#this might be a little disjointed

[wikiangela]

last line tag

tagged by @jesuisici33 @thewolvesof1998 @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @lover-of-mine @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz 💖💖

___

It’s a good few weeks, and it feels like everyone’s back on track, settling into their lives again, figuring everything out one day at a time. Buck’s happy. He has his awesome girlfriend, his best friend seems finally more at ease, even if the divorce is adding some stress, and his other best friend is happier than ever with his mom around. Everything’s finally starting to go great.

And then it all gets disrupted again.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @exhuastedpigeon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @spotsandsocks @hoodie-buck @giddyupbuck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jeeyuns

[chemdisaster]

Hey so since you have one of the best if not THE BEST takes of Joel Smallishbeans character I wanted to ask how accurate is this song to his character: https://youtu.be/w8o1R8zmcnk?si=A0ksQfNv4Mvcx3K7

I was listening to it again after I got into the life series I feel like the whole "not caring about the past/living in the present" energy if this song really fits him!

first of all, thank you so much, anon!! i'm so honoured that my takes are that well appreciated, and that you wanted to hear my opinion on this song. speaking of which, holy hell, you're onto something. it reminds me specifically of this and this post - the mood the lyrics give off, in my opinion, is one of kind of having your eyes unveiled as to the meaninglessness of existence and consequently deciding not to give a shit anymore, in a way? its vibe is very going-off-the-rails, which fits perfectly with my idea of a joel who, after seasons upon seasons of trying desperately to keep his humanity, eventually gets consumed, is broken by it all and decides, fuck it. nothing matters. everything does. basically just. joel slowly losing himself, and this song captures that concept very well. once again, thank you, anon, i have been enriched <3

[doomednarrative]

As I've been watching Kabuto a second time with friends, I've been paying much closer attention to the beginning arcs of Yaguruma and Kageyama both. And this moment with Yaguruma cooking his tofu for Tendou stood out to me much more on a second watch than it did the first time.

Because argubaly, I think you can make the case that this right here is kinda the thesis for his character arc of the entire show.

Yaguruma is someone who is immensely prideful. He puts a lot of value into being the leader of Shadow and the holder of TheBee, he looks out for his men and cares for them a lot. But when he first meets Tendou, a lot of that goes out the window due to his own pride being trampled on after how good he sees Tendou is both in and out of suit. Tendou is also someone whos very prideful in his own abilities, but the difference between them both is that where Tendou is concerned, his own pride usually ends up playing into lifting others up to reach their own potentials (Kagami especially) and he isn't immune to letting people help him when it's needed.

Yaguruma is a lot different. His own pride tends to overshadow his better qualities, and it gets both him and his men hurt, and eventually leaves him ousted from Shadow all together. And he knows its his own fault, at least at first.

What's Really the killing blow to him though, and the thing that sends him down his whole hopper spiral, is when he thinks he might have a chance at redemption and repairing that broken pride, only for it to be absolutely crushed underfoot not just by someone random, but by the person he was closest to within Shadow, aka Kageyama.

Like that had to hurt a lot! And I could go into how this affects their relationship as a whole in another post, because thats its own thing really, but here it still has to hurt. Something Yaguruma was once fit for is no longer even something he's Considered for, and it's going to someone he once failed to protect that he really cared about. Talk about a failure of the highest degree.

It's no wonder he does end up the trashy depressed goth we see later on. At that point theres no pride left to have, so why even Try reaching for it? It's easier and much less pain to just stop trying all together. And in the end, that's still losing to himself too.

[longvalentines]

thinking about an AU jerv design..

[featuresofinterest]

barbie is a really fun movie

[gachaparadise]

ahhh the Penacony leaks are really coming in now.

*chuckles* I'm in danger.

[audiio]

Transcript under the cut:

Cody: I’m gonna do a full run action over to the nuke by Nivitz here.

Karl: Keep ‘em off us! We’ll do what we can!

Grant: Nivitz is able to quickly point out these frayed wires that have been set precariously close to each other to form connections if it’s moved hastily. And he’s also able to point out the timer to you. Since he’s helping you through that part quickly, I will give you an insight check to see if you think you know how to defuse this.

Cody: Oh boy. I rolled a three.

Grant: I want you to— Cody. Look at me. Through the screen here. You need to role play this like you believe you can defuse this.

Karl: I’ve totally seen this before in a movie.

