and ended up having a lot of emotional moments and inner daryl turmoil </3 i still hope you like it :)) || also very unrelated side note, but i think “gold rush” by taylor fits the daryl in this fic v much (it’d be from his pov, not yours)
“Where d’ya think we should go next?” You ask Daryl around a mouthful of the lone rabbit he hunted earlier this afternoon.
Finding food is getting harder and harder, not to mention you’re running out of your water supply. It’s obvious you need to move your camp to a better area, preferably somewhere near a lake or river. The question is, where is that exactly?
Daryl shrugs, turning the rabbit leg between his dirty fingers around. He takes a rough bite.
He doesn’t know, and to be honest, he doesn’t really care. Now that the prison fell and with the group scattered to the winds, he doesn’t have much hope for anything. He had gotten a little too comfortable there, his first mistake, and now look where it landed him. Had he learnt nothing from his first camp with Merle, then the camp in Atlanta, then the CDC, and finally the farm? He had enough experience under his belt to know that things always took a turn for the worse, especially when everything seemed safe and peaceful. Yet he still let his guard down.
The thing is, the prison… the prison was different. It was well protected, with several feet of fence that kept the walkers far from the main building. They didn’t have to worry about any walkers creeping into their cells and taking a bite out of them in the middle of the night since they were able to clear their side of the prison in a matter of days. They had guns and ammo, food and water. Hershel and Carol even taught them how to take care of crops. Hell, they even got their hands on some cattle! They didn’t need to scavenge the woods for some meagre squirrels any more.
Things were looking up. He had even started to think that maybe, just maybe, they could spend the rest of their lives there. But then the Governor showed up and everything went to shit.
So now here he is. No Rick, no Carol. Alone once again. Well, not exactly alone– he had you for company.
It’s not that he doesn’t like you– he likes you more than just a normal amount if he’s being honest with himself. It’s just that… you’re a dead girl walking. He doesn’t know how you’ve made it this far, and by all accounts you shouldn’t have. Before all this, before the virus and the walking dead, you were a preschool teacher. You had lived in the city your entire life, in a nice house located in a nice neighbourhood with nice parents. If he had to bet, he’d say you were even prom queen back in the day.
There had been no need for you to learn how to hunt, scavenge, track, shoot a gun or even handle a knife. Daryl had been the one to teach you how to shoot a gun in the air, volunteering immediately when Rick brought the subject up and completely ignoring the amused, knowing smile on his friend’s face.
If he focuses hard enough, he can still hear the sound of your happy laughter the first time you hit the center of the target. Can still feel your chest pressed to his in your celebratory hug.
“Think I saw some train tracks a couple miles east yesterday. If the others saw ‘em too, they’re probably following them thinkin’ we’re doing the same,” you ramble on, not letting his lack of answer deter you. “Maybe we could find Rick or Maggie.” You lean forward so you can reach the mushrooms you picked up today, plop one and then another inside your awaiting mouth.
Daryl watches as you chew, eyes judging. He had been adamant that you shouldn’t eat them, shouldn’t even touch them.
“Stupid girl,” he growled, swatting your hand away from the cluster growing on the bark of a tree. “Didn’t ya mom tell ya not to touch things you never seen before?”
“Ain’t stupid,” you bristled at his tone. “I know these, they used to grow ‘rond some plants in the garden back home. Pretty sure mom put them in our soup ev’ry now and then.”
You don’t let his lack of answer deter you. “Think I saw some train tracks a
Daryl kneeled beside you, broad right shoulder touching your left one, and examined them closely. He was sure he had never seen them before, not in the woods from his hometown nor in any of his hunting trips since the outbreak started. “Nah, these ain’t safe,” he concluded.
“Yes, they are.”
“No”, he enunciated the word to make it as clear as possible. “They ain’t.”
“Yes, they are,” you scowl and plush a couple from their roots. “I ain’t stupid nor useless. I know I can eat these.”
Daryl rolled his eyes. “If ya want to kill y’self just to prove a point then fine, be my fuckin’ guest,” he snarked. Then he got up and kept walking in silence, not even sparing you another glance.
He shakes his head firmly. “Nah, no train tracks.”
“What? Why?” You ask, surprised. “It’s our best shot at findin’ the others!”
“Ain’t no one to find, girl. S’better if ya stop kiddin’ yourself.”
“How could you say that?!” You look at him like he’s a monster. Daryl clenches his jaw. “They’re our friends, our family! We can’t just give ‘em up for dead as soon as things go south! Not after everything!”
Daryl throws away the bone in his hand and looks at you with fury. Don’t you get it? Merle, Sophia, Andrea, Lori, T-Dog, Dale, the list goes on and on. You’re the only one he knows for sure he has left and he’ll be damned if he has to add your name to the list too because you want to search for ghosts. You are his responsibility now. His voice is loud when he says, “Yeah, we should! ‘Cause if you saw those tracks y’know what it means? Means other people saw ‘em too. Bad people. And if ya go ‘round there, lighting fires and singin’ those stupid kid songs you sing all day like you’re in a fuckin’ musical or some shit y’know what they’re gonna do? They’re gon’ kill ya, or worse. So drop the fuckin’ topic and finish yer dinner.”
There really is no room for argument. You drop your gaze to the floor and gulp down the lump in your throat, bringing your knees to your chest. Everything is silent for at least an hour, the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and Daryl’s chewing.
And then you call his name.
“Daryl?” Your voice is different; breathier, quieter. Almost like you can barely string the letters together. “I don’t feel very well.”
He’s on his feet in a second, the argument forgotten as soon as he heard your mumbled call. In three quick steps he’s standing in front of you. He kneels so you’re the same height and cups the side of your face. “Wha’s wrong?”
You blink sluggishly, revealing your dilated pupils, and lick your lips. “I don’t know,” you slur. Your breathing gets heavier. “I think– Oh God, I’m so hot,” you complain, almost ripping the zipper of your jacket in your haste to take it off. You throw it away like it’s made of molten lava. Before he can stop you, you take off your long sleeved shirt, leaving you in just a tank top, and lean back against the fallen tree trunk with a relieved sigh.
It doesn’t make any sense, Daryl thinks. It’s almost winter in Georgia, you should be freezing, but there are no goosebumps littering your skin that might signal you are cold in any way. In fact, you’re even trying to roll your cargo pants up to relieve your legs from a nonexistent blistering heat.
Daryl presses his hand to your forehead and is surprised to find it slick with sweat. “Y’re burning up,” he says, though he guesses you could probably already tell. He takes one of your arms and inspects it closely, looking for any wounds that could potentially be infected. “Where ya bit?”
You shake your head. “No, no. I didn’t see any walkers today.”
Your arms are in pristine condition, save for some sparse moles and freckles and a single healed scratch on your forearm he remembers you got from running around the woods so carelessly. There’s no sign of a bite or infected cut.
“Did ya get close to anyone sick back at the prison?” He knows it’s stupid to ask– everyone had taken their rounds of antibiotics to prevent another possible outbreak, and it’s also been a week since the prison fell. If you had been infected, you would’ve showed symptoms earlier on, but he doesn’t know what else to do.
“No, I was with Beth ‘n Judy.” Suddenly, you gasp in pain and clutch your lower stomach, pressing your thighs together. “Daryl, it hurts,” you whimper.
The pain in your voice breaks his heart. You look so small, curled up in a tight ball like a wounded animal. He brings you into his lap and shushes you, “I know, I know.” He rubs your back in an attempt to soothe you. “Just lemme think for a second, ‘kay? M’gonna fix ya.”
He wrecks his brain for a solution but keeps coming up blank. He doesn’t have any idea as to what the hell caused this– one second you were fine and then the other you were bending over in pain. Did you touch something? Eat something? Was the water contaminated? Did some poisonous plant graze your skin? Was the rabbit he killed infected and he didn’t notice?
The tip of your nose tickles his neck as it moves from his collarbone up to his jaw, your rib cage expanding beneath his broad hand when you take a deep breath. He grunts at the strange sensation. “What are y’doin’, girl?”
Your hands curl around his shoulders, the leather of his vest crinkling beneath your tight grip. “You smell so good,” you mewl, taking in another whiff of his scent.
What the fuck.
He doesn’t know where the random compliment came from. He knows you have to be lying though– it’s been weeks since his last shower. His last one was five days before the prison fell and it wasn’t even a proper shower, just a scrub down with a rag, a bucket of water and some soap they found in the last supply run. That’s why he says, albeit a little disheartened, “Y’re talking nonsense.”
You shift in his lap, pressing your chests together and Daryl has to force himself not to react to the feeling of your boobs against his chest or to the movement of your wiggling hips over his crotch. “Am not, am not,” you babble, pressing small wet kisses to his neck and trailing your palms down his strong arm. “You– you smell so good. Feel so good. So big. I–” your breath hitches when you grind against him, relief morphing your previously pained features. “I need you, Daryl.”
His hands that were previously laying limp on either side of him are suddenly held by your softer, smaller ones and moved to your thighs. He drops his gaze, watches you control his hands. Up and down, up and down. The light coming from the fire illuminates the remnants of your dinner. You shift directions and now his hands are on your ass, forcing him to squeeze and grope as you keep grinding against him.
He stares intently at the leftover mushrooms and all of a sudden he’s 23 years old and Merle’s laughing his ass off as Daryl finishes the dinner his older brother had insisted on cooking. He remembers now, the desperation clawing at his chest when the shrooms started making effect. Remembers how Merle dragged him to a club in the city and patted his back in encouragement. “Go wild, baby brother! Lord knows ya need this.”
Misery is heavy on his shoulders. He wants to throw up– he was wrong before. He did see those mushrooms before. He had eaten them and been under their control. And now you were suffering the same fate he had all those years ago. Because of him, because he failed to realise sooner.
