#paz1.

[charliexclayton]

who: paz and charlie ( @nullmocn ) where: the ranch

Call it whatever you want; torture, masochism, torment, self-flagellation… The truth was that there was always one person in the world who could make her feel shittier when she was already feeling like shit. Paz. Irritatingly hot, disgustingly cocky, and incredibly frustrating. If there was a face that demanded a punch every time she saw it, it was Paz’s face. Charlie never sought Paz out, she usually had too much self-respect than submit herself to another boring self-aggrandizing lecture about how all of Charlie’s shortcomings were somehow a personal problem for Paz. They had been paired up one time for one hunt that had gone horribly. But it was hardly Charlie’s fault that Sargeant Strap-on-for-brains and her had been too busy bickering about “protocol” (whatever the fuck that was in this town) to notice the change in terrain.

Charlie had helped the injured Paz back to town, ear bleeding from the incessant blame and the poor woman had been bedridden for two weeks. Honestly, bygones could have been bygones, but Paz had specifically requested never to work with a subpar hunter like Charlie again. What a load of bullshit, Charlie was a fucking stellar hunter. She was a shit friend though. Sometime when the light caught her hands, she could still see and feel Conor’s blood on them. Blood. So much blood.

Charlie thumped a fist against her forehead. Hard reset. Presently she was stumbling towards the ranch, having drunk an ungodly amount of some weirdly undisclosed potato juice, you know, the kind that made doubles of everything. It made doubles of the streetlights, doubles of the buildings, double of Conor reaching out for her… Another thump to the head. Focus Charlie, you’re on a mission.

The mission, of course, was to tell Paz what was what. And what was what? Well Charlie didn’t know yet, but the alcohol fueled logical thinking told her she’d figure it out once she got there. She was kind of starting to pick up that maybe the people that drank all the time in Arcadia were kind of on to something because this felt amazing. It was freshly dark out once she arrived at Paz’s doorsteps and the bells had just gone off.

“Knock knock,” she slurred out as she thumped on the door, “it’s me.” Charlie giggled, as if Paz, who hadn’t spoken more than two words to her since their last encounter, would know who ‘me’ was. Undeterred, Charlie continued her incoherent drunk rambling. “Don’t worry, I’m not a monster, though I suppose that’s what a monster would say. Are you going to let me in? – shiiiit I think the monsters would say that too. They’re probably watching me right now actually, but it’s okay they’ve made it veryyyy clear that they’re not going to kill me yet, after all I’m so useful to them, getting everyone else hurt or killed—oh! Purple monkey on a dishwasher, I don’t think a monster would say that… Anyway Paz, I gotta pee, can you please let me in. It’s CharChar, Charmander, Charizard…”

[mayahcrrt]

“Such innocent fun.” The blonde sarcastically remarked, once again rolling her eyes. Oh yeah, if it was all so innocent, then the guy wouldn’t have gotten so pissed. Which then made Maya inclined to believe that this guy really must have cheated for him to be chased. That was the only logical reason she could think of, and though she disliked trying to think logically about things, what other reason was there besides the actual truth? 

With that, Maya released a huge sigh. Should she even bother to believe his promise in replacing her pain brushes? She didn’t even know the guy, what reasons was there for her to believe him? There was none! In fact, instead of dwelling on her now nonexistent set of paint brushes he caused her to loose, she should start heading back home. Taking a peak up at the sky, Maya took note at the shades of dark orange, an indication that soon it will be dark out. Yeah, she should start heading home, Riley would worry if she didn’t before it became completely pitch out. “Jokes on you, I’m difficult to influence.” Maya remarked, as she shifted her gaze back at him. Her brow then rose at the way he stared at her, only for the blonde to shake her head as she pushed herself off from against the wall. But just as she was about to claim she was heading off, he held out a hand and introduced himself. She stared at his hand before once again staring back at him. “—Maya.” Maya replied, crossing her arms against her chest instead of shaking his hand in return. “I’m going to go.”

The blonde’s deadpanned expression and obvious annoyance didn’t deter Paz one bit, instead only motivating him to make it up to her even more. He hadn’t expected to hear that she bought the last set, his smile dropping ever so slightly, but he still tried to remain positive. “More will come,” he promised her genuinely, planning to keep his word however he possibly could. 

He was well aware her previous words were sarcasm, all too familiar with it from his previous relationship, but it was fun to tease anyway. She was going to be a tough one to crack though, he could already sense that. “It was all innocent fun,” he brushed it off casually, despite that innocent fun had obviously turned into a man angrily chasing after them. It was no surprise that Paz would take something like a silly bet too far. His eyebrows quirked up at the sudden nickname she gave him, though his smirk didn’t falter. “Oh I know, I just figured you could use a pick-me-up. My music has a way of being very influential,” he teased with a chuckle. He kept his gaze on hers momentarily, taking in her features before he stuck a hand out to properly introduce himself. He might as well get to know her if he owed her some new paintbrushes now. “I’m Paz, by the way.”

