#fitting for the zombie part i suppose

[apllsauc]

I made another one :]

zombie edition!

[hiphopcherrrypop]

55! My lucky number

lalalalala i like u!

this one uhmmmm.. halloween even tho it's december josuyasu 👍

except i realized too late that i was thinking of lovey dovey mv LOL.. but whatever they can be roly poly too i guess

[moonstruckme]

emt!marauders getting called to a halloween party bc your friend got injured in her drunkenness. you’re the one who called and took responsibility in the situation, so when they show up you’re there in like an angel or goddess costume or something ethereal and you’re caring so kindly for your friend and they’re like soooooooo in love. maybe you ride in the ambulance with her bc she doesn’t want to be alone and get to spend even more time with them 🫣🥸🤲

Thanks for requesting!

cw: alcohol, blood, needle, nausea, symptoms of concussion (or I guess those could be interpreted as drunkenness if you like), mention of hospital/stitches

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You’ve got both hands on your friend’s head because you don’t trust her to keep up pressure with the towel herself, but you suppose you’re not much better. Your hands are shaking something awful. The blue and yellow lights turning onto your street come as a relief. 

“Look, the ambulance is here,” you tell your friend softly, a poor attempt at reassuring her. 

“Hello.” A dark-haired paramedic flashes a grin at you both as he steps down from the passenger side to meet you at the curb. “So, we have an angel and a…zombie?” 

Your friend makes a rather zombie-like sound of confirmation. 

Another EMT comes up behind the first. “Oh, perfect! So the head wound is just part of it then, I suppose. We can all go home.” He crouches in front of her, smiling as he takes her wrist in his hands and settles two fingers over her pulse. “How are we feeling, babe?”

Your friend swallows thickly. “I need to call my mom.” 

“I’ve already called your mom,” you remind her gently. A third paramedic, this one taller and with a lither build than the others, rounds the ambulance. “She’s on her way.” You ask the paramedics, “Do you know which hospital we’ll be going to? So I can tell her mom.” 

“Most likely the one on Baker,” says the third paramedic. He sets his hand over yours on the towel. “I’ve got this, love.” 

You let go carefully, texting your friend’s mom the hospital before wrapping your arm around her shoulders. Her voice has gone thin and wobbly as the paramedic getting her pulse asks her questions.

“And who’s your friend there?” He points at you with his chin. “Do you know her name?”

Your friend follows his gaze as though she’d forgotten you were there, and you try to give her a smile. She says your name. 

“Nice to meet both of you,” he says cheerily. “I’m James, that’s Sirius and that’s Remus. We’re going to take you to the hospital now, okay? Do you feel like you can walk?”

“Can she come with me?” your friend asks. 

James hesitates. He looks to the other two. 

The tall one—Remus—says tentatively, “We’re really not supposed to. It’d be an awfully tight fit.” 

Your friend’s eyes start to water, and you say quickly, rubbing her arm, “I can stay out of your way. She’s—” you lower your voice “—her mom is hours away, and she’s scared. I don’t want her to be alone.” 

Remus’ eyebrows bend with sympathy. 

“Let’s do it.” Sirius bumps Remus’ hip, a familiar sort of gesture. He sends you a wink. “We can’t part her from her guardian angel.” 

Your face heats, but you smile at him. Give Remus a hopeful look. 

He nods. “Alright,” he says, keeping one hand on your friend’s head and taking her elbow in the other. “Ready to go?” 

“Can my friend come with me?” 

“I’m coming,” you reassure her. You help her stand with an arm under her shoulders, supporting her weight more than necessary in case she falls. 

James and Sirius are waiting in the back of the ambulance to help her up, and while Sirius gets her settled on the gurney James reaches back down for you. 

“Hop on up, angel.” 

You’re not sure if he’s referring to your costume or not, but you think you might be okay with this guy calling you whatever he likes. You take his hand, and have to avert your eyes from the flex of his bicep as he pulls you up. 

“You alright?” Remus asks as you try to find the most out-of-the-way place to sit. 

“Hm?” You look to him. “Yeah, why?” 

He gives you a soft smile. “You’re shaking, love.” He takes your shoulders in his hands, guiding you to a bench in the corner. “Put your back against the wall there. There you are. Say something if you start to feel faint, okay?” 

You hum weakly. You are starting to really tremble, your adrenaline catching up to you now that there are professionals here to take charge of your friend. 

“You’ve got a wicked concussion,” Sirius says to her. “Really top-of-the-line head injury, I’m impressed. Did you pass out at any point?” 

Your friend looks to you, uncertain. 

You take the hand she holds out to you. “Yeah,” you tell Sirius. “Just for a second, though, right after it happened.”

“What did happen?” asks James. 

“She fell and clipped her head on the counter.” You wince at the memory. 

Sirius makes a sympathetic sound. “Bit too much to drink?” 

Your friend makes a rueful, miserable sound. You squeeze her hand. 

“You weren’t so bad,” you tell her kindly. “Just enough to lose your balance. It could’ve happened to anyone.” 

James looks at your joined hands with a faint smile. “You’re a good friend,” he says, “staying with her like this.” 

You shrug. “Couldn’t really leave her alone, could I?” 

“Some people would.” Remus starts putting an IV into your friend’s hand, and you have to look away, your stomach roiling. James chuckles. “Especially considering you look like you might pass out yourself.” 

“I told her to say if she was going to,” says Remus. 

“I’m okay,” you say feebly. 

Sirius tsks, leaving the care of your friend’s wound to James as he comes over to you. “Not a fan of needles?” 

“Or blood,” you admit. “Sorry, I’m fine, just squeamish.” 

“Put your head there, gorgeous.” The compliment doesn’t help with the turmoil in your stomach, nor does the hand he sets on your face, gently directing you to rest your head in the corner. He procures a bottle of water from a drawer. “Sip on this, and please try not to pass out without telling us.” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Sorry.” 

“No need to be sorry, angel, you’re doing great. You’re both doing great.” Sirius gives you and your friend’s linked hands a squeeze before rejoining James by her head. “Now, I’m hoping you’re less squeamish than your guardian angel over there, babe. Have you ever had stitches before?”

[luveline]

If you’re doing requests could you do KBD during Halloween?

uncle Eddie makes sure Steve has the perfect costume. mom!reader

Steve smiles at himself in the mirror. Wren, in his arms, smiles back. 

“We look handsome,” he says, lifting her so her face is level with his own. “I look handsome. You look beautiful.” 

“Hi,” she says. 

Steve turns down to her. “Hi, baby.” 

Avery climbs onto a chair and waves at the mirror. Her fairy princess dress is shiny blue. “Hello.” 

Beth climbs onto the chair after her, wrapping her arms around Avery’s shoulders. “Hi!” she says, force of her greeting sending her pirates hat careening to the floor. 

“Are you ready?” you call from upstairs. “Everyone still has their shoes on?” 

“Dove doesn’t,” Avery says. 

“Tattle!” Dove cries, a picture of fury in her kitty cat onesie, her glued-on whiskers twitching fiercely.

“Well, you don’t.” 

“My toes are warm,” Dove whines, thrusting herself at Steve’s legs. “Daddy, she’s telling on me.” 

“I know, and now you’re telling on her. You’re my little band of tattle-tales, I don’t love it.” Steve smooths along Wren’s face with his finger and takes in a breath big enough to fill his lungs. “Can you let Beth put your shoes back on?” 

“No.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

You fit Dove into her shoes and get the kids to the car. Four car seats is tough work but nothing you can’t handle, and you’re still in chipper spirits when you arrive at the Munson house. It’s decked out in cobwebs and great big spiders made of tinsel and bendy framing, carved pumpkins leading up the steps with fleshy teeth and candles unburned in their maws. Wren gives a comical gasp when she sees it all, a tad scared but quickly soothed when you pretend to be scared too. 

Beth races up the steps first to knock. 

The door opens a slither. 

“Who goes there?” a dark voice asks. 

“Uncle Eddie, it’s me!” Beth says quickly. Her excitement again sends her hat to the stone patio beneath her cons, but she doesn’t notice it, vying to squeeze through the door and see her favourite uncle. 

“I don’t know any Me’s. You’ll have to come back another day, I’m waiting for my very favourite troupe of little girls.” 

“It’s BETH!” Beth shrieks, “Come on!”

“Bethany?” Eddie pushes the door open, unsurprised when Beth throws herself full force into his legs. “Why, you look dastardly. How very scary of you! You have a parrot!” 

The fake parrot glued to Beth���s shoulder waggles. 

“His name is Sherbet.” 

“Wow.” Eddie gives her a hug, his eyes blowing wide over her shoulder. “Oh, wow! Ave, you’re a princess with wings! And Dove, meow.” He grins at Steve. “And your dad is what, Frankenstein’s monster? A zombie?”

“Dad doesn’t have a costume,” Beth says happily. 

“Are you sure?” 

Steve encourages Dove over the threshold, four wrapped plates of sandwiches and finger foods balanced in the other hand. “That’s not funny. What are you supposed to be, anyways?” 

“I’m a vampire, duh.” Eddie slips a pair of fake fangs into his teeth. “I vant to suck your blood!” 

“Ew, Uncle Eddie,” you say. 

“Don’t think you’ve escaped me, second favourite Harrington,” Eddie says, frowning as you slip around him. “You owe me a hug.” 

“Creep,” Steve says. 

“With pride.” Eddie takes the plates from his arms and somehow, the Harrington troupe makes it safely indoors, no further costume parts fallen nor lost. 

There are more people here than Steve expected, Eddie’s friends, their kids, even Eddie’s elusive boyfriend sits out in the open. 

“What are you supposed to be?” Dove asks him with a grin. 

He turns his head to show a painted bite mark on his neck. “Victim.” 

“He’s a dead guy,” Eddie tells her, helping her where she’s struggling to sit in one of the barstools. “Alright, babe, dad said last year we partied too hard, so here are the ground rules. No pixie sticks, no soda, and no climbing on the kitchen counters. If you follow these rules, I am being allowed to give you a Hershey bar the size of your dad’s massive head. Deal?” 

“How big?” Dove questions suspiciously. 

Eddie goes to the cabinet. Inside, there’s more candy bars than one person should ever have purchased in one go. He pulls out a huge one and holds it nexts to Steve’s head, laughing when Steve bats it away. “Huge.” 

“Dad, dad, can I go play with Milly and Joe?” Avery asks. 

Steve was hoping she would. “Sure, baby. Good manners, okay?” 

Avery whizzes off to find Gareth’s kids. Beth stays by Steve’s side and he forces himself to believe that it’s him she wants to be with, not Eddie. “You don’t wanna go play?” Steve asks her. 

“Not yet.” 

You appear again where you’d been missing with Robin in tow. Steve grins at the sight of her, though he’d spoken to her on the phone last night, and seen her the day before at home. “Buckley!” 

She’s wearing a black dress with a belt and her hair is teased into a short cloud. “You aren’t wearing your costume?” 

Steve moves Beth around unthinkingly. “Yeah, it still smelled like vomit. Wren had too much yoghurt. Rob, you really look like Madonna. Your makeup is–”

“It’s trippy, right?” Eddie asks. 

“Mora did it. It’s like, face sculpting.” 

“It’s weird.” 

“I like it,” you say, Wren on your hip giving an agreeable gurgle. “I like your real face more, but this is cool.”

“And where’s your costume?” Eddie asks. 

You frown down at your nice dress. “You can’t tell?” 

Eddie falls for the trip in your voice and attempts to backtrack, only realising that you’re kidding when Steve laughs. 

“The baby got sick on both of us,” you say, turning Wren so everyone in the kitchen can see her face. “But that’s okay. She’s so cute, she’s forgiven. Aren’t you, gorgeous? You didn’t mean to eat all that yoghurt, daddy just kept feeding you.” 

Steve holds his hands up in surrender. “I feed her every day, I know how much yoghurt she can handle.” 

“Clearly not,” you croon, shooting him a loving smile. “You did save us from those awful costumes, though.” 

“Oh, worry not,” Eddie says, “I figured something like this would happen, and I’ve prepared.” 

Awesome, Steve thinks, groaning as Eddie takes his wrist into his hand and begins to pull on him. Knowing Eddie, Steve’s end up dressed as a demon with giant horns, or a fairy. 

The reality is much, much worse. 

“Hey, look at that! It still fits!” Robin laughs. 

Steve looks down at his little sailor’s uniform and sighs. “Barely,” he says. 

“Say the slogan!” you demand. 