Grant: Nivitz, roll insight.

Nivitz: [sighing] Oh boy… Karl: I know exactly what I'm doing, it’s the red wire.

Grant: Nivitz, you believe that he can defuse this.

Nivitz: Oh boy. You sure you got this? Karl: According to my… vague knowledge of bad movies. Nivitz: Oh… [chuckles nervously] Karl: But I’m sure it’ll work, right? Because a lot of those movies are based off of real— they’re almost documentaries, inspired by real events.

Pippin: Nivitz is nervously [unintelligible]

Nivitz: If you’re sure, do you want me to help the others? Karl: No, no, I’m probably gonna need you here. Nivitz: Okay…

Pippin: So what can I do?

Grant: You can just effectively cast the Help action, which means that you’re gonna give Cody advantage on his next check.

Austin: Can I call out my knowledge of shitty movies and just tell them, like,

Xalduin: It’s never the green wire!

Austin: And use a Hero Point to give them… more shit?

Nivitz: Is this a bad time to tell people I’m colorblind?

Austin & Grant: No.

[laughing]

Cody: What kind of check is it to defuse this bomb?

Grant: You don’t know this, so don’t metagame, but this is a DC 30 check.

Cody: Oh.

Grant: So, you have advantage on it because of Nivitz. You have an extra d6 because of Xalduin’s Hero Point. And you can use an extra d6 because of your Hero Point. It is going to be a check with your Tinker’s tools, though, so it is also with proficiency. Plus 3d6, so whatever you roll, with advantage, plus 3d6. Why don’t we just get your 3d6 out of the way now, so we know what it’s adding. 

Cody: So I get plus 10.

Grant: You get plus 10, and it’s a DC 30. So you need to get a 20 or higher, with advantage.

Cody: Now, can I add this also? It’s an ability check, that’s not really an ability check though, is it? It’s uh… Enhanced Focus…

Grant: No, yeah, you can add that. One hundred percent.

Cody: Oh, okay well then I’ll throw in another d6. Oh my god, great…

Grant: So you need to roll a 19 or higher with your tinker’s tool on one of these rolls. To defuse this bomb.

TJ: And your total has to be 19.

[yelling]

Cody: Advantage, 24.

TJ: What the fuck…

Karl: I told ya, it’s the red wire. What’d I say? It’s not the green one, just like Xalduin said. Of course it’s not the green one. They try that in… Space Abominations Five and that doesn’t work.

Grant: Karl, by complete accident… you get in there, and by the time you start touching things, you realize it’s too late and you don’t know what you’re doing.

Cody: [laughs]

Grant: And you connect two wires and the timer blinks off.

Karl: Whew, guys I’m just gonna be honest with you. There wasn’t even a red wire in there. I got in there and they were all green. [laughs]

[princepsumbra]

12. A happy memory

Journal Entries

Winter, year xxxx

I can still see the surprise on her face as I slide the ring on her finger. I don't think she expected me to act when we're in the middle of a war with no clear end in sight. But I've held back long enough; imagining one more day with the ring burning a hole in my pocket was agonizing.

In fact, I've imagined this moment a thousand different ways. The one constant was the place--under a starry sky. A break in cloud cover is rare in Nohr, but it seemed the gods granted me favor tonight. I'm running out of tales about the stars. Now what will I tell her when she's falling asleep?

She said she wanted to be worthy of my love. Foolish girl. She's held it long before I myself realized it, and by then it was far too late to pretend any different.

I have never felt so happy in my life. Even while I write this, I can hardly keep a smile from my lips. I never thought I'd fall in love. Love of this degree was always something I'd read about, or see in others.

I can only hope I will spend the rest of our days together making her as happy as she's made me.

[crowdsourcedloner]

(from sealrock)

21 and B for the uncommon questions meme :D

21. Why do they get up in the morning?

Nailah gets up to keep busy. She doesn't sleep well most nights and, rather than staring at a wall for a few more hours, she gets up and starts idly taking care of whatever chores are undone around her. She's been caught sweeping, sorting, and making breakfast for any companions that might be awake at the same time as her.

In a more metaphorical sense... she doesn't know. She believed her only purpose was to be the Warrior of Light and save everyone, but now that all that's done... what purpose is there for her in a saved world? It bothers her more than she wants to admit, leading to her losing even more sleep and taking up an excessive amount of Hunt bounties in between story beats, causing her to disappear for long stretches of time.