You move his hands up to your waist, your stomach, your breasts. He never wanted it to be like this. He had hoped, stupid as it was to dream about something other than mere survival, that if he ever got the courage to confess his feelings it’d be when everyone was safe again. When you didn’t have to sleep in tents and cars and pray to God he found any semblance of food. When you’d finally have a house, or a room, or at least a bed.
He’d be soft with you, just like you were with him every day.
Now, as you grind and moan above him in a lust filled rut, that dream will remain that. Just a dream.
He tears his hands from your grip, one settling on one side of your hip and the other cradling your cheek. Heat emanates from your skin like you’re a furnace. Daryl leans forward, lips brushing yours as he promises, “M’gonna make it better. That okay?”
You’re not in the right state of mind but he still asks for any semblance of peace of mind.
“Please,” you whimper, little crystal beads gathering on your waterline.
After months of pining, he finally closes the distance between you and presses your lips together in a firm kiss. Your mouth is soft and plain against his, trusting him enough to follow his every command as he devours you completely. He uses the hand on your hip to help you smooth down your otherwise stuttered grinding, drinking down every sweet little moan and gasp he elicits out of you.
That’s what you are– sweet. Sweet to touch and taste and feel. Sweet even in the way you cling to him, use him to relieve the affliction between your legs he accidentally caused.
Daryl holds you by the back of your neck, feels the warmth of your breath as you moan his name. “More. I need more,” you cry. The tear tracks on your cheeks glimmer in the warm fire light. “M’so empty. Need you to fuck me. Please, please, please,” you beg like a broken record, forcing your fist into Daryl’s chest and twisting his heartstrings without mercy.
“Don’t cry, doll face,” he rasps, brushing away your fresh wave of tears. You inhale shakily, leaning into his touch and nuzzling his palm like a touch starved kitten. Your hands tremble as you unbutton your jeans, struggling to pull them down from how sweaty you are and how sticky the insides of your thighs became. Daryl silences you every whine with a kiss and helps you pull them down to your shins, not willing to risk taking off both your shoes and pants completely in case you need to make a quick escape.
“I said I’s gonna fix ya and I am. Just need a couple minutes first.” You make another noise of complaint that turns into a relieved sigh when Daryl pulls your panties to the side and teases your folds with the tip of his fingers. “Need to get ya ready first. This all for me?” He asks, gathering all the slick dripping out of you.
“Mhm,” you hum, eyes closed in bliss as he toys with you. You nudge your noses together. “Always for you, Daryl. Only you.”
You really need to stop playing with his feelings like that. You’re talking out of your ass, he tells himself, letting your desire and need for relief control your words. Still, it’s nice to hear. He can’t deny that. Maybe he can live in this fantasy bubble a little longer, at least until reality crashes down on you both and you have to come to terms with what happened and decide to never see him again.
He circles your weeping hole, taunting you, then plunges a lone finger inside when you look like you’re ready to pounce on him. It’s easy, oh so easy, for him to slip in. He thought it would be harder, given the fact that he knew you haven’t slept with anyone since the apocalypse started. Not that he kept an eye on you or anything, he just happened to notice how your tent and cell were always silent, much like his. But you’re so wet that your cunt practically swallowed him right in.
You tap his shoulder needily, mouthing the word “more”, and bite your lip to stay quiet when he adds a second finger and then a third. You could cry from how happy you are right now.
“That enough for ya, ya spoiled girl?” He scoffs, rubbing circles on your swollen clit with his thumb.
You can only nod as he buries his fingers up to his knuckles, curling them and feeling the rough calluses as he prods inside you in search of your soft spot. When your loudest moan yet lets him know he found it, he abuses it, creating loud squelching noises that have him smiling.
Euphoria sends a shiver down your spine and makes your entire body shake as you cum, a small stream of clear liquid hitting Daryl’s wrist and dripping down to his jeans. “Shit,” he whispers, amazed.
He made you squirt.
Daryl’s still staring at his dripping wrist as you paw at him with a heaving chest, fingers curling around his brown plaid shirt. Your nails could nearly break the fabric. “You promised,” you sob. “You promised you’d fix it. That you’d fuck me. Don’t you want me?”
He tears his gaze away from the mess between your legs in shock. How could you ever think he doesn’t want you? When you’ve consumed his every waking thought and haunted his every dream. When the only thing he wanted to do when you looked at him with those glimmering eyes was to follow your every command word for word. When he didn’t want to just fuck you– he wanted to keep you safe and warm, wanted to make sure you’d never know hunger.
He grabs your jaw, fingers tightly pressing on your warm cheeks, and snarls. “Don’t ever think I don’t want ya.” He tugs you to him so he can kiss you, unbuckling his belt with one hand and pulling down the zipper of his jeans. Your own hand joins his and squirms under the rough fabric so you can take his cock out from behind his boxers. His jaw clenches at the feeling of your soft hand around him, so different from his own. Untouched by decades of manual work, protected by dutiful applications of hand creams (he's heard you tell Beth how dry your hands are now and how much you miss your favourite hand cream. He’s been looking for some on every supply run ever since).
He spreads all the wetness stuck to his fingers over his cock, his stomach doing a summersault when he sees you biting your lower lip in want. You guide him to your entrance, gasping in unison when the mushroom tip slips past your soaking wet folds. Slowly, you sink yourself down, Daryl mouthing at your neck as you get used to the thickness of his cock as it threatens to split you in half.
“Relax,” Daryl grunts, the scruff covering his cheeks scratching at the tender skin of your cleavage. He goes back to playing with your clit, knowing it’ll allow the tension to leave your muscles and he’ll be able to push in the remaining two inches.
Once he’s buried to the hilt, you take a shuddering breath in and slowly start to bounce. “Wanted this for so long,” you babble. “Wanted you, Daryl. A-And now you want me,” you smile, increasing the speed of your bouncing. You chant, “You want me, you want me, you want me.”
Daryl nods, teeth gritted as he feels you tighten around him, walls pulsing. You collapse on his chest, hips still grinding in search of any form of friction. With a firm and secure grip, he grabs your ass and uses it as leverage so he can pound you down on him. For once, he’s not worried about loud noises or stray walkers or even unknown strangers stumbling into the scene. No, he just worries about you and your sweet cunt keeping his cock warm; about your lips on his neck, your hands gripping his hair and your dulcet “uh uh uh’s” ringing in his ears as you cum for the second time.
He lifts you off of him just in time to shoot ropes of white all over his shirt, biting your neck to muffle his grunts of pleasure. For once in what seems like a lifetime, the walker infested woods are completely still, only both of your laboured breathing breaking the unusual silence.
Until you speak in a meek voice and it’s like he’s suddenly doused in cold water. “Daryl?”
He drops his forehead to your clavicle and shuts his eyes tightly, heaving a sigh. This is it– the moment where he loses you, where you run away. Forever disgusted with him. Afraid of him for breaking your trust.
After another beat of silence, you call his name again. “What happened?”
He straightens his back and rubs his face. He clears his throat. “It was the mushrooms,” he refuses to look at you as he explains the events of the night, unable to stomach the look of disgust he’s sure is all over your pretty face. “The ones you picked up today. I thought I didn’t know them but I did. They’re some kind of… aphrodisiac or some shit like that. Merle…” he trails off, skipping over the reason he knew about them in the first place. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. “Y’were feeling so sick ‘n those things… with the amount you ate they would’ve– they would’ve killed ya if I didn’t…”
“You saved me,” you state, cradling his face so that he can see you. His face is all scrunched up like he wants to cry and he hates himself for it– he has no right to feel like shit. He shakes his head. “You did. You saved me. I would’ve died if you didn’t do as I said, as I wanted you to.” You kiss his lips chastely. “Y’know, I meant what I said earlier. While we were…”
“Nah,” he scoffs. “Y’were just saying shit ‘cause of the drugs. S’okay, ya don’t have to worry ‘bout my feelings.”
“No,” you frown, disconcerted that he always seems to bring himself down without even realising it. “I meant it. I’ve wanted you for a while, since– since the CDC, actually. When we played that card game after dinner and ya helped me get to bed since I was too drunk to even stand.” You smile as you remember the feeling of his arm around your waist and the soft pat on your head once you were resting on the pillow. You tuck some strands of hair behind his ear and his throat dries. Shrugging, you say, “I just never thought you liked me that way.”
Daryl weighs his options, wonders if he should take a leap of faith or pretend he’s never thought of you that way. This is too much for him. He’s scared to bare his chest wide open only for you to dislike what’s inside. But then he sees the earnest look in your eye and behind it, the fear that he won’t say anything at all.
“I do,” he gets out through the fist clutching his vocal chords. “Like you. Like that, I mean. I–” He shuts his eyes at how useless he’s with words (another reason why you deserve someone better than him). However, instead of rolling your eyes at him or making a derisive sound like he expected, you simply giggle at his uselessness, reaching for him once more.
He lets you kiss him and touch him as much as you want. You trace his brow bone and cheekbones with the soft pads of your fingers, play with the ends of matted hair and twirl them around your index. When you yawn, he makes sure you have your top and jacket back on and lets you rest on his chest. He stretches his arm so he can reach his discarded crossbow and leaves it on his side. “C’mon, go to sleep. I’ll take first watch.”
pls reblog if u enjoyed it, it’ll make me twirl my hair and kick my feet :3
#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon smut#the walking dead imagine#the walking dead fanfiction#the walking dead#daryl dixon
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Statement on Israel’s Use of Starvation as a Weapon of War in Gaza by the Union of Agricultural Work Committees, Palestine
For five days, Israel has attacked Gaza with the aim of total destruction, and the situation is at an unprecedented level of urgency. Israel’s actions have amounted to a humanitarian catastrophe of unfathomable proportions. At the time of publication, the Palestinian Ministry of Health reports 1,055 martyrs and approximately 5,184 injured.