If it were anyone else, Steve would refuse, but you’re sitting at the breakfast bar with Wren tucked under your chin, so he takes a deep breath and straightens his white hat. “Ahoy ladies,” he sighs. “Would you like to… uh, set sail on this ocean of flavour with me? I’ll be your captain, I’m…” —his voice drags reluctantly— “I’m Steve Harrington.”

[astroboots]

omg tbh grumpy bored Miguel just having to sit, wait, hand over his credit card and then carry bags from lingerie store to lingerie store is so important to me and my daydreaming lmaoo. Punishment fits the crime imo!!

I also love the idea of him going solo and buying lingerie he likes and leaving her little presents because A) if she likes the pieces then perfect!! or B) if it’s not her taste then it’s perfectly okay for him to rip them of her and she doesn’t even get mad 😏😏

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

When you had asked him to come with you to go shopping for lingerie, he had been thrilled.

Why wouldn't he be.

It had sounded like a great way to spend a few hours of on a lazy weekend together.

In his mind, it'd be you half naked, parading in scanty underwear for his eyes only.

A private fashion show, except sexy, instead of boring, where you'd be wearing a lacy piece that would barely cover your ass cheeks for him. A sheer peer of white panties that would leave nothing to the imagination. A frilly pair that was begging for him to rip them off right then and there, in the changing room.

He hadn't know then that it would be like this.

That apparently, in lingerie stores, men aren't allowed in the changing rooms. That he'd be banished in the lounging area, sat in a pink velvet armchair so tiny, it must be made for dolls that he can barely squeeze his ass into.

He's sitting here, exiled to this depressingly sad space of other bored husbands and boyfriends, who are half dozing off or staring at their phones like dreary zombies. Meanwhile he's hunched in on himself like a shocking elephant trying to fit in a goddamned teacup.

Not for the first time since he arrived in this world, the thought strikes Miguel that your world is a dystopia.

Because what other way is there to describe a world where one is supposed to sit sit mere feet away from their partner, while they get undressed and he's not allowed to look. Not allowed to touch. Not allowed to...

Shock.

This is torture. Why is he left out here like some abandoned dog out in the streets, forced to imagine what you look like in that tiny dressing room.

Forced to imagine you naked, with nothing on but a bra as you look at yourself in the mirror, and nothing he can do about it. Except sit here, as his dick stirs between his legs at the thought of it. Nothing to do but be tortured at the thought of you and your hands cupping your breasts as you try to decide if it's a good fit.

At the way you'd spin in front of your own reflection, and the way those sheer lacy panties he picked for you to try, that splits in the middle, would part as you move.

His fangs itch in his mouth at the thought of it. Fingers gripping into the arms of the armchair, as he resists every instinct to rush to his feet and break into your dressing room. Press you up against the wall until you're flat against it. Every inch of him pressed along yours, your legs wrapped around his waist, spreading you wide open as he --

"Miggy."

He breaks out of his reverie. Blinking up to see your face gaze down at him.

"I'm done," you tell him, showcasing the big shopping bag like a treasure.

Reaching over, he takes it from you. "What did you get in the end?"

"All of them. You've ripped so many I don't have anything nice to wear anymore except my old granny panties, so I figured I needed a whole new collection," you say a little pointedly as you serve him a side eye and steer him out of the shop.

He shakes the bag to peer inside, and the familiar white cotton and cherry patterns of the panties you wore this morning peeks out from the other wrapped items.

"Are those the panties you wore here?"

"Mhmm," you hum absentmindedly as you continue to steer the two of you towards the exit of the mall.

It's probably not easy for you to do, cause Miguel is larger than you, and the place is crowded, but he's too distracted to be more helpful to you in this moment.

Images of you flit through his mind. Of the cute sheer panties you'd picked up earlier hugging your hips even as you're walking next to him in this moment.

"Which one are you wearing now?" He has to swallow down the saliva flooding his tongue so he can ask the question.

Training his eyes on the bag, he tries to sneak another peek, even though every other piece has been carefully wrapped in pink tissue paper. "Is it the pink one? or the red ones?"

You cock your head slightly to the side and observe him with an amused smile lingering on your lips.

"Nope," you tell him, still with that casual smile.

"The sheer lacy one then?"

"No, not that one either."

"The baby blue?"

You shake your head and he frowns. This game of 20 questions is getting a bit too drawn out for his liking. And he doesn't quite get why you won't just give him the answer. Still there's only two more guesses left.

"The black satin?"

"No."

"So the--"

"I'm not wearing that one either," you finish before he even can point out the final option.

His eyebrow quirks in question. "What do you mean?

The gears in his heads are turning but not fully comprehending what you mean by that. He saw the ones you wore this morning in the shopping bag, and if you didn't wear any of the ones you bought then--

"I'm not wearing anything."

... Shock.

Dedication & Credits: To my most beloved @thirstworldproblemss for always having the patience to listen to my unhinged thoughts. She had the most delicious thots about what happens minutes after this.

How Miguel would be too impatient to wait until you made it back home. How Miguel would have you pinned against the wall in a semi-secluded area, all: “don’t worry about it, nena. I’ll know if anyone’s coming, and we’ll be long gone before they get here.” But then being so distracted by you and the feeling of you wrapped around his cock that you nearly get caught anyway, and it’s only because you notice in the last second before discovery and tap him in alarm that makes him manage to haul you out of sight before you got caught.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[noneorother]

All the music you didn’t hear: The Good Omens soundtrack is lying to you. *Part3*

The Bonkers Meta Series 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Part 1  l  Part 2 l Part 3

Remember way back in Part 1 of this series where I said there's a missing track in the middle of disc 2, track 7 on the album? My thought was, "It's not on the album because it's supposed to be a pre-recorded song! Just like queen and the rest. I'll search through all the versions of A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square, because that was released in 1940. One of them has to be 1:03 seconds long, and that'll split the track Zombie dressing room in two!" Well, after searching through at least 10 recorded versions of that song, I can tell you none of them fit.

I was about to hang my head in defeat when I realized, there's another version of A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square that is technically *part of another song*, and therefore wouldn't get it's own credit on the album. And it's about a minute long. Wanna know which one? Sound on please.

Those are quite the magic words, Aziraphale.

[monsterkin-culture-is]

10 Monster & Mythological Kintypes You Might Not Have Kinsidered!

Quick intro! I want to do some more monsterkin related original blog posts & content to make this blog more of a community hub for the monsterkins of tumblr. I'll be using #thebitingblogger for these posts! TW for some very mild mentions of gore in the context of mythology.

10. Haunted Dolls: There is definitely a large dollkin community on Tumblr but I haven't seen many haunted dolls/plushies. They're such a staple of horror media & spiritual subcultures - I'm so surprised by their absence!

9. Werecats & Other Werebeasts: The werewolfkin community on here is already limited but the werecat tag is tiny (and I don't think there even are tags for any other werekintypes)! Maybe the concept just hasn't been explored enough yet but given the popularity of other feline kintypes I wouldn't be surprised if there were some undiscovered werecats. I'd also like to add on about hellhounds & hellcats! Plenty of mythology there but a rather empty part of the kin community.

8. Revenants: Revenants are reanimated corpses revived to haunt the living. They're most prominent in Western European & Norse folklore. I can see some similarities to ghost & zombie kins but given we already have other subtypes & related kins (phantomkin etc) there is definitely a place for them in the kin community. Honestly as I'm writing this I'm starting to kinsider whether my skeletonkin might be a revenant...

7. Headless Horsemen: I suppose this is technically a human but I'd consider them a potential type of undead or spirit! The headless horseman is a recurring myth in a lot of Western Europe & America. My favourite version is the Dullahan from Irish folklore. The Dullahan is a mysterious omen, causing death whenever he stops riding. He carries his head in his arms and wields a whip made of human spine. The most famous media depiction is probably Disney's "The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr Toad." I think you can tell I'm a little bit in love with the horseman mythos...

6. Minotaurs, Centaurs & Fauns: I'm not sure I'd consider these monsters but they fit with the themes of the rest of the list! A minotaur is a man with the upper half/head of a bull, a centaur is a man with the body of a horse and a faun is a man with the legs of a goat or deer, often accompanied by horns or antlers. Man is being used without gender here. I originally was only going to write about Minotaurs as I've seen plenty of centaur & faun kins but there's no harm in including everyone! I'm not going to type out the entire mythology of these creatures but a fun fact for you is that the Minotaur of Crete's real name was Asterion!

5. Selkies: Again, not sure if these would be monsters but they fit the list & some retellings portray them as such! Selkies are humans (by appearance, not species) that can take the form of seals using their fur coats. If their coat is stolen, they can be forced to marry the person who has it.

4. Gorgons: Just talking about these as a species rather than their specific Greek mythos. Gorgons are humans with hair made of snakes. Often different interpretations give them patches/designs of scales, snakelike markings and/or fangs. My favourite modern depiction of a gorgon is Viperine from Monster High!

3. The Grim Reaper: I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been kinsidering this for a while! There are hundreds of personifications of Death throughout the history of humanity but the Reaper is probably one of the most recognisable in modern times. The Grim Reaper is most frequently depicted as a skeleton in a cloak, suit of armour or robes, bearing a farmer's scythe (it harvests souls like crops). I've been talking about media interpretations of these throughout so shoutout to Discworld Death, one of my favourite comfort characters! I love the animated version of Soul Music.

2. Shade: Finding information on this one was a little challenging! Shades are the spirits, ghosts or apparitions of someone currently residing in the underworld.

1. Custom Monsters: Got a bunch of phantom limbs that don't match a different kin? Have memories of being/feel like a cryptid that doesn't currently exist as a legend? Be your own monsterkin. Be a kin of your own species. I have one! I just need to actually draw them...

That's all folks! 10 more niche monster & mythological kintypes for you to kinsider! Please send me an ask (anon is enabled) or reblog or whatever if you're any of those kintypes, I'd love to hear from you! As always, please do your own research on these species & their folklore, I've only done some brief googling to add some more context to this list. This blog is for entertainment purposes, not educational! Let me know if you guys like seeing this sort of content though, I've really enjoyed researching this so I might start doing some more in-depth and well-researched posts on some of these.

[threepandas]

The Vod's List: Part 2

You know the worst part about the Republic standard hazard mask? No, not the "for dealing WITH hazardous materials" one. The "your species can be fully or partially CONSIDERED one, so to interact with the rest of polite society you gotta wear protection so we don't DIE" one. THAT hazard mask. From the set.

Yeah, you the worst part about THAT mask?

It's like someone really, REALLY high up in power DELIBERATELY made the who set as... well, for lack of a better term? Slave-like and uncomfortable as possible. As humiliating as possible. Like they WANTED the people who had to wear it, to suffer and be upset. And like? I KNOW it's probably just some really REALLY out of touch politician? Who's never had to WEAR one of these kriffing things in their karking LIFE?

But come ON! It looks and feels like a MUZZLE.

A BADLY FITTED ONE at that! Like? And don't ask me how I KNOW this? Because the holonet is deep and filled with weird wondrous horrors? Buuuuut... according to CERTAIN individuals. Who HAVE reviewed a VARIETY of muzzles for... personal reasons? And Bones bless! No judgment! According to certain Unnamed Experts of The Field, as it were?

.......these masks kriffing SUCK nifflestones.

Padding is shit. Airflow it terrible. Not customized for individual races AT ALL. Just? Mouth a "hazard"? Cover it. Who CARES if that means the individual kriffing suffocates. Or karking near DROWNS on their own threat or stress response. To say NOTHING of those who have to routinely either use their mouth's "hazard" or have it TRIGGERED by something pressing AGAINST their jaw!

It's a genuinely terrible design! Almost deliberately so. Keeps a lot of people from ever even bothering from leaving their planet's.

Why do I bring this up? Because working at the senate building is stressful. Dealing with sleemo plasbone's who like to shove me around cause I'm in a glorified MUZZLE is stressful. Knowing I recently infected an innocent man is KARKING STRESSFUL!

And you know what the Techganic response to STRESS is?!

Drool and STRESS BITING.

My ENTIRE fucking BLOODLINE was literally genetically ENGINEERED to fight in a FUCKING HOLY WAR! With BIOLOGICAL WARFARE. We BITE! We bite A LOT!! We are, in fact, SUPPOSED to bite! It's like the unsacred, technological abomination child of those ancient human tales of the "zombie" and the "ber-serker"!