B) What inspired you to create them?

short answer: i initially made my characters for a mechanical purpose rather than for the sake of making stories about them, but things got out of hand repeatedly when i was easily distracted by story ideas and aesthetic desires...

long answer: lets break this down by character

nohku (relevant to others though she technically no longer exists)

started as the generic fantasy orphan backstory, was my only character for a long time

inspired by wondering about mooncat lore in the shroud and thinking about what would happen should the ixal summon garuda near a mooncat settlement

she was... really all over the place aesthetically and personality wise so i did what hydaelyn would want and sundered her into other characters rather than throw everything out (each of my current characters has parts of her previous aesthetics/personalities/stories)

scrapped due to wanting 1. more consistent characterization 2. a more unique face/race without modding and 3. to one day see a catboy be carried in the arms of a large lion lady

yomi

originally made as a throwaway pf savage healer alt, only to develop into a character to keep me entertained during msq

shes still stuck in stormblood

originally was nohku's post-endwalker apprentice

originally inspired by hingan housing items and ingame eastern fashion, since i couldn't find a satisfactory headcanon behind a hingan looking house in the middle of the lavender beds (where nohku's first house was) and i still wanted a hingan house/apartment since the furniture looks nice

aesthetics include flowers, shortbread cookies, mint, sunrises, and cold tea on a hot day - things that are refreshing and light

personality was made to be as bright and cheerful as possible with minimal trauma, as i tend to make characters have pretty terrible lives and i wanted to not do that again as a challenge

after going through mount rokkon and the four lords questline, i might push her into an auspice/onmyoji role? its a corner of the lore that interests me greatly and no other character really fits in to it...

zezene

originally made to help me learn how to play ffxiv on controller

personality was made to be loud and confident, and the idea of a somewhat benevolent conman/thief similar to robin hood intrigued me as i usually don't do shadier (or genuinely confident) characters

aesthetic inspirations include card tricks, sleight of hand, zidane's outfit, threatening smiles, and mischievous imps

i have yet to find good inspiration for their backstory... but it feels in character for them to not have a static backstory? like they change it every time someone asks? maybe an idea will come in the future

the idea of them taking in yomi and verre only came about once i was set on entirely eliminating nohku from lore

there was a scrapped inspiration of them having more voidsent connections, but this has been removed... for now

verre

originally created for the new server bonus on dynamis

originally had much more involvement in nohku's lore, as she was connected to nohku's father/mentor figure

personality was made to be an introverted engineer, but not really a shy one - someone who has more quiet confidence and knows what they're about without outside influence

aesthetic inspirations include still water, gears, timepieces, the smell of gun oil, the sound of a ticking clock, and glowing screens

also partly inspired by goblins, goblin technology, and general wonderings about the effects of outliving the people around you

there's a big time inspiration/motif that i've yet to really dig into, but its there

her lore developed the most suddenly out of all my characters, and i'd like to add more dalmascan influence/inspiration to her somehow

nailah

she's what nohku will be fanta/name changed into

originally inspired by wanting a less popular character race, as i was tired of seeing nohku clones on every corner and i figured having more concrete race lore could steer me towards more consistent character/personality

bozja and general hrothgar lore were fantastic food for her backstory, as it's inspired by wondering 'hey how can i make hrothgar lore backfire'

backstory is also partly inspired by wondering how neutral intentions can be horribly warped by auracite (technically done through her mother but the effects are relevant to nailah's character)

personality is inspired by defrosting ice queen tropes, the concept of 'masks', feral cats, and the sensation of distance

aesthetic inspirations include drifting smoke, foggy pine forests, cold ashes, hooded faces, and the sound of distant thunder

fordola's echo helped inspire nailah's echo, namely how they're both very sensitive and they somewhat force a sense of empathy on their people

more inspirations could come about in the future (such as ideas based on body tattoos/markings in character creator)

[warborn-tragedy]

also can i just take a minute to talk about the sheer fucking anger Ezra gets hit with in the DFW/Revenant/Phoenix timelines where Red's presumed to be dead and that's the official state of things?

Like he was just starting to properly connect with a side of his family that he couldn't outright hate (although there's still some resentment directed towards his uncle, Reds dad, for never following up/seemingly 'abandoning' him to their shitty ass family) and yeah, he had time that he wasted out of spite but with Red things were just. A little different.