Israel has declared a total warfare stance on Gaza, imposing a ruthless blockade that denies over two million Palestinian residents of Gaza access to electricity, water, food, fuel, medical supplies, and any humanitarian aid. Israeli Defense Minister Yoav Gallant explicitly stated this strategy on 9 October 2023, saying: “We are imposing a complete siege on [Gaza]. No electricity, no food, no water, no fuel – everything is closed. We are fighting human animals, and we act accordingly.”
Israel’s deliberate use of starvation as a weapon of war demands the international community immediately respond with unwavering urgency and resolve.
Israel is indiscriminately decimating hospitals, schools, mosques, markets, and entire neighborhoods. Further, Israel threatened Egypt that it would bomb humanitarian aid deliveries to Gaza, prompting Egypt to withdraw its aid convoys. The Rafah Crossing into Egypt, the sole international exit from Gaza, has been bombed by Israel three times in a 24-hour period. This calculated assault severs Gazans’ only means of escape from ceaseless bombings or access to essential humanitarian aid. With Israel cutting off Gaza’s source of electricity, the only source of power was the Gaza Power Plant, which has just run out of fuel. In the case that it receives more fuel, Israel has threatened to attack the plant.
Israel’s assault is deliberately destroying any infrastructure that allows Gazans to support themselves. Vital agricultural and fishing infrastructure, crucial for food production, have been mercilessly attacked. Fisher folk cannot access the sea, into which sewage is spilling. The seaport is damaged, and tools are obliterated. Farming areas, often near the fence, have become vulnerable targets in Israeli airstrikes, and farmers whose land has not been destroyed cannot access it for daily agricultural practices. The Ministry of Agriculture reports that the bombing has done immense damage to agricultural areas and poultry farms, but the conditions make it impossible to precisely assess the situation in the field. There is a catastrophic decrease in food stocks, with shops across Gaza reporting severe shortages. The land and sea will face unimaginable environmental damages following these attacks, further preventing efforts to rebuild livelihoods.
Israel’s strategy aims to ensure that those who survive the bombs are condemned to a future without sustenance.
OCHA reports that the assaults have disrupted the UNRWA food operation, impacting at least 112,759 families. The poultry and livestock sectors are on the brink of collapse due to the severe shortage of fodder, endangering the livelihoods of more than 1,000 herders and affecting over 10,000 producers. This jeopardizes the provision of animal protein and the availability of meat and fresh sources of protein for Gaza’s entire population. Transportation of poultry to markets has virtually halted, and dairy cattle milk cannot be refrigerated nor marketed to factories, resulting in an expected daily spoilage of 35,000 liters of milk. More than 4,000 fisheries are at risk due to the closure of the sea. Gaza’s agriculture, poultry, cattle, fish, and other products are suffering from a lack of refrigeration, irrigation, incubation, and other machinery due to electricity cuts, causing spoilage.
Israel’s use of these tactics is not new by any means. Before Saturday, around 65% of the Gazan population was food insecure. More than 46% of the agricultural land in Gaza was inaccessible, and the fishing industry was severely struggling since fishing off the coast of Gaza has been restricted by Israel to 3 to 6 nautical miles.
Food insecurity is a human-made crisis, and Israel is manufacturing a mass starvation of the Gazan people.
It is the moral and legal obligation of the international community to intervene and end this crisis immediately. Food, as a basic necessity, must be allowed to reach the people of Gaza, and the deliberate targeting of civilian infrastructure must cease without delay.
We call upon the international community to take immediate action to stop Israel’s massacre of the Gazan population, demand the lifting of the siege, and establish humanitarian corridors for entry of aid.
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What about the reader is terrified of spiders, so when johnny corners them, they back into a wall where there's webs and spiders. They freak out, preferring to jump into the arms of a killer than have spiders on them.
Id love to know how johnny would react, if he'd be surprised and try to talk them through their fear or would torture them by making them touch the webs. (This would definitely be me because im terrified of spiders 😅😅)
johnny slaughter x gender neutral!reader
a/n — IM SCARED OF THEM TOO. FUCK GODS GREEN EARTH NO ONE WOULD EVER WILLINGLY MAKE THOSE FREAKs. (but bees scare me more and I injected just a tad of that in here too cause they can FLY. ohhhhh if spiders could fly too it'd be over for me😭) btw let me know if Johnny needs to be written differently, I'm still getting used to writing a southern character since I usually write characters with transatlantic accents and dialect and alll!
summary — check the ask! basically the same, I just tried to make Johnny somewhere in the middle between mean and comforting + ambitious ending to the best I could
warnings — implied harm, mentions of blood (it's really tame)
word count — 2k
~~~ story under the cut!
You had to get out of this place. You didn’t know what this was, all you knew was that you were underground, trapped in a maze with psychos trying their hardest to get you. Screams came above as well as below, where you were. It was dark in some areas and barely lit in others, letting you know that there must have been a way up. There was a guy with a freaking chainsaw! But worst of all, there were spiders. Everywhere. They rappelled down from the rusty light fixtures and sheets of metal tinning the roof of each tunnel with a thin glistening string that you had to be mindful of to avoid. The blood on your face was no match for a spider coming into contact with it, or any part of your body for that matter. You couldn’t count how many times you had walked right into one moving itself down a line of silk. In every crevice and crack, in all the hiding spots, and even weaving little webs between each rickety step leading up from the basement.
The place was already confusing enough as is, but when you reached the top step—where the high Texas sun met the line of darkness enshrouding the basement—you knew you were in the clear from those eight-legged freaks. Now, you just had to deal with the ones with two legs, buzzing around like worker bees trying to get their sweet, sweet blood-red honey.
The start of it was easy—their footsteps strong and heavy and the creaking of the floorboards gave away their positions, so you knew what rooms to avoid in their farmhouse. One guy was too busy setting up traps around the various places you could squeeze yourself through, and the blonde girl a few feet away from him was waiting to “add a little something” as she put it. You didn’t want to stick around to find out what she meant, so you found freedom through an unlocked door at the back of the house. Their front yard was a mess of old cars and fencing found on farms in the area—you had driven by enough when traveling to Newt to recognize them. They were used for cattle, but their purpose here was to keep people in with its complex layout, and you were almost out of the dilapidated mess.
Down along the path was a shack with what you hoped would be more supplies. Something like another thin object to slide into the various padlocks these freaks had installed, or something sharp to defend yourself with. Whatever it was, it just had to be something useful. You did your best not to get spotted, keeping away from the beaten path by ducking into the tall grass for most of your walk down to the shack. The first door you noticed on the exterior was unlocked and opened with ease like they weren’t trying to protect the things inside—or stop anyone from leaving. But everything looked to be personal on the inside, intimately lived in with a mess of wrappers and laundry and dirty dishes crowding up such a small space. He was a worker bee with no time for himself.
And just like that, you could hear his buzzing in the form of footsteps from outside. You moved to hide behind the side of his couch, crouching and hoping that it covered enough of your figure to make it seem like you weren’t there. His boots were heavy on the ground outside and heavier on the wood floor. He had little care for the door, slamming it open with a loud bang. Maybe he would do a quick sweep around the room and leave, but the words uttered under his breath proved you wrong. “They’re always so careless…”
He must have been tracking you, and you wondered for how long. Maybe that’s why it had been so easy to get down to this place—he wanted you to come here. While you were hidden behind his couch, you took the brief opportunity to map the area out. Everything was either too big or too risky to run for if you wanted to fight back, but there was a slit in the wall furthest from you. It looked like a piece of it had fallen off, creating the perfect diffusion in the house’s cracks for your escape. The only thing now was deciding when to run, when to risk it all, and expose yourself for a brief moment before you slipped through the little mousehole.
But that never happened. Your window of opportunity escaped faster than you when you entered this building because the man’s footsteps were steady, straight, and determined. He didn’t miss a single beat and rounded his couch in seconds upon entering the place. You could see his fingers tooling with the knife in his hands, preparing to keep a firm grip on it as he slashed and sliced. He went for his first swing, missing as you stood up and made a dash for the slit in the wall. You still intended on running, even if he had already found you.
“You thought you could hide in my stink? When this is all over, I’ll add that pretty face of yours to the collection.” The voice sounded painfully close to you, and you could feel the swish of air as he swung again with his knife. He didn’t land the hit but in your attempt to dodge it, you moved too far to one side and came into contact with the wall to your left. Your exit was so close, but he closed in on you, making it impossible to reach unless you intended to overpower the man with sheer strength alone.
With your back pressed flat against the wall, you had no choice but to accept what was going to come to you. That was until you felt a sensation along your neck and arms. It was this light, almost invisible touch but you knew it all too well. Just one strand of it needed to ghost your skin, and the rest of your body would light up with fear—thinking that the silky sensation of a spider’s web was all over you. It was irrational, but also completely sane. Those eight-legged freaks were quick to weave webs and they could be crawling all over you right now! You couldn’t stand the thought of one being on you or near you, let alone multiple. In your panic, you moved away from the wall and towards the man in front of you. Who cares if he had a knife and a murderous intent? Those spiders had eight legs, were probably poisonous, and would bite you the first chance they got, at least this guy would only do one of those when you were in his arms. Your arms were between your body and his, feeling the reassurance of the fabric of his tattered black tank. He seemed to be happy by the outcome of your reaction, but he didn’t know what caused it other than his own ego.
“Good, you’re makin’ this easy for me. I’ll be nice and make it hurt a little less.” He laughed, sounding delighted before it faded into something sinister. He spoke again but with a gruff tone, then confusion followed, “Playtime—huh?”
Johnny noticed that you weren’t looking at him with pleading eyes. The begging he was used to hearing, the same kind he would chuckle and grin at before turning those cries into screams never came. Instead, your head was turned back to look at the decently sized web spun up against the wall. It filled out the entire corner and it was almost impossible to not touch it when he backed you into that part of his shack.
“The hell is your problem?” He asked, “Do those things bother ya?”