Stress? Stress means we are in battle. Being attacked. Threatened. Stress means ATTACK. Bite and bite and BITE. Thanks the Bones and Blood, I've never been THAT stresssed. I even had to take a test for it! Anyone with a hair trigger is NOT allowed off planet. I'm considered absurdly calm. Chill.

Doesn't mean I WON'T.

Just that it would take A LOT.

But the drool? THAT is involuntary. Is the prelude you can't escape. The means of SPREAD. Of WARRING against the machines. Organic nanite against technological nanites. Host against host. Spread against spread. Ours was a story of PLAUGES. And it left no unchanged survivors.

I get that. I DO. The horrors of our history, the fear and terrors. The resistance forces who wanted no part in the war. Who tried to escape.

What happened to them.

I REALIZE that... that a single Techganic dropped on pretty much any planet can start a nanite plague that can't be stopped. That the more stressed we get, the more our instincts demand we Spread Ourselfs. The water, the soil, the air. Yeah, we can get DANGEROUS.

But we aren't ANIMALS.

We are not who we used to BE. WHAT we used to be. Show me the planet without blood in its past and I will show you a planet that has wiped its past away.

Which is all well and good...but...

I'M FUCKING DROWNING.

These karking hazard masks are so, SO stupid and I'm trying not to panic. My hands shaking. Because if I panic? I will be stressed. If I am kriff KARKING STRESSED, I will drool FASTER. And there is no room. My karking mask is FULL OF LIQUID AND NOT DRAINING FAST ENOUGH.

I struggle with the latches. They are wet. Because my hands are wet. My neck is wet. EVERYTHING IS WET. The mask doesn't even WORK to contain the "hazard"! My hands can't get a grip on the latches. My lungs are burning for air but I can't... if I try to breath now... I'll just get... just get!

I'm in a side hall.

Would anyone even find me? Oh Stars. I'm going to drown.

Except not. Quick heavy steps down the hallway. Two gaurds spot me after turning a corner, break into a sprint. Once again the Coruscant gaurds are a beacon of calm in my darkest moment. One gently pulling my frantic hands away from my mask so the other can quickly work out how to unlock it.

With a gush, air finally hits my face as the mask unlocks and begins to be pulled away. I sputter. Cough. I think I may be weeping. The hallways is spinning as air finally rushs back in. My front is DRENCHED and I hate it. It's so gross. There was nothing I could DO and I felt like an animal. Feel like a mess.

Every drop of it is deadly. The whole hallway will have to be deep cleaned.

Am I apologizing? I think I'm apologizing.

The gaurds are so nice. Talking in low, reassuring voices as the stay with me. They called a medic. Ask me about my hobbies to distract me. A playful argument on how to "properly" take your Caf. Which local diner is the best.

I am gently bundled off by the medic, once he arrives. Another of the Guard thank Stars. The Senatorial medical team are so... judge-y. The Guard's medical is patient and professional, though the only thing he can offer me to change into is the blacks that the gaurd wear under their armor.

Tell NO ONE... but I feel kinda cool. Look at me~ I'm all holo thriller and mysterious in these. I get to KEEP them too!

Not getting the mask back though.

It nearly killed me. That and my asshole coworker who deliberately stressed me out earlier. He... the Guard ARRESTED him. And... look, I KNOW I shouldn't smile. I shouldn't. His life is probably ruined. But... but the sleemo harrased EVERYBODY. Anybody he thought he could abuse? He DID.

Looks like he finally went too far.

I lay back. Not allowed to lean until the medic is SURE there is no secondary drowning symptoms. I grab the shirt that turned out to be just a touch too small and fold it up, drape it over my eyes. It blocks out the light pretty well. I get comfortable.

As I drift off... I'm unaware that the Vod around me stop bothering to pretend the AREN'T blatantly watching me. That the normally sparsely populated medicenter ISNT damn near full of every Vod not currently on duty. The cheif medical officer himself, carefully collecting what he can from my mask.

A dense crowd of eyes slowly run over black clad limbs.

Looking to THEM. Trusting THEM. Threatened, in need of back up. Look how TIRED she was. How vulnerable. Wearing part their uniform. Like a lover, having stolen their clothes.

She trusted them above the natborns. PREFERRED them.

Thoughts began to stir... they wonder...

[deeply-unserious-fellow]

...Can you tell I really like Invader Zim and Hollow Knight?

Anyways uh- REFERENCES FOR ALL OF MY Z-O-M-B-I-E-S MONSTER HEADCANNONS WOOOOOOO FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!! These are all rlly self indulgent tbh, especially all the alien headcannons, but in mY DEFENSE! I can do whatever the fuck I want lmfao. Which means pointless patches of darker skin in very specific places on the zombies, references to raccoon Wyatt and alien lore that you have to do olympic level mental gymnastics to fit into the plot of the movies WOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

The ref sheet for the Armistian's true form is kinda old(and I've actually posted it on here before lmao), but I haven't actually changed anything about their designs besides like, a couple minor alterations to the colors, and I genuinely think the art holds up to my current standards, so I decided to just reuse those refs instead of redrawing them entirely. Also for the record I have a LOT more headcannons about the aliens, the werewolves and some rewrites to zombie lore to make zombieism more akin to a chronic illness then a race thing, I just don't feel like putting them in these ref sheets. Because that would take a lot more effort then I am willing to put in rn. Feel free to send me asks abt them tho!!! I love infodumping abt my Z-O-M-B-I-E-S headcannons and rewrites :D

My least favorite parts of drawing refs and stuff are one; I have to draw the characters in their underwear half the time so I fully understand where different markings and shit are supposed to go, which makes me feel weeeeird, and two; I never have the energy to give the characters unique poses and shit cuz I have to draw and write so much shit that they all end up just fuckin. Staring blankly at the camera. It makes me uncomfyyyyyy-

Also the "very strong bones" bit on Addison & Bucky's refs is a TFB reference. Because I am insane.

Ignore the fact that I'm literally posting this in the middle of the night I had a really hard time finishing Bucky's ref okay-

@imjustavenuxwithaboomerang

[joesbnbg]

cruel summer

part one of everybody wants to rule the world

in which the girls get ice cream, robin has a meet-cute, steve throws a pool party, and everybody gets high [4.4k words]

The summer of ‘85 in Hawkins, Indiana was a scorching one. Tarmac sizzled under the butter yellow sun, cotton candy clouds spun on the saccharine sweet taste of summer freedom. Perfect for soaking sunburnt bodies with chlorinated water at the Hawkins public pool; perfect for long bike rides against the wind, speed and sun burning the rubber of the thin tires; the perfect weather for ice cream. 

Which was right where April and DJ were headed, AC blasting in April's beat up ‘74 Chevy Vega, sun reflecting off its faded orange hood as the two teenagers drove towards the Starcourt Mall. Blondie blasted from the speakers and April sang along lazily as DJ chattered over Debbie Harry with unprecedented speed about everything and nothing at all, fumbling with the fringes of her cut off shorts. 

April's fingers drummed against the steering wheel as she turned into the crowded parking lot, eyes scanning for a place to park as DJ craned her neck towards the entrance, watching couples and teenagers and families alike clamber inside the mall like sweaty zombies who sought cold air instead of brains. 

April pulled into the closest spot she could find, which of course wasn’t close at all, and quickly turned the car off, as ready to escape the summer heat as the rest of her town. She pushed her sunglasses back onto the crown of her head, black frames against copper hair, watching as DJ snaked out of the car window, falling to the ground with an ungraceful thump. April's passenger side door hadn’t worked since she had bought the car over a year ago, but DJ still hadn't gotten the hang of an elegant landing. 

“Let’s go,” April said with an impatient smile, head tilted towards the mall. DJ grumbled, wiping bits of rocks from the indents they had created on her palms as she scrambled to her feet, the old canvas of her black converse tearing slightly at her movement. 

“I thought when you got a car it would come with less injuries,” DJ said, catching up to her best friend as they began towards the building, beat-up shoes moving in tandem against the blacktop. “I’m fighting for my life out here.” April huffed out a laugh, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. 

“If you were behind the wheel, we’d be fighting for our lives every five minutes. I much prefer these odds.” April responded, pushing through the glass double doors and into Starcourt, a well welcomed whoosh of cool air greeting her. DJ sputtered as she removed the wind blown hair from her face, tucking dark strands behind her ears.

“What, because I went airborne? That was one time.” DJ said as they rounded a corner, making April laugh again. 

“Two times.” 

“One and a half. Only the front two wheels came off the ground the first time.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Dot, but a car’s wheels aren’t supposed to come off the ground ever. Front or back.”

“They won’t be saying that when cars can fly.”

“Emphasis on ‘can.’ My car is not built for that. No car is built for that. Honestly, I’m starting to think you might have a better shot getting your pilot license.” April said as they walked into Scoops Ahoy, Hawkins’ newest and nicest nautical themed creamery. DJ whistled at the boy behind the counter whose face perked up slightly at the sight of the girls. How this schmuck in an ill-fitting sailor’s suit had managed to win over her best friend was still a mystery to her, but she tabled the thought for later as they approached the counter. 

“Too expensive. Yo, Harrington! How do we feel about another driving lesson?” She called at him, a grin tugging her pink lips upward. Steve shook his head vigorously as he moved towards the tubs of ice cream, head bent as he scooped USS Butterscotch onto a wafer cone. 

“Absolutely not,” He said, and although amusement colored his tone, it was clear he was being completely serious. He stood upright, passing the cone to April, who took it with a bright smile, one he shared as their brown eyes met. 

“Well, take it up with your girlfriend, because apparently, she’d rather sacrifice my palms than get her wizard cousin to fix the car.” DJ said, holding up her scratched up hand as April rolled her eyes.

“Okay, first off, he’s not a wizard, he’s a thirteen year old who happens to know a lot about science, and secondly, he’s not a fucking mechanic. He’s just a kid.” She shot back. DJ shrugged, taking a cone of cookies and cream from Steve’s outstretched hand. 

“Close enough,” She said as she licked a dribbler off the side of the cone. “But I’m pretty sure I saw him blow up Older Sinclair’s blender, so really, what’s the difference?” DJ asked, dropping a loose quarter from her pocket into the tip jar, which made Steve involuntarily grimace. 

“He’s also not even here,” April reminded her. “He’s at that science thing for another three weeks.” 

“Camp Know-Nothing or whatever,” Steve added.

“Camp Know-Where,” April corrected. 

“You want a bandaid for that battle scar?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised and eyes focused as DJ inspected the broken skin on her hand. DJ shrugged like it was nothing, because things like this were always happening to her. Steve turned, opening the partition to the back room, calling towards the coworker neither April or DJ realized he had. “Robin, can you get the first aid kit?” 

“What, did you sprain your wrist slinging ice cream, Stevie?” The voice called back, and Steve rolled his eyes, gritting his teeth with annoyance as he turned back towards his friends. April trained her eyes on the floor and sunk her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from laughing, but DJ couldn’t help the snicker that escaped her. 

“Yeah, Stevie, hurt your little baby wrist?” DJ said, pouting at him. Steve’s eyes narrowed as he turned towards the back again. 

“It was for my friend actually, but forget it, because she’s being an absolute dick right now.” He said, and this time April couldn’t stop herself from laughing into her ice cream. “Let her bleed.” 

“Are you allowed to curse in uniform? Isn’t that, like, against the company image or whatever?” DJ asked, clearly getting more joy out of teasing the boy than the quickly melting treat in her hand. 

“Company image? What is this, Disneyland?” Steve retorted. 

“What? King Steve wasn’t an animated Disney classic? Since when?” DJ replied, eyes widening. She laughed, loudly this time, but all confidence and joy seemed to drain from her face as Steve’s coworker stepped out from the back room, first aid kit in hand. 

“Who needs the first aid kit?” The girl asked. “Had to look through, like, seven different cabinets to find it. I’m also pretty sure the instructions on this thing are in Russian.” She frowned, head bent as she examined it with bright blue eyes. DJ gulped, trying to steady herself, and April and Steve shared a knowing, amused look. 

“Robin, this is April, my girlfriend, and DJ, April's leech. April, DJ, this is Robin.” Steve said, and Robin looked up at them for the first time, eyes training on DJ’s just as DJ’s had trained on Robin’s. Pink rose to her freckled cheeks and she quickly looked down again, focusing on opening the first aid kit again. 

“Hand,” DJ blurted, pointing it out towards Robin, who looked at it like DJ had just shoved a knife in her direction. 

“She hurt her hand,” April quickly supplied. “Climbing out of my car, because the door doesn’t work.” 