And don't get me wrong, it took time for them to actually start talking with each other (with Reds overall estrangement with most of her family and Ezra's apprehensiveness towards reaching out/connecting with these practically strangers) but once the ice was broken?

It's uneasy but the bond is there. There's a sort of understanding to be had between the two of them founded on turning to the active duty military/special forces as an escape from the difficulties of the past. And while Red never pressed for hard details, she always made it clear that she cared. Something that always confused Ezra, something he had been touched by because that automatic level of care and compassion? Not exactly something he was used to.

But then we flash forward a few years and Red's declared KIA and Ezra loses one of the few people that knew just about everything; who in his eyes didn't deserve that. And it's the unfairness of the situation that really pisses him off; because Red was a good person, she had family that loved her and a little girl that was waiting for her to come home-

Just. AU specific Ezra carrying a unique anger on his shoulders that almost drives him to leave the service entirely out of spite/principle/grief.

[vse-kar-vem]

NOOOO I CANT FIND ANY ALL IN BY LUMA GIFSETS TO REBLOG 💔💔💔💔 what kind of fresh hell is this

[thefearandnow]

Samples:

“Group Dancers” by Charles Mingus

Drums from “SIRENS” by Saba

[ao3commentoftheday]

why write a story if no one's going to read it?

Sometimes you don't want to share a story with others. Sometimes you do want to share it, but no one clicks on the title. So why bother writing it down if the only person you can guarantee will read it is you?

You need to get it out of your head. It just keeps replaying in your imagination on a loop and the only way to get it unstuck is to pin it down on paper.

You need to figure out what the story is. You have a lot of disjointed scenes or lines that you know are connected but you can't quite figure out how.

There's something in the story that's important to you, and you don't want to lose that thing by forgetting it. Future you might find that thing important too.

You want to be able to go back to the story again and again. Maybe to make adjustments over time. Maybe just to revisit a story that gives you the emotional release you need in that moment.

You want to be able to use text-to-speech to read the story aloud to you. Maybe it's a bedtime story. Maybe it's keeping you company while you do errands and chores.

You want to find out whether you can write a story (because not everyone can).

You want to be able to have almost the same story, but a little bit different, and you want to have it 15 times with slight variations. Then you can go through your own personal menu picking exactly the combination of beats that will satisfy you most on this reading.

You enjoy the process of finding just the right words or phrases or scenes to paint the pictures you want to shape the scene.

You want to find the exact rhythm and syllables and structure to make a sentence really sing.

You don't really have any particular reason, but you know you want to write that story down.

[pterribledinosaurdrawings]

Was it you that made the "how to sew a nice thing comic?

this one?

yes, that's an old one from before I had a tablet and (unfortunately) from before I started putting watermarks on them.

OH ALSO! speaking of watching sewing a nice thing videos, I would like to mention that I have my own sewing youtube channel now!

I am quite slow at making videos, but there are so many I want to make. If you've ever watched a sewing video and gone "Hey, wait, you're glossing over too many details, how did you do that? Oh, if only this video had more autism in it!" then you might like these ones, because I do my very best to explain every little thing as clearly as I can! Which is why it took me 22 minutes to say everything I had to say about basic 18th century hand sewn buttonholes, and an entire hour to cover making 2 pairs of gloves.

I'm working on a very very long one right now, and I've been posting monthly updates on Patreon. I started the patreon for the dinosaurs, and I still do 4 extra dinos a month there, but now I'm also doing monthly progress posts on whatever video stuff I've been working on. Quite a disjointed sort of patreon, alas.

[uravitypng]

big beefy number one pro hero deku is absolutely smitten with you, his chubby little girlfriend, and yeah you're a little bit of an airhead sometimes but that makes you all the more endearing to him.

prior to meeting you he used to feel embarrassed whenever he'd ramble too long about heroes or quirks. after some time people would drown him out after he started his disjointed babbling, not wanting to listen to him ramble. with you it's different, the first time it happened he went to apologise to you. jirou once told him he should try and apologise if he realised he did it to strangers afterwards- especially now that he's a pro hero.

so he goes to stammer out an apology after realising he spoke to you uninterrupted about all might's golden age for five minutes and you tilt your head and giggle at him. izuku draws in a breath. "why are you apologising deku? i really liked hearing you speak. what about his other ages?"

izuku felt like he was malfunctioning, "what?"

you bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling again. who knew pro hero deku is so cute? "like the silver age and the bronze age? are those all the ages or is there like a platinum age too?" izuku grins, you're so interested in what he has to say he can't help it. "wait was is all might's quirk again? he's like strong right? that's his quirk."

izuku pauses for a second before barking out a laugh. you pout and glare at him feigned annoyance. 'she's so adorable and ditzy. i need to speak to her again.'

you constantly praise him, not just for hero work either, and ever single time it makes his entire face red. it doesn't matter that you've been dating for four years now and izuku's brought an engagement ring, he still gets flustered with all the compliments.

people compliment him all the time, it comes with the job, but when you do it it means so much more. " 'zuku you're so brave!" "i don't understand this at all izuku, can you explain it too me? you're the smartest person i know." "you're so pretty." "your hair is so soft." "you're the best hero ever!"

a light sheen of sweat covers your forehead after being manhandled by your boyfriend into the cowgirl position, he loves holding onto your love handles and moving you up and down on his cock, with each bounce your body jiggles. you'll lay in bed with your face buried in his chest as you trace the scars on his arms with your fingertips lightly, "you're so strong izuku." you turn to face him and your chubby cheeks lift as you smile. "i'm so proud of you." his heart skips a beat. he's never loved anyone more than he loves you.

izuku gets possessive of you, he doesn't like people touching you. you're his. before you he never thought he would be jealous or possessive but then you came into his life and he nearly broke the glass of champagne he was holding when he saw todoroki talk to you. he knows todoroki doesn't like you like that, he's liked yaoyorozu since ua but he was too close to you and izuku hated it. his legs moved before he could think, walking up to you both with a forced smile on his face. he wraps his arm around your soft waist, tightly, and kisses your forehead. you smile sweetly at him and lean into his body. izuku brought you home earlier than you thought he would that night, holding onto your thick thigh with one hand while his other hand is on the steering wheel, driving you both home.

his jealous nature was cemented a week after when he saw kaminari talking to you. not just talking to you- flirting with you. if izuku was holding a glass like he was last time he most certainly would of smashed it in anger. you don't even realise what kaminari is doing and izuku knows you don't.

you listen to him talk intently and nod your head, you smile at him and laugh at his jokes. to some people they would think this would be you flirting back but you're not, you're just trying to be nice. kaminari has decided to talk to you and you want to be kind and listen to what he has to say and izuku has really admired that quality about you but right now he wishes you could pick up on the clear signs that kaminari is giving you.

izuku snaps when he sees kaminari look at your cleavage and glance at your body, his eyes lingering on your plush thighs. his voice is strained as he pulls you away from kaminari making some half-arsed, offhanded excuse as he takes you home immediately.

when he saves a small child and he gives them his award winning grin all he can think about afterwards is you. 'who are our kids going to look like? will they have my freckles? or maybe her hair? if they're half as cute as her they'll be the cutest kids ever.' he's already planning their bedrooms and his eyes drift to the baby clothes section at stores.

your boyfriend has the biggest breeding kink known to man and you get reminded of that as he folds your body into a mating press and groans deeply in your ear, "can't wait to see your soft body get softer puppy, promise i'll look after, you won't have to lift a finger." you loudly whine, grabbing hold of his large arms, every thrust causes a loud slapping sound with how wet you are. "you're gonna look so pretty puppy. i'm going to pump you full, make sure you don't spill any for me, just like the good girl you are."

izuku adores you and you feel exactly the same about him.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part nineteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

The cool paste feels tingly on your skin as you rub it against your bruised stomach, wincing. Christ. Maybe Ghost was right to think he might break you. Beneath the mottled patchwork, another kind of pain stirs— your muscles are growing. Firm and tight. The only soft parts of you left are your breasts and your ass. Gently applying the paste to a nasty purple one on your left cheek, you curiously pinch the sore flesh between your fingers. Scratch that. Even your ass is firming up. 

Arnica has healing properties. Yesterday, you found a patch of it with Blue and created a salve with some water. You already applied some last night before bed. Whether or not it’s helping probably doesn't mean much when new ones are about to be added; still, the placebo effect brings some comfort.

You're still massaging your backside when the bathroom door groans beneath a heavy fist. 

"Hurry up. Grab your bow."

“Shit.” You startle, almost dropping the salve. "Uh, coming.”