You nodded your head. When you did look back towards him, he was met with a frustrated look with outlines of fear twisting your face and twinging your voice. “Why haven’t you killed that thing?”
“He ain’t hurtin’ nobody!” Johnny defended himself. “I like to think that me and him have a… a similar connection and he eats the mosquitoes takin’ all the blood form ya that I want to drain, but I’ll get rid of ‘em if it means you’ll get your priorities straight.”
Johnny wasted no time moving around you and getting to work on the spider’s web. This was your chance to run, the hole in the wall just a few feet away as you backed up to give him some room. But you didn’t go anywhere, you stood and watched as he tooled his knife in circles, spindling it until roughly half of his blade was covered in a spool of cobwebs with a few spiders too stunned to move resting on it.
He turned back around, holding the blade close enough to himself that it was making you uncomfortable just seeing it. You imagined them crawling under his gloves, laying eggs, and hatching a million spider babies in the few seconds they were under there, and then a flurry would crawl out from underneath and create a sleeve of themselves over his arm.
“Could you… get rid of it?” You asked, wincing at the sight of the spiders. They weren’t even moving—but maybe they were preparing to jump like some of them do.
Johnny was fed up by this point. He started to feel as if he had gone after the worst of the victims by tracking you. “Aw hell, that thing is more scared of you than you are of it!”
“I just… hate them,” you shuddered. Your eyes darted up to his face, taking solace in that as it was a much better sight than the wiry spiders he was handling. You tried to think of something else to, and you ended up saying something smart back to the unreadable stranger. “And your knife won’t be much use if you can’t, uh, stab me.”
You could hear him complaining to himself as he brushed past you, “I should make you lick this for giving me trouble.”
But he never did. He marched right outside, making sure you followed close behind him with a wave of his covered hand. It gave you a second to think while he was distracted. Why was he being so nice? He was part of the same group that had you strung up by the arms hours ago, and now he was clearing his place of the spiders—which, he would have a lot of work to do if you were to stay here. The sheer number of them would make you call an exterminator for the entire state of Texas; this place felt like their central hive. Your thoughts were interrupted when you stepped outside, and you two stood on the flattened dirt path leading back up to the house you had just escaped from. Johnny had stopped, turning back to point the blade at your face.
“See?” He said, bringing the blade closer to you. He got a kick out of seeing you squirm, but you had an underlying trust that he wouldn’t do anything too impulsive like throwing it at you. “Didn’t move an inch.”
He bent down, kneeling to keep himself steady as he pinched the part of his knife where the silvery steel met the molded handle and, with one clean sweep, wiped the spiders and their webs clean off onto the ground. He stood back up and pressed his boot down into the dirt. You watched with your own eyes as the spiders were obliterated into nothing but mangled remains. For extra insurance, he swiped the blade of his knife across his jean-clad thigh to make sure it was clean. Then, he turned back to you with a proud look on his face.
“There we go.” He trailed off, his eyes darkening at the realization that all of your attention was back on him. “Now, where were we…?”
#x reader#x male reader#johnny slaughter#johnny tcm#texas chainsaw massacre game#johnny slaughter x reader#johnny slaughter x you#johnny slaughter x male reader#johnny slaughter x gn!reader#x gender neutral reader#johnny slaughter x gender neutral reader#johnny slaughter x y/n#x y/n#x you#fanfic#tw spiders#spider tw#arachnophobia tw
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The Farmer's Daughter
Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader
Summary: You and Jake go way back to his roots in Texas, with things ending in a rough manner. Now, he comes home to the farmer's daughter whose heart he swore he would never ride, or fly, off with.
Word Count: 4.0K
Warnings: Angst, Harsh Language, Hangman was lowkey a jerk, Cowboy!Hangman
A/N: *I will say if you are not a fan of ranch/farm life, this may not be for you!* But, I'm finally back to write something! I'm sorry it has taken so long but I have been so incredibly busy, but I hope this will be a good enough apology! COWBOY HANGMAN!!! -Birch<3
Part 2 - The Aviator's Cowgirl
Wind roars across the grassy plains of the valley, ruffling the dense coats of various colored cattle. Some were red, some were black. Others were red and white, while others were roaned and speckled in color.
The cows were quietly cruising through the glen, making their way down south toward the greener pastures. Spring was finally on its way, with warmer, sunnier days followed by even oranger sunsets.
Many of the calves clung close to their mothers after the spring calving, not wanting to be too far from the herd. Some of the cows were bolder, leaving their calves further away, then having to call and bellow to find their distant young.
It was one of the most beautiful things, living out on a cattle ranch. There was no sign of the city in any direction, and you got to raise the food that would supply you and your family through the seasons. Some may call it cruel, but others would say you were using what God gave you to live on.
Hours spent in the fields were not wasted on you. Plowing the land and fertilizing the dry, cracked soil, were not foreign ideas to you. Sowing seeds into the prepped ground, watering them to give them a chance at survival.
To you, there was no other life than being a rancher.
Being a rancher had its perks- making the best friends a man could have. The dogs, of course. The horses, even more so. And yet, nothing could beat the compassion and care of a friendly neighbor.
Growing up on your homestead, the next closest ranch was a few acres away. They never were close enough to see any of their cattle or pigs, and you had only been to their house as a kid.
Being a kid seemed so long ago.
Now, you spent most days sitting on the back of your palomino mare, Sandy. Days like today were spent watching your herd move down the mountain and into the plains of the valley. You didn't always use to be alone when you pushed the herd.
Occasionally your father would join you, but he had other matters to attend to, and your brothers always seemed to join him. Not that you cared, as riding horses was perhaps your favorite aspect of being a rancher.
You would check fences, push the cows, and ride up to the top of meadows to watch the sunset over your home. To you, there was nothing like the connection you had while riding a horse, and you wouldn't have given her up for anything.
At one point in time, you would have given every possession you had up for a certain cowboy.
Tall and muscular, with blonde hair, and green eyes. The classic, square-jawed look of a cowboy. A sharp tongue paired with an even quicker wit, combined with a charming personality and smile was the death of you.
It didn't help he was always willing to help out. Roping the calves for the brandings, fixing up the four-wheeler that seemed to stall every time you got it out. Even going as far as to bring your mother some of their fresh apples in the fall when your trees gave out.
He was kind-hearted, chivalrous, and down-to-earth. He was the definition of God's cowboy.
Jake Seresin.
The first time you ran into him was when you were at the farmer's market in town. Your mother had given you a specific list of items to get for her homemade chicken casserole, as she was busy picking up your younger sister from her riding lesson.
The stalls at the farmer's market were not unfamiliar to you, as you had tagged along with your mother many times as a child. The sellers were always kind to you and had Texas-sized personalities to go along with the enormous amounts of ingredients and produce they sold.
"Good morning, Mrs. Bell," you call as you walk up to the older lady's stand, looking over her collection of fresh berries and vegetables hand-picked from her garden.
A white head of hair popped out from the back of her tent, a wide grin on the older lady's face as she replies, "Oh, good morning, dear! Help yourself to whatever you need, I'm just having some help unloading my crates."
At that, Mrs. Bell disappears, and you giggle at her antics as you start to bag up a few peppers and tomatoes from her stand. It was a fairly quiet morning, so you took a moment to look around your surroundings.
A few older gentlemen were setting up their meat stand. You could see cuts of chickens, turkeys, and wild geese sitting on ice just as they worked on the larger carcasses of steers and barrows.
Your concentration is broken when you hear rustling at the back of the tent, and you turn around, clenching the bag of veggies close to you.
A boy donning a tan Stetson appears in front of you, his muscular arms holding a large crate of cucumbers as he slid through the folds of the white tent. His green eyes lock onto your own (colored) ones, and in an instant, his boyish charm captivates you in the form of a beautiful smirk.
"Good morning, Miss...?" he asks, a slight drawl to his rich voice as you take him in. He's wearing his cowboy hat, yes, but his hair was shaggy under the hat, a dirty blonde that you knew his friends probably teased him for.
He wore a simple navy t-shirt, as the morning was already warm. You allowed yourself to rest your eyes on the snug Wrangler jeans that hugged his waist, accentuated by the large and shiny belt buckle that finished off his look. You almost could have bet he wore a pair of boots too, but you snapped out of your daze before you could finish thinking about it.
"Y/n," you usher out, warm with embarrassment as he sets the crate down in the open spot in front of you. His green eyes are as sharp as jade when he regains eye contact with you, and his head tilts a little as he repeats, "Y/n...?"
You groan internally as you scold yourself for being so starstruck. You blink once to regain your cool, before shifting your weight and responding, "Y/n L/n. And who are you, cowboy?"
A low whistle slides out from his pink lips before he chuckles out, "Pretty name for an even more gorgeous girl. And as long as I can get your phone number, you can call me anything you want."
Being six feet underground had never sounded better at that moment, as his shameless flirting had your cheeks burning and your will to live dropping. You were thankfully saved from responding when Mrs. Bell popped up next to him and scolded, "Jake, you leave my favorite customer alone!"
You glance back over at him, quirking an eyebrow and you ask, "Jake, is it?" You whistle back at him and say, "Kind of a basic name for a basic cowboy, huh?"
Mrs. Bell folds her arms, watching the two of you with a knowing look in her eye. The cowboy, Jake, lets that wide smirk back onto his face and repeats, "It's a great name, for a great cowboy. I think it'd sound good next to your name too."
You do your best to ignore his flirtatious comments, and you look at Mrs. Bell and show her your bag of veggies. "Just three red peppers and four tomatoes," you say, willing the butterflies out of your stomach.
The older lady gives you a wink as she rings you up, and briefly turns to Jake and says, "Be a dear and go finish getting the rest of my crates, please."
He gives her a respectful nod and catches your gaze again, this time with a softer smile. Jake tips his Stetson towards you and murmurs, "Have a nice day, Miss. L/n."