“Oh,” Robin said, clearly nervous herself as she awkwardly opened the kit. She pulled out a bandaid and when she grabbed DJ’s hand to inspect it closer, DJ held her breath. Delicately, Robin placed the bandaid over the spot, patting the brunette’s hand lightly as she let it go. The air was thick with the smell of vanilla and tension, and Robin cleared her throat, stepping into the back room again. 

“...Huh,” Steve said after a moment, head tilted in thought. “I mean, she’s usually awkward, but she’s not that awkward.” 

“I wasn’t-” 

“I didn’t mean you, shit-for-brains.” Steve said, eyes on DJ, whose eyebrows knit in frustration. 

“I should slap that stupid hat right off your head.” DJ replied. 

“You’d be doing me a favor.” Steve said, and April chuckled. 

"How long has she been working here for?" April asked. "I've never seen her around." Steve shrugged.

"Dunno. She just sort of showed up and started insulting me."

"I like her already." DJ said, and Steve rolled his eyes.

"Clearly." He muttered.

“So, Stevie-” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Stevie, you know it’s really hot out today.” 

“Mhm.” 

“And you know what people like to do when it’s hot out?” Steve stared at DJ, unamused.

“Go inside and leave other people alone?” 

“Go swimming,” April supplied, and Steve turned towards her, raising an eyebrow before wagging a finger between the girls. 

“You planned this, didn’t you?” He asked, before turning his attention back to DJ. “Don’t you have a pool?” 

“Yeah, but you have something I don’t: absentee parents.” DJ said with a grin, and Steve glared at her, playing with his ice cream scooper. 

“Gee. Thanks. Rub it in my face, why don’t you?” 

“I’m just saying,” DJ continued, leaning on the counter to get closer to him, “We could have a super-fun-no-parents-pool-party to kick off the summer? I’ll get the drinks!” 

“You look younger than Henderson.” Steve shot back, and DJ grinned brightly at him. 

“Okay, then you get the drinks.” DJ amended, and Steve smiled with disbelief, shaking his head slightly. 

“Is that a yes?” April asked, looking at the boy hopefully. Steve rolled his eyes before finally nodding his head in agreement. 

“Fine,” He said. “Fine. Seven o’clock.” DJ broke out into a sly grin. 

“You’re the best, Harrington.” She said, and Steve rolled his eyes again, waving his hand. 

“Whatever.” He said as April dug into her purse for her car keys, extending them out towards her friend. 

“DJ, why don’t you go ahead and get the car started? I’ll be out right behind you.” 

“I don’t think the good patrons of Scoops Ahoy will appreciate the make-out session in the middle of their nautical ice cream experience,” DJ said as she took the keys, twisting them around her finger. 

“Shut up!” April said as Steve ducked his head down, blushing. 

“Wear protection!” DJ called as she headed towards the exit. “I am too young to be an aunt.” April laughed, turning back towards Steve, who gave her a smile. 

“So…” April started, leaning closer to him, “I was thinking…” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve said, grin growing with the girl’s words. 

“We should invite Robin to the pool party tonight.” Steve’s smile faded as he crossed his arms, looking at the girl in front of him. 

“Seriously?” He said, blinking. “Why?” 

“Because!” April responded, lowering her voice slightly. “She and DJ were really hitting it off back there.” 

“That was hitting it off? I’ve seen babies communicate more gracefully than that.” Steve argued, but April pressed forward. 

“There’s something there. Invite her, please.” 

“How do you even know she’s a lesbian?” Steve whispered, and April's eyes darted towards the back room, making sure Robin wasn’t listening. 

“I don’t,” April said, “But I have a feeling if we invite her, it’ll be a good thing. Come on, please?” Steve was silent, thoughtful as he weighed his options. “You know,” April said, closing the space between her and the boy even more, “If DJ has a friend, or somebody, she won’t be as interested in what we’re doing.” Steve stared at her blankly. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say to you, Steve?” 

April watched as the idea registered in his brain, eyes filling with recognition and mouth opening slightly. “Oh,” He said slowly, starting to break out into a thoughtful grin. “Okay. Okay.” 

“See?” April said, smiling, too. “Invite her.” Steve groaned, looking towards the back room, nose scrunching with disgust at the girl who sat inside of it. “Come on,” April pushed back Steve’s cowlick, moving the chocolate colored hair out of his face. “Please.” 

Steve huffed. “Fine.” He said. “Fine. God, I just do whatever you two tell me to, don’t I?” 

“Yeah,” April agreed. “You must be real fucking whipped, Harrington.” Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Get the fuck out of here. I’ll see you at seven.”

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When seven o’clock rolled around that evening, April and DJ found themselves once again inside April's car, bikinis on under cut off shorts and big graphic tees. The sun was dipping below the trees, filtering through the leaves and houses as they drove through Hawkins, the cool breeze that accompanied the late hour playing with the ends of their hair. 

“I wonder what else we could get Steve to do because he’s in love with you.” DJ said, watching the clouds pass by as they drove, hand draping lazily out the window.

“He’s not in love with me.” April said quickly, and DJ quirked up an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean? He’s definitely in love with you.” DJ said. “I mean, come on, who else would put up with me just to date you? Not many people.” 

“Found that out the hard way.” April added. “But can we not… we’re just taking it slow for now, okay?” 

“O…kay,” DJ said finally, a little lost. “I wonder what we could get him to do because he likes you so much,” She amended. “Do you think he’d kill someone, or is that, like, a six month anniversary present kind of deal?” 

“Jury’s still out on that one,” April replied after a moment. 

“No, the jury definitely thinks he’s innocent. They’d think a man who uses that much hairspray probably wouldn’t have any brain cells left to murder ‘cause the aerosol in the can would have killed them all.” 

“Okay, he doesn’t use that much hairspray,” April argued, although she barely even believed herself. 

“Have you ever seen him without hairspray before, or are you guys not that serious yet? Does that also come with the six month anniversary murder?” DJ kept going. “Like, maybe he murders someone because they’ve seen him without hairspray, or maybe they discontinue it so he murders whoever makes - or, I guess doesn’t make - the hairspray, or-” 

“Okay, we get it.” April said as they turned onto Steve’s block, pulling into the empty spot in front of his house, right beside a tree with a branch convenient enough for DJ to use to haul herself out of the car. 

She managed the escape a little better this time, huffing as April retrieved her things from the back of the car. DJ frowned at the sight of an unfamiliar bike resting in the driveway as they got closer, nudging April to make sure she saw it, too. 

“Is that Steve’s?” DJ asked, and April stared at it, doing her best to pretend she didn’t know who it belonged to. 

“Hmm, I don’t know.” She said. “Maybe it’s one of the kids.” 

“He’d invite the kids to a pool party where there’d be alcohol?” DJ said incredulously. “Mr. Mother-of-the-Year? I don’t think so.” 

“Well, who knows?” April asked as she knocked on the large wooden door. “They like to just randomly appear in places. Could be one of them.” It was a few more seconds until the door swung open, and Steve stood behind it, looking far more comfortable in clothes that fit his body correctly. 

“Retired from the navy so soon?” DJ teased. “I thought they were about to promote you.” 

“Shut up,” Steve replied before kissing April in greeting as the girls walked inside. 

“Where’s mine?” DJ asked, puckering her lips at him. He made a face at her as they walked through the house. Music played softly on a speaker outside as Steve made a pit stop in the kitchen, passing cold beer cans to the girls before sliding the glass door to the backyard open. 

“Hey, guys!” DJ almost dropped her drink at the sight of the sandy haired girl in front of her, laying out in a navy blue two piece, nursing a beer. 

“You guys remember Robin,” Steve said, gesturing at her as if it wasn’t April's idea to invite her in the first place. 

“Yeah!” April said brightly, hoping her excited attitude would draw away from the fear growing in her best friend’s eyes. “It’s good to see you. Isn’t it, DJ?” She turned towards her friend expectantly, whose green eyes only grew wider. 

“I-it’s great! Or, or cool! Or, it’s very normal. Awesome. Fun…tastic to see you.” DJ sputtered on her words, drawing a quiet laugh out of Steve. Robin didn’t seem phased as she took another sip of her beer. 

“You know, I think we had English together sophomore year,” She said, eyes focusing on April, who smiled with recognition. 

“Yeah! I think you’re right. God, Mr. Shipman was an absolute trip.” April replied, twisting her hair up into a bun. 

“I took English!” DJ offered, and Steve moved towards her, patting her on the shoulder. 

“Take a lap, champ.” He said, and DJ nodded, still flustered as she moved to dip her toes in the deep end of the pool. “That went so badly I hope she doesn’t drown herself.” Steve muttered softly against April's ear, causing her to stifle a laugh. 

“So how long have you two been going out?” Robin asked. DJ was still on the other side of the pool making splashing sounds with her feet that were loud enough to cause a scene. Steve and April looked at each other.

“Like… five months at this point?” Steve asked, and April shrugged in agreement. Robin looked between them with a smile.

“How exactly did you pull her, Harrington? She seems a little too cerebral for you.” Robin tilted her head, smile taking form into a shit-eating grin as April giggled and Steve’s face dropped. 

“That’s what I’m saying!” DJ shouted from the other side of the pool. 

“Well, considering the fact that I don’t even know what ‘cerebral’ means, yeah, you’re probably right.” Steve said coolly. “We met through her cousin-” 

“Her cousin who is a child.” DJ added in a yell, cutting Steve off. 

“Who I, y’know, look out for sometimes-” 

“He’s a glorified babysitter who doesn’t get paid.” DJ continued, and Steve turned towards her, placing his hands on his hips. 

“Shut the fuck up, Dorothy.” Steve shouted as DJ padded her way back over to them, wet feet slapping on the concrete. 

“Make me, Harrington!” DJ gestured towards him and he moved ever-so-slightly before April put a hand on his arm, redirecting the conversation back to where it had started. 

“I tutored him.” April said. “And to be honest, I thought he was a major douche. But he actually turned out to be a big softie.” 

“Is that why he can’t get it-” Before DJ could finish, Steve turned towards her and pushed her in the pool, causing all three of the girls to yelp as DJ landed smack in the middle of the water. 

“Jesus, Steve!” April exclaimed, though she was laughing. Robin was laughing, too, and Steve cracked a smile, guzzling the last of his beer. 

“Took care of that problem, huh?” Steve said as DJ spluttered, spitting chlorinated water out of her mouth and pushing her sopping wet hair out of her eyes.

“Not fair!” DJ exclaimed, although she was smiling, too. Before she knew what was happening, a whiz of a blue bathing suit was making its way into the pool with a whoop, landing beside her. Once she had popped back up out of the water, Robin smiled at DJ, eyes reflecting the color of the pool. 

“Couldn’t leave you alone in here, could I?” Robin said, and DJ did her best to keep her body from short-circuiting. Still on land, April eyed Steve nervously, body tense as she waited for him to push her in, too. Steve stared at her, his hands on his hips. 

“I’ll at least give you the dignity of taking your clothes off first.” He said, eyes drifting towards DJ, whose large shirt was fanning around her like an underwater overcoat. 

“Gee, what a gentleman.” April grinned, stripping off her denim shorts and t-shirt to reveal an emerald green bikini underneath. Steve waited with amusement as April tossed them to the side, then scooped her up bridal style and tossed her into the pool before chucking off his own shirt and cannon-balling after her. 

DJ swam towards the shallow end to peel off her now soaking denim shorts and t-shirt, tossing them with a loud plop onto the side of the pool. She felt a lot lighter in just her maroon bikini. 

Once the group was officially cooled off and fully chlorinated, they removed their soaking bodies to lay out by the side of the pool, each nursing cold beers, condensation dripping onto the already wet concrete. 

“So,” Robin said, a grin plastered on her face as she reached her free hand towards her bag, “I brought something that might make today a little more interesting.” Steve raised an eyebrow, his interest piquing. Robin whipped a baggie out of her purse, holding it up for the friends to see, and April laughed. 

“Magic oregano,” DJ said, making April laugh harder as Steve stood up, grabbing the bag from Robin’s outstretched fingers. 

“Brownie points for Buckley.” Steve moved towards the nearby table to begin rolling the joint. 

“I didn’t know you smoked, Robin,” April said, prompting the girl to shrug. Steve scoffed.

“Are you kidding? Look at her. Her nails are painted black and she’s in band.” Robin made a face as both April and DJ laughed. 

“Okay, okay, fair,” April conceded. 

“I wouldn’t think you guys smoked,” Robin said. “DJ, maybe. Steve, sure. Definitely not you, April.” 