Chucking on a clean shirt and your old pair of jeans, you pad out of the bathroom, ignoring the cry of your joints. Ghost is outside waiting for you. Wait— bow? Confusion delivers an uptick to your pulse; you never bring your bow to train.

“What’s going on?”

"The air," he replies in a flat tone.

The stale smell offers enough explanation. You cringe. "Should we split up?"

He shakes his head and nods towards the direction the gentle breeze is rolling in. "No need. It's coming from this way."

In the violet wash of morning, you trail beside him over tall grasses and scattered groundhog burrows as the air leads the way, luring you opposite the clearing where you train. There haven't been any Greys since the one you burned together. For the past few weeks, you'd almost forgotten about their existence— a pleasant naivety for once. 

Neither of you bothers with much small talk. He asks if you're sore, probably noticing how stiff you are, and you answer honestly. That's it.

You keep your attention strictly on the wood bow molded into your palm and the slight rustling of leaves all around you, scanning for signs of anything astray. You don't look at Ghost, even when you feel his eyes flicker to the side of your head. Staring at him for even a second longer than necessary rouses something in your gut that was once easy to label as fear; now you don't know what to call it.

He is wearing thicker clothes today, the intimidating vest stocked with ammo glued to his chest. You'd gotten used to his more casual wardrobe of gym shorts and hoodies. They make him look... softer, almost. A little less like a death omen. Though, you sincerely doubt there are any soft parts of Ghost left under all that gear, given the rigid planes you felt beneath your hands when you—

"There."

You snap your gaze in the direction Ghost is pointing at.

At first, you don't see anything.

Then, squinting, you make out a red color far too metallic to naturally sprout among the conifers. 

An arrow is urgently slotted on the bowstring as the two of you head towards it, your brows tightly knitted. You've been this way a few times and never saw a— is that a red car?— before. Closing in, your suspicions are confirmed when a stroke of sunlight bounces off the metal bumper. The patchy sedan is tucked within a bush, tail-end sticking out, with half-flat tires resting on corroded rims. Shadows of movement dance behind the tinted windows, too disjointed to be natural.

"What the fuck?" you mutter under your breath, boots scuffing over a long-faded gravel pathway that is now shrouded in weeds. The car must've been following it before winding up in the bush— the occupants no longer human enough to drive.

"They... they must have just turned while they were driving," you think aloud. "When did this even get here?"

"Maybe during the night," Ghost mutters.

He paces forward and swings open the passenger door. A string of moans is released as a Grey lurches within the confinements of the seatbelt, but he quickly silences it with a bullet to the forehead, causing it to flop sideways out of the car. Maybe just a day ago, it was a young man. His hair is fully intact and he's wearing a blue shirt with the Chelsea Football Club logo on the back.

"I wonder why they were driving this way to begin with," you say quietly, stomach rolling.

In the driver's seat is the slumped-over corpse of an older man, having died from so many bite wounds before the infection could take hold. The early stages of decomposition smell almost worse than the infection and you have to breathe through your mouth as you head for the back door. 

"There's another here I think."

You're ready to shoot and put whoever it once was out of their misery when you pry open the door, but the sight of a small body wriggling around makes you freeze. Curled up against the faded leather is an infected boy, no older than eight or nine. His eyes are all white except for the outer rim where a few vessels are still filled with red blood. Your fingertips dig fiercely into the frame of the door as you stare down at him; his soft brown hair, his small hands, his Minecraft shirt. He whimpers and tries to claw at you, mouth hung open in mindless hunger.

The feeling that washes over you is hot and cold at the same time. It's not the first or last time you've seen an infected child, so you don't know why the sight traps you for a few heartbeats.

A voice emerges beside you. "It's not a kid anymore."

You almost forgot Ghost was there. Your teeth clench. "Yeah, I know."

You feel his eyes burning into you. Your fingers tighten and untighten around the arrow's stem as you aim. 

"Hone it, Twix— the anger."

The tension in your jaw releases at the same time as your arrow snaps forward, cutting through the boy's skull and driving his limp body down to the car floor.

“You good?”

You forcefully swallow and look away, giving Ghost a short nod. "Guess that's all of them."

He slowly nods in agreement, studying you, but all he says is, "For now."

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“Seen stranger things over the years,” he says. “It seems like they were headed somewhere, maybe needed a new place to settle, and one of them got bit. Infected the others.”