You swore you were as red in the cheeks as the vegetables your mother was making you buy. Thanks, Mom, I'm pretty sure I'll never be able to look Mrs. Bell in the eye ever again.
The next time you met the blonde-haired cowboy was just at the start of summer, kicked off by the county fair you were always a part of. It was either submitting some of your favorite photographs from the ranch or helping your little sister prep her show steer for her 4-H competition.
And this time, Jake caught you at a shaved ice stand just after 6 o'clock in the evening, with the rays from the sun starting to fade into a mirage of colors across the fairgrounds.
He slid into the line behind you, as you were the only one crazy enough to get shaved ice in the evening as it cooled off. That smirk ended up on his lips again, and he announced himself with an order, "Make that another of whatever Miss. L/n is ordering, please."
You whip around at the drawl to his voice, cash in hand as your eyes widen. No. No. No. This is the worst time for this cute cowboy to be seeing me. My hair certainly has fuzz in it from our steer, my clothes are covered in mud, and I don't have any makeup on. Shit.
And Jake? Looked phenomenal. Wearing his Stetson, of course, with a tight white t-shirt that clung to every single unholy part of his body. The thin material led down to a deep blue pair of Wranglers, along with his buckle and boots.
He looked like a walking model from Ariat or Kimes, and here you were, looking like you had just finished wrestling a lamb from its ewe mother through a bale of straw.
"J-Jake," you stutter out as the attendant goes to make another shaved ice. His grin only widens when he realizes how caught off guard you are and he chuckles, "You miss me or something, sweetheart?"
You can't help the warmth that floods your face, and you know it's not from the sun, especially with the evening cooling off. Sweetheart? He certainly knows how to lay it on thick.
"I didn't realize you came to the fair," you opt to say, trying to ignore his flirty comment. He leans up against the side of the shaved ice stand as his green gaze latches onto your own and states, "Honey, I've been coming to this fair before I could go mutton-busting."
A giggle falls from your lips as you picture a little Jake riding on the back of a sheep, clinging on for dear life. He chuckles at your response to his comment, his gaze flashing up to the cashier as he fishes a $10 from his wallet. You finish giggling right as he passes the cash to the attendant and you frown.
"We're paying sep-" "It's alright, Miss. L/n, I got it," Jake says smoothly, grabbing both cups of the watermelon-flavored shaved ice and handing one to you. He shoots a wink at you as his fingers brush your own, and you once again find yourself fighting pink from your cheeks.
"Y/n," you say once you grabbed your shaved ice and spoon from him. He quirks his eyebrow at you but doesn't say anything. You roll your eyes and repeat with a shrug, "Y/n, you can call me by my first name."
Jake smiles at you, this time very genuine as he nods, "Alright, Y/n," he tests your name out, "Would you care to join me at the tractor pulls tonight? I know where the best seats are."
It's your turn to flash him a wicked grin and say, "Hell yeah, we need to go make fun of my brothers!" At that, you peel off away from him, leading the way toward the pulling lanes with a maniacal giggle. Jake can only smile and shake his head as he follows your figure.
What had he gotten himself into?
It didn't take long after the fair for the two of you to really hit it off. Casual hangouts turned into dinner dates out at the local diner. Short texts turned into long, midnight calls asking each other about how your day was, even if every day was almost the same.
Days turned into weeks, which turns into months as Jake spent time with you. He would spend any chance he could with you when he wasn't working or helping Mrs. Bell. He'd pull into your driveway, picking you up in his red and white '77 Ford truck, the pinstripes of red on it soon became one of your favorite colors.
You would take him out on the trails of your family's farm, trotting through the creeks, loping through the pastures. Jake was a cowboy, yes, and knew how to ride, but nothing made you happier than seeing him get along with Sandy, your mare.
He would even take you down to his family's farm, driving out into the pastures to watch the sunset over his fields of horses. Many nights would lead to the two of you cuddling up on the bed of his truck, surrounded by a blanket and a stray pillow or two.
You never had been more in love than when Jake pulled you into his arms and made you dance under the stars with him to Carried Away by George Strait. It was that very night Jake kissed you for the first time, and you could swear he knew exactly what he was doing when he claimed your heart as his own.
From then on, you were his, and he was yours. Everyone was ecstatic you had found a respectful man, although a bit of a tease, to stand by your side. Jake devoted himself to you and working on his father's farm, promising you a life of happiness.
It was almost expected that you were going to marry Jake someday. He had the same values as you and wanted a nice little family of a few crazy boys and some pretty little girls. He wanted to teach them how to ride, how to rope.
He wanted you to make dinner for him when the days got too long for him to help, and for him to clean the dishes while you put the kids to bed. Jake could picture his future so easily with you, you weren't ever like anyone he'd ever met before.
That's why two years into your relationship with the cowboy, he got you a promise ring for your anniversary. It was a simple silver band, as he knew you worked with your hands every day and would likely abuse a ring with a large stone on it.
Jake held the ring in his right hand, asking for your left one slightly. You couldn't help but cry and laugh at the same time as you nodded, giving him your hand to slide the ring onto.
You wrapped your arms around his neck in a tight hug, his hands landing on your waist before wrapping snugly around your body. His grip was firm and unwavering, a solid constant in your life.
"I want you to think of me when you wear this ring, okay?" Jake whispered softly in your ear, holding you close to him. You sniffle and pull back, giving him a nod with watery eyes.
"I'll always think of you, Jake."
And the next day he was gone.
"Go on, git!" you yell at a loose heifer running away from the herd. You groan as she runs off into the woods, and you push the sorrel gelding you were riding into a trot to go after her. The rest of the herd started grazing as you left them, the wind whipping through the dried grasses around you.
It was a cold day in Texas. Your grey felt cowboy hat did its best to keep the wind off of your face, and even with your warmest jacket and wild rag tied around your neck, you still felt chilled and numb to your core.
It had been a hard few months when Jake disappeared without a trace. Mrs. Bell had no one to help her at her tent in the farmer's market, so you picked up the slack to help her.
Your dad grew sick and couldn't run the farm as readily, so you, your brothers, and your sister had to step in, while your mother took care of him. That meant you spent more time in the saddle, working all the horses and pushing the cows to the hay and silage for the winter.
Your gloved fingers reach for the rope tied to your saddle horn, and as you made your loop, your (colored) eyes found the young heifer again. You slow the gelding you were riding down, Ringo, he was called, as you come up to the small cow.
You could tell she was frightened, so while she didn't run, you gently threw the loop over her head and dallied the rope to your saddle horn. You glance over your shoulder, ensuring the rope was secured around the heifer's neck before dragging her out of the woods and back to the herd.
When the herd comes in sight, confusion floods over you to see Sandy, your palomino mare, being ridden. It wasn't your sister, she had her own bay gelding she liked to ride.
And it wasn't your brothers, as they preferred the four-wheelers. There was only one other person who rode your horse other than you. It was a cowboy. And not just any cowboy.
It was your cowboy.
The silver band on your left ring finger seemed to freeze over with a gust of wind, even though it was covered by your gloves. You can feel tears threatening to burn the edges of your eyes, but you ignore them.
It was him.
Trotting around the edge of the herd, keeping them close together, Jake steered Sandy perfectly, riding her with a practiced ease, like he had never left. You continue to drag the heifer up to the edge of the herd, where he finally catches sight of you.
You can't stand to look at him, and you leave your rope dallied to your horn as you swing your chap-covered leg off of Ringo and onto the ground. Tears stream down your face as you try not to sob, and you walk over to the scared heifer.
You slide the rope off of her neck, and she gets up and runs off to join the herd. You can hear Sandy's footsteps stop next to Ringo, and you hear Jake's feet hit the ground.
Sobs silently wrack your body, and you close your eyes and cover your face as you hear him approach you. He doesn't say anything, but you know he's standing directly behind you, waiting.
A gust of wind blows through, making you gasp for air as it seems to leave your lungs. The tears on your cheeks feel like they freeze to your skin as your vision blurs and a loud cry falls from your lips.
And that's enough for Jake.
He takes two large steps forward, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist from behind. His large frame helps block the wind, yet his touch makes your cries get more violent.
You turn around in his grasp, your gloved fists coming up and punching him in the chest. You're sobbing and thrashing, completely overcome with emotion.
Jake doesn't budge though. He's harder, firmer under your touch than you remember. From the blur in your vision, you can just barely tell that his shaggy locks have been cleaned up into a tight, slicked-back look under his Stetson.
How you had missed that damned straw hat.
"How could you?!" you scream as you lash out at him, a sob leaving your lips at the end of your cry. Jake just holds you tighter, and he takes his chances and pulls you into a close hug, wrapping his arms around your waist to stop your onslaught of attacks.
Your hands get trapped against his chest, yet your whimpers don't end. You can just barely hear Jake shushing you, the sound of his voice blending in with the whisper of the wind floating over you.
"How could you?" you mumble, your voice breaking at the end of your question. Jake pulls you impossibly closer, the felt hat on your head getting bumped off center, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.
"I never meant to leave you," he states, his voice different than how you remember it. There was no familiar twang to his voice, it was harder, more neutral. He didn't sound like himself. You push off of him, fighting through the new strength he seemed to come back with.
You push your hat back down onto your head, brushing away the tears from your eyes and cheeks with the backside of your gloves. You stand back and take him in. He's wearing the clothes of the man you loved, but he certainly didn't look like the Jake you remember.
He was broader than before. Wider from shoulder to shoulder, no doubt covered in more muscle. He was clean-shaven, with no sign of the stubble or beard you grew to love on him. Even his eyes had harshened, they weren't as sweet or soft as you recalled.
"How could you leave me like that?" you ask quietly again, not happy with his answer. "You left me after that night, Jake. You LEFT me after you gave me this damn ring!" At that, you pulled your left glove off, the silver band immediately catching the cool light from the overcast sun, gleaming as if it were brand new.