April shrugged. “I like to have fun.” 

“She likes to have a break from talking all the time.” Steve translated, licking the rolling paper. April grinned. 

“What does that mean?” Robin asked. 

“I go really quiet when I get high.” April explained, and DJ nodded enthusiastically. 

“Nonverbal, almost.” DJ added. “It’s really kind of funny.” 

“Wish you’d go nonverbal,” Steve muttered, and DJ’s head whipped towards him. 

“Do I have to remind you you’ve never won a fight, Harrington? Want to make that record zero to three?” DJ said, and Steve gave the girl a wary look, going the long way to avoid her as he moved towards Robin, who held her lighter outstretched towards him. “You’re lucky I don’t have that. All it would take is one jab of that fire in your direction and the amount of hairspray up in that wig of yours would make you go bald in an instant.” April couldn’t help but laugh as Steve flicked the lighter in DJ’s direction before bringing the joint to his lips, taking a puff. 

He handed it to April, who took a small drag and suppressed a cough as she handed it to Robin, who took a similar hit, who passed it to DJ, who held it to her lips far too long just to stop herself from thinking about the fact that her hand had brushed Robin’s. She coughed up a storm, handing the joint back to Steve, who laughed. 

“Little smaller next time, Wilkerson.” He advised, and she glared at him with watery eyes, trying to stop the coughs from coming out of her. They each took one more hit, then another, until a little less than half the joint was left, which Steve stubbed out to save for later. 

It didn’t take long until all of their brains were humming, tuned on the frequency of a certain kind of tranquilness that only came from joints like these. They all stared up at the sky, admiring the way the clouds went by, the shapes they made, the way they danced in the air. 

“This is nice.” Robin said. “I honestly wasn’t gonna come, but… this is nice.” 

“Yeah,” DJ agreed with a lazy smile. 

“If I’d have known you’d had weed up your sleeve, I would’ve invited you over a long time ago, Robin.” Steve said, turning towards her slightly. “Where’d you get it?” 

“You guys know Eddie Munson?” Robin asked. Steve frowned.

“Who?” He asked. 

“He’s a senior. He’s in that Dungeons and Dragons club, with the long hair? Looks like he could be straight out of Metallica, or something, and he’s kind of weird, but in a harmless way, and definitely nicer than he looks - but anyways, he sells weed, good weed, obviously, and my friend told me about him, and his prices aren’t too bad, so around last year, I started buying from him and was like ‘Oh! This is cool!’ and so I’ve kept going back and-”

“I think you've made your point.” Steve said, shutting the girl down before she could continue. DJ sat up, staring at him. 

“Let her speak.” Steve rolled his eyes as DJ laid back down again.

“So, anyways, yeah. I buy from Eddie. That was really the end of the story.” Robin said with a shrug. 

“I have such an urge to jump in the pool right now.” DJ said, eyes on the sunlight that danced across the water’s surface. 

“Don’t,” Steve warned, shielding his face from the sun with his arm, “You’re gonna get yourself killed.” 

“No, I’m not,” DJ argued. “And even if I did, you’re a lifeguard, right? So you could just save me or whatever.” Steve gave her a pointed look. 

“I’ll go in the pool with you!” Robin offered, sitting up in her own chair. DJ grinned, looking towards Steve again. 

“See? Two against one. April, you in?” April shook her head. 

“No, I’m good.” She said, eyes closed as Steve played with the ends of her hair. DJ shrugged, moving towards the edge of the pool.

“Okay, still two against one. That’s fine. Majority rules. But don’t worry, Mom, I won’t, like, backflip into the pool or anything.”

“You don’t know how to backflip.” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Get in the pool before I push you in.” Steve said, and though he made no effort to move, DJ cannonballed into the pool without another moment’s hesitation. 

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i hope you guys enjoyed this part! these characters are so special to me and i'm having such a fun time with their dynamics :)

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter Four)

Summary: “I wonder what color your eyes were…” Ghost wanted to tell her they were brown like hers, but darker. Hers were the type that shone golden in the light, like nutty chocolate and a perfectly brewed cuppa. His were the color of pitch, of the damp, overturned earth of a fresh grave. Fitting, for a man like him. For a monster like him. Word Count: 3176 Warnings: still no smut, triple asterisk denotes a POV change as usual Notes: Happy birthday @kaya-nets ! Here is a surprise midweek update as a little gift, and a thank you for being the first person on tumblr to leave feedback on Dove! It is greatly appreciated, especially since I had a hard today. I hope you had a great birthday! AO3, Masterlist

“It’s nice to meet you, Simon.”

Ghost was sure no word had ever sounded so beautiful. To hear someone calling him by his name again, after all this time, was… he had no words to describe it. If he were religious, he might’ve called it a come-to-God moment. But his dog tags said No Preference for a reason, and that reason was that Ghost had stopped believing in a higher power a long time ago.

As he looked at his little dove, holding his tags and giving him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, he thought that maybe he’d finally found one he’d happily worship.

He groaned softly, trying to say hello back, and then gestured at her, cocking his head to the side in question.

“What is it?” She asked. He pointed at his dog tags again, then at her once more. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and he grunted, like that would help her understand what he was asking. Maybe it did, or maybe she just remembered how first meetings were typically supposed to go, because her brows went up this time and her pink lips parted, a rosy blush darkening her cheeks. “Oh! Oh, my name, of course. I’m Lelia Par—Addams. Lelia Addams.”

Ghost caught the slip, and the mix of panic and sadness that flashed through her eyes at it. He couldn’t exactly press even if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He had no desire to see his dove upset.

He tried to say her name, despite knowing it was useless. But it was just so pretty. Lelia. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

That was one of Johnny’s favorite chat up lines, Simon’s voice in his head said distantly, sounding both exasperated and wistful. Ghost ignored it. He didn't know who Johnny was and no amount of trying to force his ruined mind to cough up the memory of him would work. But staying in his dove’s presence, might. She was the reason he’d remembered the name at all.

“Thank you for saving me, by the way,” Lelia said a moment later, handing him his dog tags back. She still looked faintly embarrassed. “Both times… I— I would be dead without you. I suppose not all soldiers are bad…”

Ghost knew that if she were aware of all he’d done, both before and after he’d turned, she wouldn’t think so highly of him. Nonetheless, he would very much have liked to find whichever soldiers made Lelia decide she was better off out here on her own, instead of back on a base, safe and warm and fed. He thought about the way her eyes had looked broken and glassy as she’d spoken about the place she’d come from, and how she’d insisted she’d rather be ripped apart than go back, not a trace of exaggeration in her voice. Whatever had happened to her there must have been hellish.

Ghost wanted to move forward to comfort her, but he’d seen the way she’d gagged and grimaced when he got close to retrieve his tags, slipping them over his head once more. He knew that he smelled something awful, that he always would no matter what he did, but he would at least try to clean himself, for her sake. She couldn’t afford to lose the little food she’d eaten.

There was a stream not far from here, he’d been near it yesterday before he’d decided to investigate all the noise. And he was fast, faster than he had been when he was human. He could be there and back in half an hour, tops.

Lelia, on the other hand, barely looked like she could make it to the front door.

He was incredibly reluctant to let her out of his sight for any length of time. Even just going around to the back of the cabin to dispose of the body earlier had made him twitchy. And if it was just a matter of his smell, he’d wait until tomorrow, when she was rested enough to make the trip with him. But it wasn’t. He could see just how dehydrated she was—chapped lips, dry skin, a constant tremor in her hands… she needed clean drinking water, now. And if he could get some from the stream for her to boil, she would be set.

He would have barricaded the door for extra protection, but it opened outwards rather than in. Shoddy installation job if he’d ever seen one. So instead, he pointed at her, and then at the bedroom. He awkwardly put his hands under his ear and then closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. He bumped his broken jaw as he did, and his teeth clacked against each other loudly.

He heard a little giggle, soft and high pitched. He opened his cloudy eyes to see his dove watching him, a pretty smile on her cherubic face. Her laugh was beautiful, pure and sweet. It was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard. The sunken skin around his eyes crinkled a little bit, the only evidence of his smile.

“Fine, fine, I’ll go take a nap,” Lelia said, still giggling, as she headed for the bedroom. She disappeared inside, the door closing behind her. He waited until he heard her heartbeat slow and her breaths grow steady, and then he quietly moved the couch in front of it, blocking her in. He didn't want to risk her waking up, finding him gone, and getting herself killed while looking for him. If she decided to look for him. She might not—just because she asked his name and gave him a sweet smile didn’t mean she cared about him, the undead soldier who’d inserted himself into her life and wouldn’t leave her alone. That was alright, though. Ghost was so starved for human interaction that he’d take whatever he could get. And hearing his name from her lips was more than he’d ever expected.

Even if it was less than what he wanted.

With his dove secure, he left the cabin, making sure he didn't hear anyone nearby. There were a few infected a ways away, but if she stayed put—which he’d made sure she would—they wouldn't smell her. He was more worried about other people, but he couldn’t smell or hear anyone within range, so he felt comfortable enough to leave. Barely. He grabbed the large, rusted pail he’d noticed behind the cabin where he’d dumped the other zombie’s body, and then he was off.

-*-

When Ghost saw his reflection in the stream, he understood why Lelia had been so terrified to wake up and see his face first thing.

He’d known he looked bad, he wasn't an idiot. Just because his eyes were clouded didn't mean his vision was. He could see how disgusting the other zombies looked, and he figured he looked much the same.

None of that had prepared him for actually seeing himself.

Blood and gore covered every inch of him, bits of flesh stuck between his teeth and blackened gums—his teeth, which were permanently bared in a snarl, because his lips had rotted away.

That was the most horrifying part, he thought. Not the grey, sunken skin, the milky eyes, or all the gore and viscera. It was that his lips were gone, and he couldn’t kiss his dove even if she’d let him.

You’re disgusting.

The words echoed in his head, and he knew it wasn’t just about his visage. He shouldn't have been thinking about his dove like that. It wasn't as bad as his earlier thoughts, but just about. He was dead. A nasty, rotting corpse that happened to be able to walk around. There was something wrong with him to even be contemplating doing more than hugging Lelia. That was bad enough. She’d never want him to touch her in any way, she’d shown him that earlier when she’d kicked him while he was trying to check her for bites.

But maybe she would let him get a little closer, at least, if he didn't smell so bloody horrid.

It was that possibility that had him methodically strip out of his ragged tactical gear. He washed each piece in the knee-deep stream, even his mask and his boots. He laid them out on the bank to dry, moved a little further upstream, and then repeated the process with his body, dumping bucket after bucket full of water over every part of him.

The amount of congealed black blood and pieces of flesh that came off was concerning. He just hoped that none of the latter was his own.

Finally, he was done, and he stepped out of the stream and redressed in his still damp gear. Moving upstream for a third time, unwilling to contaminate his dove’s drinking water, he filled the bucket once more and began his trek back to the cabin, moving briskly but carefully so as not to spill.

Lelia was still asleep by the time he returned, and so he put the bucket down on the kitchen table, moved the couch away from her door, and then set about starting a fire. There was a small stack of roughly chopped logs next to the old, wood burning stove, and he placed a few inside. He searched through some of the drawers and found a book of matches, letting out a triumphant grunt, unable to believe his luck.

Except of course, things couldn’t be that easy.

Ghost’s fingers were far too stiff and clumsy to light a match. Fine motor skills were difficult for him, his muscles permanently locked in rigor mortis. Even piling up the logs in the stove had been difficult, as had carrying the bucket. He’d had to wrap his arms around it and hold it to his chest because his fingers wouldn't quite bend enough to grasp it by the handle.

After finally getting one of the matches to light, only to immediately drop it on the floor and burn a mark into the wood, Ghost gave up. He would just have to let Lelia do this part.

He moved the bucket onto the stovetop before quietly walking over to the bedroom. He reached out for the door knob and hesitated for a long moment, before letting his hand drop as he turned back around. She’d closed it for a reason, and he didn't need to see her to know she was alright. Her heartbeat and breathing were loud enough. So instead, he resumed his position as her zombified guard dog, and barricaded her door with his body while she slept, standing between her and anything that could bring her harm.

***

This time, when Lelia woke up, she knew exactly where she was.

The tiny bed in the cabin smelled of dust and old mothballs, but it was still far more comfortable than either a tree hollow or the bed she'd shared with Andrew back on the military base. She let herself luxuriate in it for a moment, exhaustion still pulling heavily at her no matter how long she had slept. Finally, she got up, walking over to the door and opening it—only to startle when she found Simon standing directly outside.