[stargazerisms]

VIRTUES WERE SOMETHING DEXTER WAS UNFAMILIAR WITH , and patience was the biggest stranger of them . but he still managed -- if just barely -- to scrape something together and TRY to trust paz with what he was doing . of course , he had his own agenda for the future but that still needed to be worked on and he still needed to save a little face . shoving another fry into his mouth he waited at the agreed spot for his friend and anarchy leader . when he spotted him dexter watched him trying to read something/anything from the look on his face , “ well . do we have anything new ? “ he asked as the other got comfortable .

( -- ; @cynosurems​ )

[arabipress]

استشهاد وإصابة أربعة مواطنين بنيران الجيش السعودي في منبه بصعدة - موقع أنصار الله

استشهاد وإصابة أربعة مواطنين بنيران الجيش السعودي في منبه بصعدة | أنصار الله Home استشهاد وإصابة أربعة مواطنين بنيران الجيش السعودي في منبه بصعدة المصدر https://s.alarabi.press/pAZ1E

[miettesla]

Tesla lädt jährlich 200 junge Schülerinnen ein, um sie für Wissenschaft und Technik zu begeistern. Tesla macht also neben Autos auch noch Schule.👍 www.miet-tesla.de 🌞🔋🚘🛡🌍 #Tesla #teslagermany #modelS #modelx #model3 #supercharger #dieselgate #dieselskandal #teslaowners #teslalife #miettesla #ev #elektroauto #Elektromobilität #zukunft #strom #sauber #bmw #vw #daimler #solar #pv #renewables #Ladesäule #spritpreis #diesel #benzin #friydayforfuture (hier: Miet-Tesla) https://www.instagram.com/miettesla/p/BuOAq-PAz1E/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1x5ip0mt5x2es

[vertigosmx]

Paralizan Ayuntamiento de La Paz

Paralizan Ayuntamiento de La Paz

Paralizan Ayuntamiento de La Paz Por Tito LOYA H. • Exigen Adeudo Millonario • Asamblea Permanente de Sindicalizados • Piden Esperanza Reflejada en la Nomina • ¿Dónde está el Ahorro?

Para disfrutar la video-columna dale click a la liga de abajo 👇

http://www.vertigos.mx/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/Paralizan-Ayuntamiento-de-La-Paz1.mp4

Truenan los burócratas de La Paz contra el alcalde Rubén Muñoz…

[necati-d]

RİZESPOR TARAFTARI ONU ÇOK SEVDİ

RİZESPOR TARAFTARI ONU ÇOK SEVDİ

RİZESPOR TARAFTARI ONU ÇOK SEVDİ

SON EFSANE ÜMİT OZAN KAZMAZ

Fatih Sultan KAR / İST

Rizespor’un sahaya Yeşil Mavili çubuklu forma ile çıkması, 53 numaralı formayı ve kaptanlık pazı bantını taşıyanın bizim uşağımız olması bazılarına detay olarak gelebilir ama bizim için vazgeçilmez unsurlardı.

53 NUMARA ONA ÇOK YAKIŞIYORDU

53 numaralı forma ve kaptanlık Ümit Ozan Kazmaz’a çok…

[jppres]

Estabilidad física de bases semisólidas con quitosana

Estabilidad física de bases semisólidas con quitosana

Article published in Journal of Pharmacy & Pharmacognosy Research 5(5): 288-300, 2017. (PDF)Estabilidad física de bases emulsionadas e hidrosolubles con quitosana y acetato de quitosana [Physical stability of emulsion and hydrophilic gels with chitosan and chitosan acetate] Nilia De la Paz1, Dania Pérez2, Mirna Fernández2*, Dulce M. Soler3, Yanet Rodríguez3, Antonio Nogueira1 1Centro de…

[underlyethereal-blog]

Costa Rica San Jose

Costa Rica San Jose Capital

San Jose is the capital of Costa Rica. One thing which really stroke me was that it was really impossible to find a good Costa Rica SEO there in Costa Rica San Jose... Even Paying a 100$ for 2 Persons which is quite a bit considering the low wages there.... 

Comments on Costa Rica San Jose

good restaurant . GO HOME GRINGO TO KFC . Reply 7

View all 16 replies Augusto Ribeiro Augusto Ribeiro2 months ago +EscapeToCostaRica Now I know several World countries (Brazil, Italy, Portugal, South Africa, France) and none is better today than Costa Rica San Jose was in 1982 ... Reply

Barney B Barney B2 months ago Good restaurant? why are you complaining and I just saw a Wendy's?Its not your country, as a visitor, eat what is available Reply 4

Oscar 18 Oscar 185 months ago La parte mas fea de Todo Costa Rica exepto la Sabana los museos Costa Rica San Jose... Costa Rica es de los pocos paises donde entre mas lejos te vas de la capital mas lindo es... Reply 10

View all 3 replies Yui San Yui San2 weeks ago así es , la verdad :3 Reply

Bfr74vz Bfr74vz3 months ago The drivers seemed much more civilized than the drivers in the Dominican, you take your life into your hands when you drive in the DR Reply 1