You nod, thinking it over. “What about the car?"

"No fuel left, so it's pretty useless." Rifle still in his grip, he moves around to the hood and props it open. "Might have some parts I can use, though."

While he scavenges for gears that aren't rusted beyond functionality, you take a look at their belongings. There is an empty bottle of whiskey in the cupholder. In the boy's lap is a stuffed tiger that you assume was once white, but now it's a worn of grey. You carefully shift his corpse and take it.

"I have a friend who might be able to care of this for you."

In the trunk, at least, you find some tripwire. 

Dragging the two adult bodies back to the trench for burning is your 'strength' training for the day. Since they haven't decomposed much yet, they're heavy; you go back and forth, taking one at a time. Ghost carries the small one over his shoulder. After the flames snuff out the smell of rot, he relieves you, claiming he has other shit to take care of—more traps to set with the newfound tripwire.

"Hey. Would you like this?" you ask Blue when she's up, handing her the tiger. 

"I'm kinda too old for dolls, Twix." She must see the expression on your face because she shakes her head and disappears into her room for a minute before coming out with a teddy bear. "My mom gave me this one when I was a baby and it just sits on my bed by itself, but now it can have a friend."

You smile and nod. "Yeah, okay."

The day is spent playing board games with her. When she notices how sore you are, she offers an exclusive massage from Grim, who hops over your back and legs as you relax face-down on the couch. However, even with the honorary treatment, the aching lingers. 

"Auntie, I'm over here!"

In a violet-tinted field, you search for the voice.

It's barren and hazy, with no hard edges or places for a little boy to hide; so why is it so hard to find him? You call his name. You wander around, aimless, until you catch a familiar whiff of baked cinnamon and fresh laundry. This way. He's this way. You start running fervently. When a small hand tugs at yours, you whip around and try to grab him, but the soft touch dissolves through your fingers like ash. 

When you wake up, there's a hand on your back and blood on your tongue, evidence that you'd bitten through it during your sleep. The taste is quickly replaced with bile as you launch up, grabbing the sleeve of someone's shirt.

"Oh no, you don't."

The hand moves to your hair, wrapping it around in a fistful before forcing your head to tilt down. A bucket is tucked beneath your chin. You vomit into it, the cool metal rim hissing against your fingertips. Again and again. When it's all out, your throat feels like sandpaper. 

"Done?"

The dark room surrounds you; the perfect place to hide what you know must be a ghastly look on your face. Awareness creeps in, and you're not thrilled by the fact that you've thrown up in front of him twice now. Without looking up at the white skull you know is there, you nod.

Wordlessly, he takes out a cigarette and lighter. You hear a deep inhale. See the dull glow of the flame. Then, he passes it to you and leaves.

"You look like shit today."

You can't even be offended, fully aware of the purple painted beneath your eyes. One look at you quirks his brow up in that annoying mannerism of his.

You offer a tight-lipped simper, mumbling. "At least I can always count on you for brutal honesty."

"Good trait to look for in an ally." He throws the gauze at you and you begin wrapping up. "I don't suppose it has anything to do with the fact you nearly ruined another shirt of mine last night."

You tie off the gauze and glance up. "Look, I'm s—" you stop yourself, "I mean, I'm not sorry, because you wanted my box open so now it's open. You already knew the potential consequences."

"Try opening it without emptying your stomach next time."

You flash him a look. "I think I miss when you pretended I didn't exist."

"And I miss getting a full night of sleep."

"Can we just get started? I'm ready."

Ghost keeps his eyes on you as he motions a fisted hand. "As you wish."

When the familiar dance begins, and adrenaline ripples up your spine, you realize that you missed this yesterday. The rest felt good, but this— the thrill of seeing Ghost start to get as worked up as you, the sweat stains on his shirt matching your own... it is something you itch for these days. 

You get a few hits in that have your ego swelling. But then— the rough night catches up with you after half an hour of wordless sparring. Your breathing grows labored, while his is barely winded.

"Tired yet?" he asks.

"No," you say, but he calls you out immediately.

"You're a terrible liar," he reminds you. A few more swings have your lungs burning as you dodge until one finally catches up with you, and whatever healing your homemade salve has done is erased by a fresh layer of pain. 

As you clutch your side, he changes the subject. "Are you going to tell me what it was about then?"

"What what was about?"

"Whatever was making you whimper in your sleep."