“Oh!” She gasped, hand clutching her chest, right over her racing heart. Then, she registered the lack of blood and gore on his face—which looked far less decayed now that it was clean—and the lack of a stomach churning odor wafting over her. He still smelled of death, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been before. “You’re— you’re clean!”

Simon groaned quietly. He was staring at her, as if waiting for something. She blinked several times, and then spoke again. 

“Did you— did you do that for me?”

She knew she hadn’t hid her reaction to his stench well enough. She felt a bit bad, but she also couldn’t help but be relieved he'd noticed and decided to do something about it.

Simon jerked his head up and down in a nod, jaw wobbling. He shifted back and forth a little bit, then tilted his head to the side and let out a questioning grunt, milky eyes downcast. He almost seemed… nervous? Shy? Or like he was looking for her approval. She couldn't quite tell. But the thought was endearing, and she smiled at him.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “This is much better, really. I appreciate it.”

Despite the fact that he couldn't really make any expression, Lelia got the distinct impression that he was pleased with her answer.

Simon shuffled back, and then stiffly gestured for her to follow him. She did so, curious, and she found she could remain quite close to him without being overwhelmed by the urge to vomit. She still left a meter or so between them, as was proper. She doubted he wanted her crowding his space, after all.

He led her over to the kitchenette, and then gestured to a bucket on top of the stove. She peered inside it, and found that it was full of water. She brightened considerably, licking her dry lips.

“Can I drink this?” She asked, already reaching for the bucket. She was so thirsty, she’d even drink orange juice, right now. And she hated orange juice.

But Simon grunted, reaching out and stopping her hand with his own. His glove was slightly damp, and she blinked, frowning as she looked at him again.

“You’re wet,” she said, finally noticing that his gear was dripping a little bit. He grunted, ignoring her, and then gestured at a matchbook next to the stove. She stared at it in confusion, not knowing what he wanted her to do, before turning her attention back to the trail of water he was leaving in his wake. “You shouldn't walk around in wet clothes. You’ll catch a cold—”

Lelia paused, looked at Simon’s already dead self, and blushed.

“Well. Maybe you won’t, but still. You’re getting water everywhere. You should take them off to let them dry,” she continued, trying to recover. Simon gave her what she thought might have been an amused look, if the little crinkles around his sunken, milky white eyes meant anything. Though it was entirely possible she was just imagining it. “There’s a closet in the bedroom. I’m sure I can find you something to wear while you wait.”

Eager to escape after her blunder, she retreated to do just that. She heard Simon let out a grumble that sounded suspiciously like an exasperated sigh, but she didn't let that stop her. She let out her own noise of victory when she found a set of flannel pajamas that looked like they would fit her zombie.

When she returned to the kitchen, Simon was in the process of removing his gear. Lelia watched as he struggled with zips and buckles—he was making progress, but very slowly—and took a step closer to him.

“Do you need help?” She asked innocently, never one to just stand idly by.

***

Simon froze, damnable buckle falling from his stiff fingers. It had taken him ages to get all this off and back on again at the stream, but he’d managed. He would manage again… but his little dove was offering to help. To stand close to him, to touch him, or at least his clothes… he knew he should have said no, that she was just being kind and didn’t actually want to get anywhere near him—but she sounded so sincere, and he was so fucking desperate. So he groaned quietly, almost ashamed, as he jerked his head in a nod, letting his hands drop back to his sides.

Lelia set the clothes she’d found for him on the arm of the couch and then approached, starting with removing his helmet. She was so small, she couldn’t reach even when she stood on her toes, and he had to crouch down a little bit, knees creaking.

“You’re blonde,” she said, surprised. He looked down at her. She was close enough that he couldn’t smell anything but her, and it was intoxicating. But not nearly as intoxicating as the feel of her body heat, so near yet so far. He sniffed discreetly, once again trying to place the floral scent on her skin. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect that. I wonder what color your eyes were…”

Ghost wanted to tell her they were brown like hers, but darker. Hers were the type that shone golden in the light, like nutty chocolate and a perfectly brewed cuppa. His were the color of pitch, of the damp, overturned earth of a fresh grave. Fitting, for a man like him. For a monster like him.

She moved on to unbuckling his vest, and then unzipping his jacket once he’d gotten the bulky gear out of the way. Underneath was a plain black t-shirt, the least destroyed item of clothing he had on, but also the foulest smelling. Her delicate little nose wrinkled slightly, and he would have found it adorable if he weren't so embarrassed. He reeked, still, and she smelt so delicious he began to drool again. He reached up to wipe it away, but his dove beat him to it, using the sleeve of the jacket he’d just discarded. She seemed entirely unphased, rather than repulsed like he thought she’d be, just giving him a smile before stepping back.

“No buttons on that,” she said as an explanation. He didn’t dare mention the buttons on his combat trousers, once again disgusted by his own thoughts. He pulled his t-shirt off after a second of hesitation, knowing the grisly sight that lay beneath. Grey, translucent, thinning skin smattered with deep gashes in several places that would never heal. They were accompanied by faded tattoos and dozens of scars, including a patchwork of rough, burnt flesh over his bicep and left shoulder, going all the way down to his hip. He reached quickly for the dry shirt, but Lelia stopped him.

“Your gloves,” she said, staring at his torso with a look on her face that he couldn’t quite read. It wasn't positive, though, he could tell that much. She tore her gaze away a second later, gently grabbing one of his hands and pulling it closer to her as she undid the velcro strap at his wrist. She slipped her fingers beneath the wrist of his glove, and he felt her skin directly against his own for the very first time.

He groaned, resisting the urge to grab her hand and keep it where it was. He couldn’t feel the softness of her skin, his own senses too numb for that, but the heat of it practically scorched him in the most pleasant way. It sank all the way down to his frozen bones, and when it slipped away as she pulled his glove off, it was agony.

She repeated the process with his other glove, and his bare hands twitched as he fought not to clutch onto hers and not let go. Finally, he regained control of himself, grabbing the flannel pajama shirt and pulling it on. It was a couple sizes too small, clinging to him like a second skin and stopping an inch or so above the waistband of his combat trousers, but it would do for now, even if he felt ridiculous.

“You’re shivering,” his dove said, frowning. “I’ll fetch you a blanket.”

She turned around and headed back into the bedroom, and he took the chance to shuck off his trousers. It was almost as if the warmth of her touch had reinvigorated his hands, or perhaps it was just luck, because he managed to get the button on the third try, and the zip on the second. He stepped into the too-small flannels just as she was returning with the quilt he’d given her earlier. He tried to avoid taking it—though he felt cold, he knew it was all in his mind—as he didn't want to contaminate it with the smell of death. But Lelia was stubborn, and she just wrapped the blanket around his shoulders for him, so he looked like he was wearing a flowery, quilted cape.

“There,” she said with a pleased smile, before bending down to pick up his gear and head over to the door. He followed her, a silent, massive, undead shadow, unwilling to let her go outside without him. He stood guard as she hung the clothes over the half-rotted wooden banister of the tiny porch, and when she came back in, he grunted to get her attention again before leading her back to the kitchenette. He tapped the matchbook, then pointed at the pile of firewood in the metal belly of the stove.

“You want me to start a fire?” She asked nervously, and he nodded, pointing at the logs again. She paled. “I don't know… I’ve never done that before. What if I burn myself?”

Ghost didn't like the thought of her getting hurt any more than she did, but they didn’t have a choice. She needed drinkable water, and right now, boiling what was in the bucket was the only way she was going to get that. So he fumbled for the book of matches and then pressed it into her hands—and if he let out another pleased groan when her warm skin touched his again, he hoped she misread it as encouragement.

His dove looked afraid, but she notched her chin and accepted the matches, clearly trying to put on a brave face. He let himself wonder at the fact that she had never used matches before. What kind of world had she lived in, prior to the end of it? Based on her nice clothes, posh accent, and utter lack of survival instincts, he imagined it was something privileged, something sheltered. He would’ve scoffed at the thought if he were still alive—pretty little rich girl with a pretty, perfect life. Had the dead not risen, she likely would have never known pain or fear or struggle. It would’ve angered him back then; the injustice of it all. The jealousy. Now, he just felt sad. She deserved a life like that. Not this hell on earth. She was woefully unprepared for her new reality—and she had suffered for it. The men she had had to rely on to keep her safe had put that haunted look in her eyes that spoke of a pain familiar to him, if unnamable. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember. That he couldn’t kill each and every person that had ever contributed to her suffering. But there was nothing he could do about that, now. All he could do was keep her safe, keep her alive. And maybe even make her laugh again.

It took a few tries, and several broken matches, but Lelia finally managed to get one lit without immediately dropping it in fear. She tossed it into the stove, and while Ghost would have advised her to hold it to the corner of one of the logs, first, it did the trick, and the fire caught. He gave her a groan of approval, and admired the way her face lit up with pride, a rosiness dusting her cheeks as she grinned. She was always beautiful, but when she smiled, she looked like an angel. Something far too good and far too pure for this hellish plane and all the monsters that lived on it, both alive and dead.

Together, they watched the water boil. It was about as exciting as watching paint dry, and took only slightly less time due to the old fashioned stove and small flame. He didn't mind, though, as his dove eventually began to fill the silence with mindless chatter, telling him about the meals her private chef—oh, so she’d been rich rich—used to make for her. Ghost was informed very seriously that Román was the best cook in the world and could have had his own restaurant, but he liked hearing Lelia’s in-depth analysis of his meals too much to leave. Ghost thought it was adorable that she believed that that’s why the chef had stayed, rather than the money he was making. Then again, Ghost had stayed because of her too, so maybe there was some truth to her words after all.

When the water was sufficiently clean, he grabbed the bucket and moved it off the stove so it could cool down. Curiously, he didn't feel any heat from it, despite knowing it had to be hot enough to burn. It only made him crave his dove’s touch even more, the only source of warmth in his cold, undead life.

He searched through the cupboards again as they waited, looking for some sort of cup. He found a single dusty mug with a large chip near the rim. It was no crystal champagne flute, like she was clearly used to, but it would do. He handed it over, and Lelia made a face but thanked him nonetheless. She unbuttoned her pink tweed jacket and untucked a section of her still clean white blouse underneath, using it to wipe out the mug. He stared.

Look away, Simon’s voice in his head ordered. Ghost reluctantly obeyed. You’re a vile creature. You don’t get to look at her like that.

Even if Ghost was alive, he'd probably think the same thing. He’d been old and monstrous then. He was dead and monstrous now. He'd never lived a life in which he would deserve a sweet thing like her. But he still wanted, in this life and the last.

So when Lelia smiled at him after drinking her fill of the purified water, lips still wet and shiny, he tried to ignore the phantom sensation of his undead heart pounding in his chest.

[pumpkingas]

Eprocto thoughts abt spooky creatures (⁠｡⁠・⁠/⁠/⁠ε⁠/⁠/⁠・⁠｡⁠)

Tw: Dub/con, Necrophilia ?(Cuz... Zombies)

Zombie 🧟

Literally unable to control their bowels, being dead you don't have the most control over your body...

That sloppy loose spinchter would absolutely collect air, causing constant windy farts, and even though they function as on-command farts the smell would still be HORRID from simply passing through zombie cheeks.

Skin is probably rotting which is gross HOWEVER... It'd be extra soft and elastic, you could knead it like dough, maybe help work some of that trapped air out??

Maybe they're sentient but still hungry?? Maybe you're a zombie lover and collect piles of rotting meat from the dumpsters behind grocery stores to take to your zombie pal?? Maybe they over indulge and lie down with a huge bulging gut that stretches way beyond living limits??? Maybe bubbly farts slip out of their ass as they groan and pant??? Maybe all the blood from that red meat sends them into a burping fit???

Werewolf 🌕

I think we can all agree werewolf diets are GNARLY, if not for being their soulmate/Luna/omega (and so on and so forth), they'd probably eat YOU if given the chance. Expect your freezer to be emptied out obviously, but also your refrigerator and cabinets. Raw meat, deli meat and nut bars will start to go missing, but soon it will be sauce bottles, leftovers with freezer burn, jars of olives and all kinds of pickled foods. Their breath will quickly smell like vomit if you don't own a werewolf proof kiddie gate.