You could feel a wave of new, hot tears burning at the edges of your eyes, but you pushed them down and continued, "I waited every day, Jake. For a call, a text, or a letter in the mail. And I got nothing." Your voice dropped deadly quiet on the last word, a lone tear streaming down your cheek.
You couldn't read the emotion on Jake's face, as it was perfectly masked. You huff once to catch your breath and then you yell, "Say something, dammit!"
Another gust of wind blows through, and Jake glances down at his boots before regaining eye contact with you. The jade color of his eyes had dimmed, and when he gazed at you, you didn't know how to feel.
"I never stopped loving you, Y/n. I had to leave, even though I really didn't want to," he starts. He takes a step toward you, but you take another step back, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively.
Jake can feel his heart crack at the way you're looking at him. It was never supposed to be like this. You seem to glare daggers at him and whisper, "You always have a choice." He swallows thickly, averting his gaze, and continues, "Not this time, I didn't."
You groan in frustration and whip around in a circle, heading back for the horses, but Jake catches your free hand in his own. His rough fingers catch your left hand, the feeling of his skin on yours enough to make you stop in your tracks.
"Y/n, please wait," he calls out. You immediately snap back, "I waited 6 damn months, Jake! You just up and disappeared! No one would tell me where you were or what happened to you."
You rip your hand out of his, quickly shoving your gloves into the pocket of your jacket. You pull the promise ring off of your ring finger and looking him in the eye, you slam it up against his chest.
With tears in your eyes you whisper, "I'm tired of thinking about you Jake, because every time I think of you, I think about how you left me with nothing."
He doesn't move as you pull away from him, grabbing the reins of both Ringo and Sandy, you mount the gelding you had been riding. With your rope recoiled and Sandy next to you ready to pony, you look back at him.
"I'm sure you can find your own way out of this damn pasture," you say coldly as you lope off, Sandy trotting next to you as you bypass the herd of cows.
And as you ride off toward your homestead, tears streaming down your cheeks, Jake is left standing in the pasture with snow falling around him, holding the ring that had previously bound him to you.
Tag list: @xxdragonwriterxx @tejxswini @mysterystarz @mortedeveles @vs-redemption @kal0psi-a @gin-no-g @starstruckkittensweets @kitacharm @shirari @animated-moon @mitzwinchester @elitparadox @yumeyooa @angels-main @anlian-aishang @notroosterbradshaw
(If anyone would like to be removed, please just let me know<3)
#jake seresin x reader#hangman x reader#top gun x reader#jake seresin x you#hangman x you#top gun x you#jake seresin#hangman#top gun#top gun maverick#jack seresin x y/n#hangman x y/n#top gun x y/n#top gun maverick x reader#top gun maverick x you#top gun maverick x y/n
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Sebbie m'dear?? I come once again over the hills with a freshly baked blurb just in time for spooky season (lol). I can't believe it's already October and already the leaves around the house are turning those gorgeous colors. Even my littles at work are feeling the need to get spooky too (lol).
I'm still thinking alot about the whole "Rhett adopts Amy" trope with his lovely wifey!reader and with it already being spooky season, I think it's making it worse (lol).
The house is constantly smelling like fall with all the baked goods you and Rhett are making for the store you own with Cecelia and some family friends of yours, peanut butter and chocolate fudge, little rice krispie treats that look like trick-or-treat bags, cookies and little cakes that are shaped like pumpkins, coconut macaroons that look like mummies, sugar skulls with bright and intricate patterns that your neighbors sometimes put on their home altars or in the cemeteries for their loved ones, marshmallow ghosts and spiders and a whole bunch of others that make the house smell so good.
You keep plenty of fabric and materials in your supply closet and since things were a little bit tight that year before the cattle could be auctioned off, you decided to make Amy's Halloween costume. All year long she had wanted to be Cinderella so you made her the dress, the little gloves and the black choker (the only thing you worried about were her shoes but thank God she still had her Easter shoes which were perfect).
You and Rhett spent almost the whole last half of September and all of October getting the house ready for Halloween. You have a whole list of movies that you would watch together, but one of Rhett's favorites is "It's The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown" (he used to watch it all the time with Royal when he was little and Royal has pictures of Rhett rolling this giant ass pumpkin up to the house with his little blue baby blanket in his tiny hands and ever since then, Royal jokes about how Rhett was actually Linus, lol).
You've made a ton of your Halloween decorations for both at home and at the store and love putting them out every year. You've got a ton of wool from the sheep so that leaves room for you to make little needle-felted decorations (I'm learning how to do it right now and it's soooo much fun and so relaxing). You've even made a little pumpkin patch with Jack and Sally in it and even a little Zero which Amy loves to play with, although she still has trouble switching on the little fairy lights that go with it.
Speaking of pumpkins, Rhett will gladly take Amy to go and get pumpkins to carve for the house porch and the store porch as well. Wes Redwood, his best friend since childhood, will often meet up with him and his two nephews he adopted, to go pumpkin picking. Amy even pulled a Linus when she picked the biggest pumpkin in the patch and couldn't get it through her secret hole in the fence, so she rolled it around the fence like a boulder and couldn't stop it before she got to the truck (lol).
Sebbie as always, thank you for taking the time to read these and add to them when you do, I can't appreciate it enough. 🥰🥰🥰🥰 🎃🎃🎃🎃
real time reactions of me reading this! you know, i love halloween and you know i love these soft thoughts! these made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, especially considering how shitty i feel rn my love. thank you so, so much for this! ilysm, mwah! 🥰💌💗
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What happens when, if Israel has their way, all 2 million+ people of the Gaza Strip, which I would bet money is smaller than your country's capital, are shoved into Rafah?
Rafah is about a fifth of the entire strip. Take your largest city, divide it into fifths, and put 2.2 million people there.
How many bunker busters do you think it would take to flatten a fifth of your capital? Of the largest city you've been to? Given what we've seen in the rest of Gaza? Not many, and Israel has ample supply.
In Rafah, they are surrounded by Egypt, who will not take refugees, Israel, who will kill them, and the sea.
They will be fenced in on all sides by gates, gunfire, and drowning.
What happens, then, when Rafah is designated as a combat zone and they truly have nowhere else to go?
Is Israel herding Palestinian people like cattle for the slaughter? To make it easier to kill them all in one place?
If 2.2 million people are pushed into Rafah, an area only 58 square miles, that is almost 38,000 people per square mile.
A 2,000 pound bomb, from what I can find, has a roughly 800 meter or .5 square mile damage radius. Two of them could do about a square mileage of damage.
If we need only two of these bombs to obliterate a square mile, then we need only 116 to cover the whole of Rafah.
116. 116. How many bombs are dropped in a single day by Israel?
How many thousands, unhoused and displaced with no roofs or cover or shelter, would die in an instant? At 38,000 people per square mile.
I ask again: Is Israel herding them for the slaughter in Rafah? Like Palestinians have already warned us again and again and again?
How many of our leaders already know these numbers and still do not call for a ceasefire?
We cannot let them push everyone into Rafah. We can't.
#palestine#gaza#there are 70 billion reasons BESIDES THIS for why this SHOULDNT HAPPEN#this is just something that has haunted me#since I realized how small Rafah is compared to the Gaza Strip#compared to ANYTHING
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Werewolf World Building
Lycanthropes are essentially categorized by Archetype, what their bestial form resembles, and their practices:
Trickster-Scavengers: Jackals, Coyotes, Foxes: What they lack in physical strength they make up for with intelligence and magical illusions. These are shapeshifters that operate like professional thieves and can disappear without a trace. Misdirection and evasion is their preferred tactic in the face of a superior foe. When on the attack they will use invisibility to close the gap, hit hard with weapons, and then retreat before any retaliation can be mustered. Trickster-Scavengers clans increase their populations not through an infectious bite but through natural mating with whoever reciprocates their fancy and recruitment of new members that arise from an incredibly infamous but well documented supernatural phenomenon: Non-lycanthropic parents may randomly conceive a Trickster-Scavenger depending on a combination of proximity to ley lines, alignment of stars, and most importantly, the phase of the moon. T-S communication uses natural pheromones and artificial chemicals to give subtext to written messages. Their vocabulary is filled with loan words from communities that they like to interact with. Trickster-Scavengers love music and art and will travel as a circus or operate theaters that host other wandering performing groups. Nothing is sacred to trickster-scavengers and so they will cleverly mock whoever claims to be in charge. Wherever there is freedom (or chaos), a T-S clan will be there to celebrate it (and steal whatever valuables they can play with and then fence later).
Pack-Hunters: Wolves, War Hounds, Lions, Hyenas: Strong, fast, and social, these are the standard variant that most people first imagine. What little magic they utilize is supportive or self-sacrificing, such as healing or giving their strength to others. As their classification implies, P-H’s fight together although they will use “Lone Wolf” tactics in certain situations. On first contact, a young member of the pack will be encouraged to “Go First” against a potential enemy while the rest observes from a safe distance. When the pack is pursued by an enemy of greater strength, it is expected that the eldest will stay behind and fight to the death to protect their young. Predictably, the Bite from this breed of Lycanthropes can turn a humanoid into a new but not necessarily loyal member of their clan. The Bite is the best way that P-H clans can increase their population as natural breeding results in pups with birth defects such as an inability to shift shape, missing claws or teeth, and other health defects. Pack-Hunters disguise themselves in intolerant society as eccentric mercenary soldiers, nomadic cattle herders, and reclusive stoic biologists. In nations where lycanthropes are not only tolerated but valued for their abilities, militaries will recruit whole packs of P-H’s and use them as scouts, shock-troopers, and even honor guard. Wolven Pack-Hunter clans are the most insular and keep their own traditions and language secret. Meanwhile their War Hound brethren will adopt the customs of their allies but find ways to subvert them for their own benefit. Were-Lion prides are always matriarchal with a Parliament of Huntresses giving commands to the Keeper of the Den who must manage the servants, the young, and the prides territory. Hyena shapeshifters are considered the natural world’s immune system as they have the unique ability to purify otherworldly corruption by simply consuming it. Because Undead blight, demonic ichor, and aberrant mutagens taste and smell delicious to Were-Hyenas (who, again, are completely incorruptible) their packs have gathered knowledge to summon demons and other entities in order to be served up as part of a traditional feast or as an emergency food supply. This knowledge has put them in the cross-hairs of cabalists who seek to steal their knowledge for personal gain and puritanical zealots who seek to erase all knowledge of evil.