Your face twists. "I wasn't 'whimpering'."

"Fine, then. Crying," he corrects plainly.

You sigh through your nose, averting your gaze only for a moment, then focusing back on him before he can strike you again. His words hang in the air, ignored, as you jab an elbow toward his ribs. He grabs you by the knob of it and pulls you unnecessarily close to his chest. When you try to wriggle free by placing a hand on his chest, he fists your hair, which has slipped out of a bun into a haphazard ponytail, and tugs hard enough to force your eyes up to his.

His gaze is demanding but his voice is light— a mere breath over your forehead. "Tell me why someone who has seen plenty of infected kids by now seemed so bothered by the one she saw yesterday. He reminded you of someone, didn't he?"

The mention of it makes you snap. "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Trying to act like you know anything about me."

"I know enough. You are easy to read."

So that feeling you get when he looks at you isn't just in your head; he truly can see through. Your nails dig into your palm. "There's no need to read me. We're not friends. We're just... allies, or whatever."

"Or whatever," he repeats thoughtfully, tasting the words. "You talk like a teenager."

"Compared to you I might as well be," you retort.

"Jesus." He chuffs out an exhale, eyes flickering down for a moment before returning up to yours, narrowing. "Let's not change the subject here." 

"Fine. Take this stupid Halloween mask off," you lift the hand on his chest up to the hem of his balaclava, feeling how weighted the fabric is with sweat. "And I will tell you all about it."

His jaw flexes before he gently guides your hand away. "Tempting offer, but I'll pass."

You refuse to acknowledge the tinge of embarrassment at his dismissal and inch back as far as the hand on your hair will allow. The close proximity, or harsh sun, is making it hard to breathe. "Well, it's not fair for you to ask me shit about my life when you don't even let me see your face."

"I never claimed to be fair." 

"I promise I won't vomit no matter how ugly you are. I've seen worse things out here."

His hand tightens. "I think I miss when you were scared of me. Less mouthy back then."

"Well, I'm not anymore."

"No?" He flips you around so your back is against him, one hand settling on the toned curve of your hip. His voice lowers to your ear. "Maybe I need to fix that."

An unwelcomed shiver courses through you. He lets go. A wristbone nudges against your spine, shoving you forward. Irritation simmers in your veins when his remark finally registers, and you whirl around, readying your stance. 

"If you even think about threatening me after I explicitly asked you not to, then I would suggest sleeping with a knife tonight."

"Who's threatening who, Twix?" He gives a low chuckle. "Relax. I'm sure I could handle you in my sleep, anyway."

He's egging you on; you know it. And yet, you stubbornly take the bait. His knee— the right one. That's where you got him last time that made him falter. Maybe an old injury. But when you swing a boot at it, he expects your attempt, knocking you away by the ankle. 

"Ah. Eager to get me beneath you again?"

Pink sears your cheeks as you wipe a trickle of sweat from your forehead. "I'm eager to humble you for once."

"Might need to keep your dinner down to do that."

You grit your teeth. So maybe he did allow it last time. The realization darts your eyes to his wide stance, searching for an idea. Without second-guessing yourself, you kick at the other knee. He must find your second attempt amusing because he easily predicts it, but before he can catch your leg, you snap it back and drop yourself to the ground.

The brief distraction allows the second of time needed to fit yourself between his legs. You're slim enough to push through, kicking at the inside of both knees once you're on the other side. His legs buckle, and you reach up to pull his arm, finishing the job.

Once he's down, you scramble to get on top, not caring if your boot kicks his face in the process. You grab both of his wrists and bring them above his head, but it's impossible to wrap your fingers all the way around them. Instead, you lace them through his fingers, breathing hard in his face as your breasts meld against the solid heat of him.

"Did you allow that?" 

His voice is rougher than you've ever heard it. "No."

Your lips furl. "Good."

A dark gleam passes through his dilated pupils that makes your head fuzzy. You let go of his hands. Immediately, they gravitate to your hips again, thumbs fiercely pressing into the sliver of skin exposed from where your shirt rides up. You don't move even an inch, frozen in place as you stare down at where he grips you against him. That feeling in your gut deepens and spreads. It is hard to pinpoint—so insane and foreign yet familiar at the same time—but one thing is certain: it begins and ends where his rough skin touches yours.

Before you can figure anything else out, a scream shatters the air, and Ghost rips you off of him in one swift movement.