Although they have stomachs of steel and likely wouldn't experience stomach troubles or bloating, you'll quickly become witness to the nastiest farts ever released into the atmosphere. They'd range from loud and quick duck quacks to long rumbling motor engine farts. The smell might not compare to rotting meat levels but werewolf stench will NEVER leave you, it will singe your nose hairs, coat your walls, sink into your fabrics, even soak into leather, like a skunk gone wrong.

Even if they're in their human form that ass is still going to be COVERED in hair, no matter the age, gender, sex, whatever, what's a wereWOLF without its fur? And how willing are you to spend hours helping a gassy werewolf wash the jungle in-between their fat cheeks?

If you're in its pack or are at least a candidate to join you HAVE to be scented, can't walk around like you're just anyone's human! Maybe it's a thrilling loving process where your werewolf lover sits on your naked form and carefully pushes fart after fart onto each and every body part of yours. Or maybe it's a secretive process from a werewolf that hasn't revealed itself yet, helping with the laundry just to rub your clothing against their crack, working up a sweat so they can drain the sweat drops into your body spray, shampoo and lotion. Taking a nap with your toothbrush between their ass so each bristle will be stained with their scent...

Vampires 🦇

Farts are quiet and SBDs are frequent but not mandatory, usually their gas releases in sort of a hum that vibrates whatever they're sitting on or laying against. Perhaps they have a form of fart echolocation, maybe you've planned a surprise party for a vampire as they got bored of birthdays after their 121st, and instead of reaching for the light switch they just begin to let out bubbly farts as they move around their home.

If you offer your neck to a vampire you better be aware of your diet, if the vampires lactose intolerant you better watch your dairy, if they're sensitive to raw vegetables you'd better cook yours thoroughly, and for the love of anything don't give a vegan vampire your meat eater blood, unless of course you'd like to see them grasp at their stomach and groan, releasing uncharacteristically loud farts and moaning shamelessly...

Suppose this is a vampire that's taken a liking to you, naturally you'll begin to bond with them and it'd intensify after each bite, but the thing is, there isn't exactly a limit to human devotion. One day a vampire could be nothing but someone you cross on the street who makes your heart flutter with no memory of what occurred the night before, and a year later that vampire could be your beloved owner that only speaks to you in commands, whenever they need a chair you're bending over before they can finish their sentence, and when the smell of their own gas begins to bother them how could you not dive between their cheeks and smell it?

[thathorriblebitch]

AN ANIMATIC!!!!

GORE WARNING FOR A FEW FRAMES!

ALSO SPOILERSSS

(tumblr may have killed quality srry)

Notes under cut

AHH THIS TOOK SOOOOOO LONGGGG

I haven't posted any comments or notes or fanart in a while so here's the whole shebang, enjoy my mad rantings @uhohbestie

So starting from chapter 21 when grian died, oh my goddd

I was convinced that Scar would die first and grian would give in to his suicidal thoughs from when he was on the sand cliff

Then after scar and grian make it out of a horde infested store alive. The worst happens

"He'd grown complacent, and now scar was suffering for the consequences of it."

A quote that sadly summarizes a large percentage of the fic

Thennn

"He knows the blood seeping from his shoulder hasn't come from a gunshot."

"I love you, scar"

"'I love you,' he adds, and it feels so easy to say now that he wonders why he ever struggled with it before."

Owwwwww

It's oddly poetic how in his effort to help and aid scar he had to leave him behind. I took his own death for him to admit to him faults, for him to help scar, for him to say he loves scar, and it feels like I'm supposed to forgive grian, BUT HE STILL HASNT APOLOGIZED! he barely acknowledged his cheating.

It's very purposeful that I drew him dying in the desert instead of the woods.

I do wonder if the trio could every stumble upon him while they explore ghost towns

Next chapter

22 FUCKING SCHLAT?! I understand that this schlat is not even all that close to the one I know and love from dsmp! Era, but still. Schlat?!?! I have never watched his day z streams nor another zombie content from any dsmp people (mainly ref Tommy's and Charlie's vids) so I have no clue who Aubry, Mosin man, Paul, or any other people from that reference so to me they end up coming off as oocs but they have clear intentions and I love how they give scar his turn to use his salesman voice. Anywayyy

Next chapters up to 26

I enjoy the vibes of schlat joking with scar's pc ass

They fit in the weirdest way and I still get thrown off seeing schlat on my tumblr feed from the chapter banners

The sudden kidnapping was fun and I can't wait for scar to randomly start using his legs and firearm skills to kill 3 guys then feel guilty asf just cause "Oh God I killed unzombie people oh noooo"

Anyway in general, I love how this fic is turning out and feel my heart shatter for scar every update and fear for my life when I see lock n key post anything regarding the plot

And my favorite part of this fic?

TEMPORARY CHARACTER DEATH

TEMPORARY!!!!

much love, thb

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Scaredy-Shroom

Debut: Plants vs. Zombies

Here is Scaredy-Shroom! A very humble fellow, who I love very much. Scaredy-Shroom is scared, as you likely know. He is frightened, uncomfortable in the given situation. And as someone easily scared, I can relate to this! Especially when I was younger and even more easily scared! When I first heard about Plants vs. Zombies, I thought "Zombies? I don't want to see that!" and assumed it had to be a Scary Game. And now kids are growing up as Scary Freddy The Scare Bear fans. I would not have done well as an iPad Kid. BUT ANYWAY!

Scaredy-Shroom may be scared. But he is courageous! Arguably. I don't think he would be fighting zombies if he was not planted by the player. But he's here, and he does a good job, even if he is scared! I am proud of him. He has a low sun cost, respectable damage, and infinite range! He DOES cower under his cap if zombies are too close, but it is a small setback, and you owe it to him to keep him feeling safe, after all he's done for you!

While he does a good job at night, there is really no point to using Scaredy-Shroom during the day. He'll be asleep, so you'll need to use Coffee Bean to wake him up, and at that point you've spent as much as you would have on a Peashooter! And Peashooter does not cower and stop shooting at any point! I think this is okay, though. Scaredy-Schroom doesn't need to be a miracle worker. He is very stressed and needs his sleep. Look, his cap is even shaped like a pointed sleeping cap, a little! He is so cute.

Have you heard the news? It's part of why I'm making this post! Scaredy-Shroom was NOT in PvZ2 for a very long time, but just recently, after about 10 years, was added back! At first, I was hesitant about the slight redesign, specifically the cap. This is no longer a pointed hat, but instead has a jagged, seemingly broken bottom! I really do wonder if this was intentional, or a misinterpretation of the original design. Oh well! I have decided I like it, and looking kind of disheveled fits his character! He doesn't have arms to do it with, but it makes me think of him rubbing or picking at his cap when nervous, like I fiddle with my hair. He's just like me!

So? Was Scaredy-Shroom's big return worth the wait?

No, it was not! Scaredy-Shroom is, simply, just Not That Good. In the first game's night levels, he is good! He has his use and the game is built around that! But in 2, an unbalanced game with even more difficult zombies, as well as a steady stream of new and extremely powerful plants being added, he just does not have what it takes. They DID give him extra defense when hiding, but it's really not nearly enough. Indeed, Scaredy-Shroom in PvZ2 is not very good.

And I wouldn't have it any other way!

Like I've been saying, Scaredy-Shroom is, in the first game, useful in some levels, and nearly useless in others. He isn't SUPPOSED to be overpowered, or even strong! If he was, that wouldn't be Scaredy-Shroom! I can understand people being disappointed with his weakness in 2, but as someone who no longer plays it, I'm just happy to see him finally in a game again, and with a neat new design. Ideally, he would have been in the base game with campaign levels designed for his strengths, but it is too late for that.

In a way, it's good that he probably won't get used much. It gives him time to relax. I'll just let Scaredy-Shroom speak for himself here:

"How did I get talked into this? I wish I was at home."

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Bit of a late update! Was playing cod lmao

Went into this chapter not knowing what to do with the two idiots, but the moment I put them in a room together, they just start writing themselves...

Also, the formatting on Google Docs decided to fucking change out of nowhere and it really annoyed me.

Price frowns at the three of them, displeasure and concern flitting in his eyes as he examines the state they’re in. Ghost is sure they’re quite the sight. Soap’s head is covered in blood, his eyes red from crying and with a pale skin, he looks like a bad cosplay of a zombie. Ghost is so tense he feels like his bones will snap, his muscles about as cooperative as a stone wall. Gaz is faring better appearance wise, but the Sergeant has been uncharacteristically quiet ever since they landed.

“Well? I assume you’ve found something.” Price squints, still unsure of what he’s supposed to do with his soldiers.

Ghost takes it as a signal for him to begin debrief, and he stands up on shaky legs, muscles screaming in protest, “no intel, two revenants extracted.”

The Captain sighed, clearly hoping for more. The other 2 teams haven’t found anything, the PMC disappearing like it usually does, “any hostiles?”

Now there’s something major they can give Price, “undetermined amount, non-human, sir.”

Price’s attention is caught, the previous frustrations gone, “explain.”

“They don’t have a face, take several headshots to kill, and turn to some sort of smoke when taken out.” Ghost resumes, “they all communicate somehow, the moment one of them spotted Soap, all of them rushed to him.”

Price strokes at his moustache, “I fear we’re not working against a PMC here, boys. This could be the work of one very sneaky revenant.”

Ghost has heard of similar powers in the past - corpse manipulation, illusions, mirroring. None of them exactly fit what they fought, though.

It seems they know even less than what they started with.

“What’s the status on the two revenants?” Price asks.

Ghost looks over at Gaz, who snapped out of his thoughts to answer, “unconscious, both of them. Medics said they’ll wake in a few.”

The Captain nods, “we’ll get them to questioning once they’re up for it. They’re our only lead for now.” he turns to Soap, expression softening a tad, “you solid, son?”

Johnny’s eyebrows raise, and he nods slowly, “aye, it healed already.”

And that means he’s miraculously fine, Ghost internally scoffs. Price obviously heard that, as he says, “take the day off, MacTavish. And get yourself clean, for goodness’ sake, you’re gonna scare a Vaquero to death and Alejandro will hunt me for sport.”

The Scot chuckles, “copy that, Cap”

“That goes for the rest of you muppets, I don’t want to see any of you before the revenants wake up, that clear?”

“Crystal.” Ghost grumbles.

After everyone else exited the room, Ghost made eye contact with Price. “Found a lead on Soap’s Reaping.”

Price’s brows furrowed, “there’s a reason it’s redacted, Simon. I can’t just go around and investigate every military cover up.”

Never stopped any of us…

“I’m trying to keep heat off of you, not endanger you further.” Price crosses his arms.

Ghost huffs, “with all due respect, sir, that’s a load of crap if I ever heard it. You know I’m not gonna forget about it, and I know you’re going to help me in the end.”

They stare at each other for a minute before Price groans, “what do you have for me, Ghost?”

He smirks under the mask. Can always trust Price to come through, “not enough, just a name.”

The Captain raises an eyebrow.

“Konchar. Supposedly, Johnny killed him after he downed his squad, but the Sergeant wasn’t… too coherent at that point.” Soap’s screams still echo in the back of his mind, the way memories have ravaged his Sergeant… it leaves a gaping hole in his chest.

“I’ll talk to Laswell, see what she can do. Don’t be surprised if she finds nothing.”

“I know not to expect good outcomes at this point in life.”

Ghost shuts the door behind him, clocking in a presence on the wall near it. He turns around to find Soap leaning on it, still as bloody as he was in debrief.

“Thought Price ordered you to clean up”, Ghost comes to stand in front of him, trying not to let his Sergeant see just how much his legs are shaking.

Soap gives him a lopsided smile, “decided I look better covered in blood and dust, some people are into that y’know.”

He probably saw Ghost’s unimpressed eyes, because his smile drops, and he looks away for a moment, “wanted to wait fer ye.”

Fuckin’ hell, he hopes Price can’t feel how his chest warmed up like someone lit a firework in his gut, “let’s get you to the showers then, no one is attracted to your stench.”

Johnny pushed off the wall, “I’m sure there’s at least one”

Ghost starts walking besides him, “don’t count on it-”

His left leg decided to give out at that exact moment, and Ghost inhales sharply, fully expecting to have a very up close and personal meeting with the floor, when two hands grab him.

Johnny pulls him back up, “shit, Ghost! Ye didn’t tell me yer fuckin’ broken!” he leads Ghost to lean on the wall.

“I’m not-fuck…” Ghost hisses as his leg muscles convulse, “not injured… Limbo was trying to get you, had to hold it back…”

Flames lick at his biceps, and he wants to close his eyes and indulge in how they relax his aching arms.