Dire-Maimed: extinct dire animals combined with echoes of primal deities: The Maimed are a direct link to The First Pack (also called the Court of the Crowned Beasts) that was manipulated by the Gods of Civilization into their own extinction. A human or demi-human cut with a Fang of The First Pack will become imbued, disfigured, and possibly killed by primal energies. These energies correspond to a force of nature such as Tempest, Plague, or Inferno, but there are legends that other forces exist. The arcane invocations Dire-Maimed can cast are powerful and destructive, but beneficial to the natural environment over time. Dire-Maimed are incapable of any form of natural reproduction as lesser beings cannot survive close prolonged exposure to the primal energies a D-M is constantly emitting. When a pair of D-M come together, there are no survivors, witnesses, or offspring, which is similar to what would happen if a hurricane and an earthquake tried to mate. Responsible holders of a First Pack Fang will only accept volunteers that have proven themselves trustworthy to become a Dire-Maimed through a ritual that allows the original host to survive and still retain their original personality but never return to their original form. Irresponsible cults use First Pack Fangs as the ultimate terror weapon, scratching an enemy (or suicidal volunteer) who will then turn into a short-lived godlike berserker or explode with primal energy in a massive radius. The evil cult will then try to search the wreckage for the Fang in order to use it again. If a stable Dire-Maimed is still capable of communicating and controlling it’s power, it can leverage it’s condition into social influence, becoming a venerated if horrifying figure in society, similar to a dragon who uses their hoard to buy royal titles or positions in a government. While the gods and their followers have censored ancient historical accounts, a dire-maimed lycanthrope inherits instinctual memories of their forbearers, so their testimony is highly sought after by anti-theistic sceptics.
#werewolf#worldbuilding#werewolves#bloodborne#werewolf the apocalypse#lycanthrope#lycanthropy#okami#kitsune#coyote#furry#furries#wolf#wolves#lion#lioness#hyena#hyenas#DnD#D&D#dungeons & dragons#folk horror#eldritch#cosmic#world#building#vicar amelia#blood starved beast#Dire-Maimed#Pack-Hunter
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I have so many problems with Attack on Titan, but right now I want to talk about the illogical world-building.
Giant creatures who only eat humans and only have one 'Achilles Heel' to take them out. Got it.
And you want to fight them with swords?
How did two swords win? They went through the trouble to build a whole, physics defying harness contraption to make them fly?
There were so many other weapons they could have used if they couldn't get to 'the weak spot.'
Step One, discover electricity. Step Two, build a goddamn fence.
Do they breathe? I don't remember, but poisonous gas. (Not in a civilian setting obviously and you'd need a breathing apparatus.)
Invent the flamethrower.
Too much to ask? Fine, here's some less technical solutions:
Caltrops.
Boiling oil poured over the side of the Wall.
Sulfuric acid and other dangerous chemical compounds that will break down organic matter. (There's gotta be a chemist somewhere here.)
Put spikes on the Wall.
Survey Corps all gathered together in a concentrated group to lure the titans in to a trap...coulda used that tactic to dig a pit trap, no?
Set the titans on fire.
Let's also address the fact the Survey Corps was completely useless by existing as the living embodiment of Einstein's definition of insanity. “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” That 'brilliant idea' of Armin's where they travel to Shiganshina at night because the titans are less active..............you're telling me....that in a hundred years...nobody else thought of that?!
The government and public were right; they were a strain on resources and brought little benefit to society. If they wanted to be useful, the purpose of the expeditions should've been more forage/hunting based in order to bring food back to a starving populace. And there would have been food. The people of Wall Maria had to abandon their homes within a twelve hour or less span, so there is no conceivable way everyone could have brought all their livestock with them. Survey Corps could've been protecting civilians as they rounded up lost cattle, pigs, chickens, sheep, etc. And Sasha might’ve gone down in history as the greatest Scout of all time.
Another thing that doesn't add up: the textile industry. With as much land as they had, the pasture land food-clothing ratio was not adequate for the population.
There are not enough cows!
Based on available materials, I assume the ODM harness and boots are made of leather. With the limited space for cattle, that supply could not meet the demand at the rate the Scouts were being killed off. (They were definitely recycling dead people's boots and gear.) That's not even taking into account regular people who need footwear or the countless other things that require leather: saddles and other horse tack, gloves, tools, heavy protective aprons for factory workers or smiths, etc.
Cotton requires a long growing season. Do they have that? Linen comes from flax seed. You'd need space to grow that and flax doesn't have much nutritional use other than soup. Same goes for jute. Wool is a possibility, but is everything made of wool? What about silk? Do they have silk worms? What are the wealthy wearing?
We can probably rule out synthetic and mineral fabrics as I don't think they have the technology.
Natural resources: They use firearms and cannons, which means there has to be a sulfur mine somewhere to make gunpowder. Except naturally-occurring sulfur is most commonly found near volcanic regions. Volcano on that island? Maybe, if sulfur was one of the 'resources' the Marley people were after.
Where are they getting the alcohol? There's a food shortage and no sane nation is going to allow citizens to plant vineyards on land that can be used for crops and they're not going to use grain for beer when it could be used for bread. I get there was corruption in the government, but limited space is limited space.
Another thing I would like to point out is no matter how many times the Founding Titan suppressed knowledge of the outside world, any mathematician with enough determination could have gone rogue and calculated the size of their world. Despite what we were told in kindergarten, people did not 'discover' the earth was round when Columbus 'discovered' America and nobody believed the earth was flat. (He also didn't discover America, but that's not what we're here for.) Ancient Greek mathematician, librarian, astronomer, scholar Eratosthenes of Cyrene determined the circumference of the earth by comparing the sun's position in the sky in relation to two different points on earth.
He was off by 2%.
Why is this important? The old order of the Walls was very much greed-based. When word of exactly how much land (and wealth) they were missing out on got out, the merchant guilds would have had their own coup against the king.
#attack on titan#attack on titan criticism#shingeki no kyojin#the real cattle of shingeki no kyojin#worldbuilding#aot plot holes#plot holes#titans#armin arlert#criticism
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I just keep coming in here and milking your au dry. But I can tell it isn’t so uncommon in these parts. May I ask for a crumb 🤏 of Halloween content for the mighty fine Cowboy Au 🎃?
There was only one night a year when mischief was warranted by the townsfolk. A night when demons and ghouls ran amuck... a night all to those who wanted to play tricks until the sun rose. That's what the night was for. Anyone who wanted to play a trick on someone would do so in a heartbeat knowing that it could cause a headache to folks in town. It was hard to say what was a crime and what wasn't a trick.
The line between the two made it the perfect venue to take what he wanted. Unknown wasn't one for the pranks and tricks played by the fools who wanted to steal fence posts and release cattle, or the ones who got the bright idea to move every horse and buggy to a different house. His brother was more of the type to do that. In fact, that's the place he expected his brother to be.
Seven was around town somewhere using the cover of the holiday to sneak into people's houses. He had the cover of Yoosung and a few of the college-aged friends he had to make sure that he wasn't caught in the act by himself. He wasn't going to throw his friend to the sheriff if they were caught, but it surely looked better to be in a group on the holiday than it did to be alone.
There was one fool a few years back who had played a trick on the church. He rang the bell over and over for hours until someone could go find the sheriff to take care of it. Too bad the fool had been drunk off his ass and couldn't take care of the problem till morning. He had shrugged it off to anyone angry with a simple "I reckon 'em boys did it thinkin' it would be a mighty fine joke. As long as they ain't steal none of the property, it's outta my hands."
Unknown wasn't one to care for that. All the fools made it easier for him to grab anything he wanted. With morons drinking their heads stupid and kids running around playing tricks on people, he more or less had his run of the town. It was easy to take money from pockets that never suspected him. It was already nearing midnight and there was enough gold and silver in his pockets to make him feel good for a month.
His brother was working on hearing loose lips or finding something that could help them on their quest. Unknown was focused on the money they needed to keep their operation afloat. He had heard a few morons talking about the drying supply of gold, but that wasn't any news to him. That had been going on for months. It wasn't just some monster lurking in the shadows taking the town's resources.
Unknown knew exactly who it was.
With a scoff, he ignored the way that children darted past him into the hills. He had already scoured the town for what he needed to get, so there wasn't much else left for him to do. There was a point when men would become so inebriated that there wasn't a way to get any useful tips from them. When their speech was slurred beyond reason, he had no reason to keep stealing.
You weren't working at the bar tonight, either.
He half-expected to find you on stage but the only one working that night was Zen and one of the other performers. You were steadily becoming more of a bar favorite so it struck him as odd. It was better to keep those fools entertained and placated. The town would get too rowdy without any eye candy. He supposed he couldn't be too mad.
If you had been wandering around on Halloween, there was no doubt in his mind that someone would've tried to steal you as a prank. Even if you'd be fine in the morning, he didn't like the thought of that. The mere notion of someone getting their dirty mitts on you made that blood of his boil even in the moonlight. Still, on a night like this when there was no one to trust, he wanted to see you before he had to see himself out of town again.
It meant that he had to make the trek out to Zen’s cabin once again. He knew the path already and the more that he walked, the less he had to see of anyone stalking the night for someone to break or steal. The shrieks and shrill sounds in the air weren’t much for him to be interested in. Halloween was just a time for a world of demons to come alive. There was nothing but fools playing a game in the name of being a trickster. That kind of life was beneath him. It didn’t belong to him.
