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#im no stranger to blowing shit up in a metal barrel
dirt-grub · 3 years
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i want to do Experiments and i know we actually have a sledgehammer but i dont know where and i have a feeling asking hey dad can i borrow the sledgehammer would not go over well 
#experiments meaning beat the shit out of a watermelon#YOOOOO WAIT#i have a new idea and it involves a barrel and a lot of gunpowder....#that sounds like a joke but hehe. hehehohohoo#im no stranger to blowing shit up in a metal barrel#the best is when it goes like FWOOF and a big huge puff of smoke comes out bro i miss it#WAIT I STILL HAVE SPARKLERS FROM THE FOURTH OF JULY TOO#they dont blow shit up but they sure make it extra pretty!!! like candles on the watermelon bomb cake#connor pyromania hours#so yeah i dont know how often it comes up but i light shit on fire a lot GUDIASHOILDASLKDJSLKD#literally i used to just start fires in this parking lot by my house#for multiple purposes sometimes i needed to dispose of things but mostly for fun#GODDDDD i remember once i got caught and i thought my ass was SO beat bc i was just out in the open and my dad drove by#and he was like what in the FUCK are you doing and i was like shit i dont have any sort of fucking lie#but all he had to say was dont do that so publicly im not posting your bail if you get arrested at least go down the road more#thanks pops FHLDJKLASJKA#oh and hm i wonder if i got one of those pokers from the old fire place how that would fuck up a melon#it sure fucks up your body i had a cousin thwack me on the leg with one once and it FUCKING HURT#every day she woke up and chose violence that one. she also closed the car trunk on my head once which explains a lot#it was my parents wedding day. ah memories#my oma had to yank my tooth out after bc it was so loose#yknow from the bludgeoning#lol she didnt warn me tho she was just like let me see *RIP* okay sweetie go have fun :)#and i was like oh okay!!! :)#okay im rambling haha oh classic connor with the weird adhd fueled tags#also im dead serious about fucking around with a watermelon actually it might be theraputic#ive dedicated my life to painstaking artistic creation so like... sometimes it feels good to destroy something. fuck it up on purpose yknow?#that was always the best part of building with blocks as a kid you'd marvel at it then get to knock it down and try again#wheres the knocking down part now. i wanna smash things#dan kin moments lol
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foxtophat · 5 years
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eh its late enough and im drinking some wine at e3,  here’s like the first part of my epic john redemption fic
From all the games and movies Nick had digested growing up, he'd always figured that the nuclear wasteland would be either entirely uninhabited or infested with a population of power-hungry raiders looking to destroy everything in their wake.  So far, though, most of the people he's come across have been pretty friendly.  Wary as fuck, not really willing to share and definitely not interested in sticking around for long, but nobody's tried to pull a gun on the Ryes and their hospitality.  As bad as Nick had thought living in the bunker had been, it's clear that surviving above ground had been much, much worse.
So that's what he's expecting as he follows the bootprints dug into the dirt.  Strangers trying to get by in the lushness of Hope County; people whose names he might remember; maybe even old friends who he still hasn't heard from.  He expects a small camp, expects maybe he's going to have to negotiate with some new neighbors to keep the peace.  There's plenty of land here for everyone, after all, and Nick isn't opposed to some friendly faces to rely on in hard times...
But Nick's luck has never worked out the way he's expected it to.  Instead of another family, a possible friend or even just a days-old campsite from some wanderer, Nick almost walks himself into an open bunker.  He catches himself at the edge of the grate, staring down into the darkness at the bottom of the ladder.  It smells fucking terrible, like something up and shit itself to death down there, and now Nick is pretty sure he's just going to find another goddamn corpse.
"Uh, hello?" Nick calls, unable to help himself.  "Anybody... down there?"
There's no response.
Nick looks around, but the overgrowth is too thick here for him to keep following the tracks.  Goddamn — falling to your death after surviving the nuclear holocaust?  What a way to go.
It's only on his second look around that Nick catches sight of a scrap of yellow between the trees further ahead.  It looks like fabric, stretched out over a branch, and as Nick approaches he starts to recognize it as nylon.  Like a parachute, maybe?  Shit, even if nobody's out here, they could use that kind of sturdy fabric for all sorts of shit —
The parachute's remains are in tatters, dragged through sharp tree-branches and the apocalypse alike.  It's sort of like a... lean-to, maybe?  Nick's not sure; whoever threw together this campsite probably didn't have much time to think about it.  There's a fire-pit in front of him that looks like it hasn't been burning for days now, and a crate of miscelaneous components, likely scavenged from wherever this parachute came from...