Soap doesn’t look convinced, and he gives Ghost a determined look. “Let’s go to yer barrack, closer than the showers.” He wraps Ghost’s arm around his shoulders, and makes him lean on the Scot.

Warmth spreads throughout him, “Johnny, I can fuckin’ walk-”

Soap starts walking, “aye, I saw how that worked fer ye before, haud yer wheesht.”

Ghost retorts, “English, Sergeant.”

“Shut yer mouth and let me help ye.” He takes them slowly to Ghost’s room.

“Much better.”

Soap looks up at him, annoyed, before he breaks character and laughs. It almost distracts Ghost from the pain in his limbs.

Johnny lets him off on the lower bunk bed, and turns around to close the door. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room when Ghost pats the space beside him.

Soap joins him and Ghost exhales, lowering himself further into the bed. He takes stock of the various degrees of discomfort coursing through his body, and feels his Sergeant shift.

“I’m uh… sorry fer what happened there.” Ghost lifts his head to frown at him.

“You’re sorry for getting shot in the head? Fuckin’ hell Soap-”

Johnny twists his body to face Ghost fully, “fer not recognising ye! For shouting and demanding shit, fer making ye deal with teenage me, Reapers know he was a feckin’ idiot.”

Ghost lifts himself back up to tower over his Sergeant, “you wanted me to leave you alone?”

Soap’s face scrunches up in confusion, but his eyes… they shine brightly with his radiant fire, “I- didn’t want you to… see that.” he breaks eye contact, looking away a little flushed.

“I wouldn’t let you go through that alone, Johnny.” He looks at the familiar flames brighten, “no running away, remember?”

Johnny’s features crumple, and slowly, telegraphing the movement clearly, he places a hand over Ghost’s forearm, moving up and down gently. Ghost is fixated on the motion, his world reducing to the point of contact, the heat it emanates.

“Aye, I remember.” Johnny almost whispers, his face still pained, and Ghost doesn’t understand why. Fuck, he wishes he could read minds like Price. “It’s just… I didn’t want ye to see it… but I think I needed it.” 

Ghost nods, as if he has the capacity to contain everything going through him at the moment.

Johnny finally meets his eyes, “I’ve never met anyone like ye, Simon. Ye make me think I’m human.”

Simon’s heart beats twice as fast at hearing his name whispered like that, and he swallows deep buried confessions, words that should never be let out to the air between them, “you are human.” 

“No. And neither are you. But we could pretend, right?” Johnny gives him a smile, and removes his hand from Simon’s. He wants to chase the heat, but knows better than to try and claim something so luminous such as that.

Simon closes his eyes, as if that would help the temptation, “we could pretend.”

When he opens his eyes again, he notices the stains of red still marring Soap’s head. Simon groans as he stretches towards the side table next to the bed, rummaging through one of the drawers.

Johnny leans in, “what are ye lookin’ fer?”

He grabs the pack of wet wipes and groans again on his way back to his previous position, “bring your face here, Sergeant.”

Johnny raises a brow but follows Simon’s lead. He opens the pack and fishes out a couple wipes, “stay still.”

Simon takes Johnny’s chin and turns his face to the side, bringing the wipe up and cleaning his temples with the same concentration and accuracy he would use in the field to line up a sniper shot. He uses up several, leaving a pile of pale pink wipes on the bed between them, but once the right side is clean he turns Johnny’s head again, observing how he closed his eyes.

He puts too much trust in him, Simon thinks to himself. He can’t help but feel comforted by the fact.

He cleans the left temple, following the small rivers the blood made on Johnny’s cheek. Once he’s done, he takes a few seconds to just… gaze at Johnny. He doesn’t avert his eyes when Johnny’s flutter open, the bright blue completing the vision he is.

They sit in silence for what feels like hours, just looking for the sake of it, just staring because they can. Because they both survived today.

A yawn from Soap breaks the spell they were both trapped in. “You still reek, Sergeant. Get yourself to showers and fuckin’ sleep.” Ghost gathers the used up wipes from the bed.

Soap hesitates, and gets up. “Aye sir. I… thank ye. Fer everything.”

Ghost doesn’t look at him, “don’t mention it.”

The door clicks behind his Sergeant, and Ghost makes to lay down. He’s too fucking exhausted to drag himself to the top bunk.

He settles in, staring up at the bars supporting the mattress above him. For once his mind is calm, his chest is warm, and all he can think about is the phantom feeling of flames caressing his forearm.

Ghost supposes he was dead tired, as he falls asleep more easily than he remembers he was ever capable of. 

He startles awake to the feeling of multiple hands grasping at him, “FUCKIN’-” Ghost jumps away from the bed, watching the hands return to the ground.

He suppresses a shiver while he notes the sun starting to set. Did it really take the bastards of Limbo several hours to try that shit on him?

Maybe his good mood leaked to them. He won’t look a gifting horse in the mouth.

Price’s voice fills his mind, “glad you feel better, Sleeping Beauty. Up and at ‘em, Lieutenant. The revenants woke up.”

Ghost opens the door to see the Captain smoking on a half-spent cigar. “You really have nothing better to do than stand and wait for me to get up?”

Price takes another breath of smoke, “I know when you start waking up, Simon.”

Right, Price probably knows his own brain better than himself.

“That’s for certain. Let’s move.”

When they reach medical, Ghost unfortunately spots Graves out of everyone looking around the beds. The fuck is he searching for?

“Revenants are in the back, behind the curtain. We wait for Soap and Gaz here.” Price informs him privately, before calling the American, “Graves, lost a soldier in medical?”

The man whips his head around, covering a surprised face with a shitty smile, “John! Just making sure none of our forces got hurt in the latest mission.” the bullshit couldn’t smell stronger, Ghost rolls his eyes.

Johnny and Garrick open the doors, and Ghost watches Graves’ face curl into shock for half a second before returning to its usual, easy going smile. Strange tosser, that one. Ghost wouldn’t trust him with a dart gun at his 6.

“Ghost”, Johnny approaches him, and he immediately turns his attention to his Sergeant, “you solid?”

“Affirm” he walks nearer to him, standing at attention.

Price nods to Gaz, probably exchanging a couple of words through his power, and addresses the group, “Vargas and Parra are busy with managing the base, they let us know we can go ahead and speak with the revenants. Keep questions to a minimum, they’re likely still disoriented from the entire ordeal.”

The soldiers nod and walk to the back, staying a step behind the Captain as he slowly moves the curtains to the side.

Ghost analyzes the two sitting in their beds. One man, light brown hair and moustache, fit, dog tags peeking above his hospital gown. Soldier, American, if Ghost had to guess. The other, a woman, instantly locked eyes with the captain, a band holding her long dark brown hair back. Her skin glistens oddly at the setting sun’s light, her brown eyes piercing and alert.

He looks back at Price, and is surprised to see shock over his features. He’s about to ask what’s got him like that when he starts talking.

“Commander Karim?”

The woman’s face relaxes, giving the Captain a sharp nod, “Captain Price. I would prefer if we stopped meeting this way.”

Shoutout to forestshadow-wolf for guessing correctly who the revenants were! I was impressed haha

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Cal can I be greedy for a sec? 💜

🔼🔼🔽🔽◀️▶️◀️▶️🔼🔼🔽🔽◀️▶️◀️▶️

🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♂️

⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Maxi, you can always be greedy!

48 for 🔼:

---

 “Oh, right. That’s weird for you.”

“No kidding!” 

“Sorry,” she blushes.

“Are you okay?” Buck asks, genuinely concerned. “You’re talking a lot. Are you on something?”

Maddie’s face flattens. She purses her lips.

“Gee, sorry to bug you, beloved younger brother who I have been caring for during your long recovery.”

“No!’ Buck protests. “I-it’s not bad. It’s not bad at all. It’s just surprising. You’re, uh, not usually so… Full of stories?”

Maddie holds a contemptuous expression for another beat or two before sighing.

“You’re right,” she admits. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately and no one to share it with.”

“Uh, your boyfriend?” Buck suggests.

“I can’t talk to him about everything,” Maddie says. “And you know, it’s still early. We’re not married.”

“Josh?” Buck moves on.

“Great for many things, but not everything.” Maddie says. “For example, I cannot get that guy to go to the mall with me. I don’t have a shopping friend. I haven’t had a shopping friend since university.”

Buck frowns. “I’ll shop with you, Maddie. I just don’t want to think about you or Chim having sex. Ever.”

“You aren’t up for a proper day at an outlet mall.” Maddie says. “But thank you.”

“That’s probably true.” Buck concedes. 

“I think, lately, with more and more distance from Doug, I’ve just been thinking about a lot of the aspects of myself I lost when we were together,” Maddie says. “And one of those things, I think, was having a lot of close friends. Girl friends, really. Which, sorry. Didn’t mean to make you a substitute.”

---

54 for 🧟‍♂️:

---

“I was wary at first too. But, honestly? I think he’s kind of a sweetie.”

“I trust you, Maddie,” Buck promises. “Really.”

“Thanks,” Maddie smiles. She shifts her posture a little. Despite Hen and Chim checking her out and giving her pain killers for her ribs, he can tell she’s in pain. Pain she can’t do much for. 

“Tell me about you,” Maddie says, changing the topic. “I want to know how my little brother ended up in a literal sanctuary at the end of the world.”

Buck smiles softly. “It’s kind of a lucky story. I mean, I’m lucky. Really lucky.”

“No kidding,” she says. “Most people would kill for this.”

Well, they’ve had to. Lots of zombies. A few violent raiders, in the early days. He doesn’t say this part, though.

“Right before the end,” he says instead. “I was dating the head librarian here. Abby. She let us set up here, when things started getting bad. It was supposed to be a community outreach thing at first. But there wasn’t much of a community left.”

“Abby,” Maddie repeats. “I didn’t meet an Abby out there.”

Buck shakes his head. “She’s not… Uh, she’s gone.”

Maddie’s face falls. “I’m sorry.”

Buck shakes his head. “She didn’t die. I mean, maybe she did… I don’t know. She left. To drive to Santa Barbara. To the nursing home where her mom lived.”

“Oh,” Maddie whispers.

“She hasn’t come back yet.” Buck says. 

“Yet?” Maddie asks. 

“I know,” Buck drops his head. “She won’t. But uh… You’re here. So less likely things have happened.”

She smiles at him. But he can tell she’s just trying to appease him. Like everyone else, she thinks Abby is gone.

---

30 for ⚡:

---

 “I don’t need order and routine. I used to live anywhere, work any job. I’m cool.”

Eddie tilts his head to the side a little. “Buck.” 

Buck groans. “Fine. Fine. You’re right. I hate that you can just crack open my head like that.”

Eddie looks smug. “No you don’t. That’s half the reason we’re getting married.”

Buck’s lip twitches. “And the other half is your ass.”

“I knew it.” Eddie chuckles. 

“You’re right,” Buck says again. “It doesn’t matter what happens as long as we get married. I’m sorry for freaking out.”

“Well, I panicked when we started planning the wedding. Fitting you panic now.”

“God forbid no one panics,” Buck agrees. 

“Exactly! Then we might seem too powerful. Intimidating.”

“Wouldn’t want that.” Buck nods sagely. “No one would invite us to their weddings ever again. They’d be too embarrassed.”

---

30 for 🩸:

---

Kim makes a pained noise in the back of her throat at the mention of Shannon’s name. Eddie can’t blame her.

Eddie shakes his head. “That’s not who I see anymore, when I look at her.” 

Sophia takes a deep, shaky breath. Like she’s debating whether or not to trust Eddie. Fair enough. He didn’t trust her with this, either. He should have. He can see that now. 

She lowers the gun. 

Eddie’s shoulders sag with relief. 

“Go,” he tells Kim. 

“He popped my tires!” 

Is she stupid? Sophia is protective and stubborn as hell. She will shoot her. 

“Wreck your wheels,” Eddie grits. 

Kim narrows her eyes at him, but she goes. She grabs her bag from where it lies near Sophia’s feet, leaving her phone in their possession, and goes. The car makes an awful noise as she drives away. 

The moment she’s gone, Eddie drops to his knees in front of Buck. Maddie has opened up his jacket and lifted his sweater, and is in the middle of trying her best to pack his wounds. Eddie shifts so Buck’s head can rest against his thigh, rather than on his jacket balled on the pavement.

“You’re insane,” Eddie accuses. He reaches for Buck’s hand. The right one. The left wrist looks swollen badly. 

“Had to,” Buck mumbles. He’s really pale. He lost too much blood.