By the time he reached the cabin, he wasn’t surprised to see that the fire wasn’t burning. It might’ve been becoming colder outside by the week, but nobody was fool enough to keep a fire stoked on this holiday. There was still the faint scent of a smokestack but that was probably lingering from dinnertime. It must’ve been a few hours since the house had been alive. You were alone in that cabin. You had nowhere else to go, after all.
Unknown peered in the through the window and searched for your form, only to see that you were on the floor of the cabin. You sat in front of a dirty mirror with a candle in hand, eyes watching the mirror for answers that you wanted to find. It struck him as odd. You weren’t a type to have vanity. You had a pretty face and it was worth looking at, but you hadn’t been the type to get fixated on the sight of yourself like Zen was. So, what were you doing?
With a slow push to the cabin door, Unknown made his way into the building with no thought as to what it would look like to anyone. His boots were heavy on the ground but you didn’t flinch. You kept your eyes on that mirror as if it were going to be the very thing that answered your questions about the universe. Was this a game of some kind, or had you finally lost your mind from the desert heat? That was hard to say.
It wasn’t until he was standing behind you that you moved even a little bit. Your outstretched hand almost touched the mirror where his reflection remained. Your eyes were trembling in your worn reflection, tracing his features to your memory like you did every time you saw him, but this time was different. It was like you couldn’t believe it was him standing behind you.
Unknown wanted answers. He leaned forward so that his face was stronger in the mirror, “Playin’ a trick on yerself, little Cereus?”
“On Halloween, there’s a game young people play in the mirror,” your voice was light and unsure. “They say if you stare into the mirror at midnight, you’ll catch a vision of your future partner in the candlelight. I always thought it was silly since I never saw anyone in the mirror when I played before. But, it’s so odd that you’ve shown up in the middle of my game.”
Oh, you were playing a trick on him, weren’t you?
He wasn’t one for ridiculous games. But, it seemed as though you were. Just as he should’ve expected from someone like you. You believed in things and places he never could. He chuckled, almost amused, since the implication that he could be your partner sounded silly. You weren’t one that deserved filthy hands on the perfect smile you possessed. You deserved way better.
There were going to be a world of options once you paid him off.
Yet, Unknown didn’t want that day to come. He didn’t want you to wander off to the seas where anyone could sweep you into their arms and trick you for every dream you’d ever had. You were too trusting... too nice... too faithful. He couldn’t stand the idea that you could be conned again. He was the only thing that could keep you safe... the only one that could steer you right. This was just a game to play to trick your mind... but he wasn’t playing a trick on you tonight.
His hand pressed against your shoulder and his breath fanned against your cheek as you both looked into the mirror. “I reckon what’s so dangerous about that? If yer’ willin’ to play these games, ya’ must’a’ already gotten everything I need outta’ town. Unless this is a trick yer’ mind is playin’ on ya’... do ya’ feel guilty about ditchin’ yer’ job to play a silly lil’ game? Wouldn’t the last thing ya’ want to see on a night like this ‘en is yer’ boss, angry y’all ain’t doin’ what ya’ promised to do?”
Your chest rose and fell. You lifted your hand, the one that had been shaking before, just enough to cup his cheek in your hand. You never looked away to hide your face from the mirror. You stayed looking at the reflection of you and Unknown as the candlelight flickered off and on due to the subtle breeze from the open doorway.
“No, boss,” you whispered, voice filled with something he couldn’t figure out by himself. This was confidence from you that he didn’t expect. You looked into his eyes and he looked into yours. “I think... I think this is exactly what I want to see in my mirror tonight.”
Why did his heart flutter when you said that?
Was this really a trick?
Unknown’s hand reached beyond you, his fingers taking hold of the candle and extinguishing the light with a single nudge, breathing in the gasp you exhaled as the room became dark. Even if it was a trick,, he was going to show you what he believed to be a real trick on his favorite desert flower. “Relax,” his voice came in as a haughty taunt. “I’m only goin’ ta’ show ya’ what tricks a cowboy can play on ya’.”
#ask#drabble#cereus#cowboy saeran x reader#cowboy unknown#cowboy saeran#mystic messenger#mm#mysme#mysticmessenger#saeran choi#choi saeran#unknown#unknown mm#unknown mystic messenger#unknown mysme#mod kait#suspiciouslybluemilktea#I had to do some research for this one#did you know that the treat part of halloween didn't become popular until the late 1920s?#before that it was all about tricks and pranks#the treat part was to stop people from literally destroying the town with pranks#but since this is the mid-1890s we can't have treats
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✨️Wanted Connections✨️
for both new & existing characters !!
• family- glorie is the 4th child of 6 siblings; the youngest two brothers are available (ages 23 & 25). the bolton family is the epitome of dysfunction. their eldest brother domeric was revealed to be a bastard who also killed their father. the second eldest was ruling lord for a brief time until he joined the umber cause, leaving glorie next in line instead of the next brother. there's a ton of tension with these new developments and it's utp whether or not they support their brother openly.
• friends/acquaintances/enemies- the bolton name has the uncanny ability to provoke hate due to the indiscretions of her predecessors and glorie isn't shy about defending her house. enemies can range from any number of people they've offended or had a rivalry with to personal matters from childhood til now. on that same note, glorie is looking to mend fences with said people/houses which can lead to at least an acquaintance connection. she was also very personable before the war and her losses so she would have made friends during her visits to other capitols or places in the north.
• allies & trade- glorie intends to use her new found status to elevate the dreadfort and it's many advantages. with a natural heat source that keeps food growing within green houses during even the harshest of winters (among other exports such as wood and cattle), she hopes creating direct trade with those who can help supply during the war with the umbers will put her ancestral seat and name in a better place than the past.
• more will be added as time goes on, but feel free to suggest anything you don't see!
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Wednesday 8th March 2023
Rockhampton is a friendly place of almost 80,000 which makes it the 22nd largest city in Australia. Many of its inhabitants are either graziers or in the supply or support of the cattle industry. Others use Rocky as a dormitory town working in the mining industry in Blackwater. Well that's the statistics. It has an airport and it has botanical gardens with a zoo. So within easy walking distance that is where we went. It is literally around two corners from where we're staying but the look of incredulity on the face of the lady in the tourist information kiosk at the zoo that we walked you might think it was two counties away. We are both of the same mindset that zoos ought not be necessary, but we hurried to catch the start of the talk on crocodiles. It really revolved around one particular specimen, the Colonel a salty type. He was about 40-50 years of age, measures in at 4.3m and weighs 450-500 kg. You can understand why this might not be a precise figure because he is happy where he is, enticing onto the Boots weighing scales could be tricky. Remarkably the Colonel started life in the wild, but was upsetting the eco system of the Northern Queensland farm stocks so they caught him and shipped him off to the Karoona Crocodile Farm with an idea he might be useful stock for breeding. Sadly he had two girlfriends both of which he ate. This did nothing for his CV on the dating site so it was thought a more solitary life was more suitable. Which is how he ended up in Rockhampton Zoo. He is an opportunistic killing/ eating machine of immense capability and agility in the water despite mournfully looking at the keeper in the corner of his pool hoping for a titbit or two. Or even a small child perhaps.
Dingos, cassowaries, wedge tailed eagle, kangaroos, Emus were on offer as well. The croc man also told us about the Dingo or as the farmers lobby like to refer to as Wild Dog which gives it a bit of a reputation. Supporters of the Dingo say he is maligned and should be seen as part of the eco system. Arial shots of the Dingo fence say the land is greener on the Dingo side where they will attack kangaroos and other plant/ grass eaters thus allowing vegetation to thrive more.
The botanical gardens were beautiful and despite a cyclone coming through a couple of years ago and removing some 50% of trees the remaining grounds were neat and rich in wildlife. The lilly lakes were teaming with turtles and birds.
We returned to the apartment and then all hands to the pumps as we started to pack. Two cases needed to go to the railway station in readiness for the trip tomorrow to Brisbane. Then dash back filling the Nissan with petrol and taking it back to Mr Avis at Rockhampton Airport. We are now pedestrians again after 4 weeks.
It will be a very early start in the morning. The tilt train leaves at 7.10am!
Another BBQ tonight washed down with SB. We shall sleep well.
ps Rather alarming signs saying snakes spotted. Is this a disclaimer? Second most deadly snake has been spotted among others.....
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Inktober22 - Day 31 - Farm
Pedr grimaced a little has he trekked through the scrubland of his farm. He knew where the hole in the fence was, a storm took a tree down and the livestock had been over to visit the neighbors.
Now he had to hike through the thick brush and make sure that all dozen made it back where they were supposed to be before he tacked the wire back.
Stupid, stupid animals.
This was originally going to be a cool picture of my brother feeding cattle, or some kind of other tractor work, but this morning I had to go out and round up one of the neighbors animals and it kind of soured me toward them. This is a real part of farming that you don’t see anywhere.
And he’s carrying the best supplies for cattle moving and fence fixing, a stick and cordage.
Anyhow, I look forward to Inktober every year, it’s the main place that I extend my post-apocalypse setting. Hope y’all enjoyed!
#ketchup laser#kl draws#inktober#inktober2022#post apocalypse#post apocalyptic#apocalypse#apocalyptic#farm#farmer#pedr
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"...The head of the local council in Duma, Suleiman Dawabsheh, said that Israeli occupation forces escorted a bulldozer to the local spring and demolished the water infrastructure that the village council had set up, along with the fence that was built around it.
He added that this was the main water supply used by local Palestinians for their cattle. Moreover, he pointed out that the village has already been suffering from serious water shortages due to Israel's ongoing destruction of Palestinian land and infrastructure in the occupied territories. An effort by the council to have such destruction stopped by an Israeli court was to no avail, said the local official. ..."
How can anyone defend such behaviour?
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