Nick goes to take the fabric down — one man's trash, right? — but he finds himself stopping cold as he catches sight of a corpse huddled under the parachute.  Jesus Christ, and here he was about to scrap the whole place!  Talk about disrespectful!  From the look of it, the guy who had camped out here must've starved to death — curled in nearly fetal, visibly malnourished even fully clothed.  Between the thick beard and the wild mane of brown hair, Nick can't see the body's face; all he can make out is a heavily scarred mess near where the guy's ear should be.  It looks like it got melted off.  Or maybe blasted off.
The body moves.  The noise that accompanies it is something like a hiss, air wheezing sharply through tightly clenched teeth.  "Holy shit," Nick gasps, dancing backwards in momentary terror before getting a fucking grip on himself.  "Holy shit, buddy, you're alive?"
In response, the corpse shudders like it's trying to rise, managing to twist enough in its spot that Nick can now make out a face to go with the rest of the body.  There's something strikingly familiar about the bloodshot, glassy blue eyes, something about his face —
The arm that had been hidden under the body has the sleeve rolled up to the elbow, and Nick can clearly make out the cross-hatched scars that seem to be almost ritualistic in nature, covering patches of the full-sleeve's worth of tattoos that have faded after so long without a touch-up.  Nick almost doesn't recognize it, until he sees the lettering across the knuckles.  His whole body jolts with a white-hot rush of terror as he looks down and realizes that this is John Seed!
"Jesus, Christ!"
It's John goddamn fucking Seed!
Nick raises his rifle before he's processed the situation, finger on the trigger and barrel pointed down at the body slumped in front of him.  He almost pulls the trigger, too, wants to pull the trigger, but John is just lying there, and Nick... he can't do it.  God, he fucking shoot, he knows he should — but it's been eight years since Nick had to shoot another human being.  He's not sure this is how he wants to break that streak.
John smells like shit (mostly figuratively) and looks like a goddamn murder-hobo worse than any Eden Gate's member (definitely literally).  It isn't until Nick has the barrel of his rifle almost touching John's chest that the man's eyes drift towards the gun; even then, it doesn't look like he recognizes the danger he's in.  This close, Nick can hear him
"Holy goddamn," Nick says, unable to help himself, "You look like shit."
The noise John makes in return could be called a laugh, if Nick were feeling particularly charitable, but it's closer to a tired hiss.  It flips his stomach, instincts deeper than reason keeping him glued to the spot while he slowly lowers his gun.  Shit.  Shit!  He would be doing the world a favor, eradicating this goddamn beast.  This is the fucking monster who'd terrorized his family, tried to force him from his home, tortured him - he still carries the dark, thick band of a scar from where his skin had been fucking flayed!  This county spent years being subtly and then overtly terrorized by this shit and his family, and a quick execution is more than he deserves!
John is barely more than a corpse as it is.  Nick listens to him wheeze, something rattling deep in his chest, and finds himself catching the safety.
He calls himself all sorts of names as he moves into the shelter.  Mostly, "Fuckin' idiot, goddamn fool," which doesn't stop him from acting like one at all.  John doesn't react as Nick crouches beside him; the most he does is close his eyes and try not to throw up as Nick tries to prop him up.  He swallows thickly a few times; Nick pulls his canteen off of his belt and pushes it into John's shaking hands, but it's only when he helps bring it to his mouth that John actually drinks any water.  He clutches at the metal and drinks desperately, greedily, and it makes Nick so fucking angry to see his relief that he rips the canteen away before John can get his fill.  The guilt he feels immediately after is worse than the anger by leagues, but he's got no way to process that shit right now, so he'll stick with the outrage.
"I've got every right to leave you for the fuckin' wolves," he grunts, shoving the canteen back into John's hands.  "I'd be doing this world a goddamn favor putting you down myself."
Nick doesn't expect John's delirious nod in response.  He doesn't know what to do with it.  John Seed has too much goddamn pride to accept a miserable end like this.  He's a self-centered narcissist who probably expected the whole cult thing to blow over in court — how can he lie here like a skeletal Peggy and let Nick talk about putting him down like a dog?
"Every fucking right," Nick repeats helplessly as the choice vanishes in front of him.
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