Jeury Veloz Jeury Veloz3 months ago lmao im dominican and i agree. Reply

Jeremy Bagley Jeremy Bagley2 months ago I remember these days when going to Universidad Veritas I miss Costa Rica San Jose! Reply 2

Uriel Chaves Uriel Chaves2 months ago se puede rajar que hay nicas en mi pais se notan en el video Reply

Random Record Random Record4 months ago Min 1:00 Hermanos ticos, no se dejen. No permitan que tomen la servidumbre. Eso nos pasó en un área de Panamá y ahora es un lío sacarlos a todos de la vía publica. Reply 3

Jose Macias Jose Macias3 weeks ago El pais mas blanco de centro america Reply

Konan Konan1 week ago Pero ya ni se nota, Costa Rica San Jose está llena de nicas, caribeños, centroamericanos del norte y colombianos. Reply

terry palmore terry palmore1 year ago Was that $250USD for dinner or 100$ Costa Rica (whatevers) Pesos? Reply 2

View all 5 replies Diego Barrantes Diego Barrantes2 months ago you can find full dinners from $4 to $12 in a standard restaurant of course if you go to a luxury restaurant probably you can find dishes for $40 but $100 its a lot and it is far for a standard dish i dont know, lobster maybe Reply

EscapeToCostaRicaNow EscapeToCostaRicaNow2 months ago (edited) I have heard thet the Argentine steaks are good but I could not afford such a restaurant. I owned a big house which I converted into apartments, downtown Costa Rica San Jose almost, a neighborhood called Barrio Escalante or translation,upscale neighborhood. I traded a Harley Davidson plus some money for it.-sold it for double my investment, lost on the other 2 apartment buildings I bought. If any readers want a guide to San Jose or all Costa Rica, I will do it , I need to return in a few months anyway. I had a "Dating Service" when I lived downtown San Jose. Such tales I could tell but I won't. Read more Reply

Blanca Paz Blanca Paz1 month ago Con todo respeto a los Ticos pero ... está muy feo ese lugar, que horror . Reply

Michael Martinez Granados Michael Martinez Granados1 week ago Blanca Paz La verdad es que eso que vez, si es muy feo, es porque es el centro, pero creeme entre mas te alejes del centro encontrarás más belleza, museos, parques, edificios coloniales etc. Y más si visitas las bellezas naturales... Reply

Jorge Arturo Barrantes Rivera Jorge Arturo Barrantes Rivera1 month ago yo amo Costa Rica San Jose es lo más lindo Reply

Maikel Delgado Maikel Delgado10 months ago realidad en Costa Rica San Jose

1. entre mas te alejas de la capital más bonito es el país.  

2. En mi punto de vista, hay ticos ridículos que dicen las palabras con un acento muy feo, ejemplo: trabajash, Lo peor es que lo hacen por gusto, ejemplo: el acento español es zopetas porque hací se lo enseñaron sus padres y no lo controlan.

3. Costa Rica San Jose no es el pais mas feliz del mundo, jajaja con tanto desempleo, gobierno corrupto, etc Read more Reply 7

View all 10 replies

[tinkabells]

If Paz was trying to make a joke, he had picked the wrong thing to play about. A mildly horrified expression crossed Tink’s face at his suggestion of finding something to break—on purpose. She liked to fix things that were broken because she wanted them to be whole again and working flawlessly; she didn’t just want to break things so she had something to do…no matter how bored she was. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned, also sitting up straighter in a mirror of his posture. Now that he had her distracted from the fact that she didn’t want to talk about her feelings, they slipped out as she sighed and muttered, “How will you boys survive without me?” It had been weighing on her mind ever since New Year’s, a growing feeling that she had to move out and the terrible knowledge of how difficult it would be to leave. She couldn’t stand to be here any more than she could stand to be gone, and it made for a conflicting storm of emotion inside her. But it wasn’t something she had mentioned to anybody else in the house yet—how could she confess as much to Paz, who she was the least close to?

His smile widened as her sour expression deepened — he couldn’t help it, it was easy to push her buttons. Obviously, Tink wanted to vent about something, or rather someone, but she was clearly still reluctant. Ah well, he wouldn't push her too much, but he felt determined now to try to get at least a smile out of her. He’d noticed an increase in the tension around the apartment since the new year, but he wasn’t exactly involved in whatever may have happened between the friends that holiday evening. “Hmm, I don’t think so.. but it’s not too late to change that,” he offered with a shrug, sitting up so he was better facing her. “Should I do the honors and find something to break for you?”

[billyjukes]

Billy nodded in acknowledgment of Paz’s appeal for commiseration on the ways of women. He actually had no idea what exactly he was referring to—maybe invoking something along the lines of “can’t live with them, can’t live without them” as old people liked to say, but Jukes figured he’d probably agree with whatever the take was. Women were complicated: that was the long and short of it. The one he was interested in was a little bundle of contradictions herself.

He could tell Paz wanted to talk about his own love interest (whether she was a girlfriend or something else) or he wouldn’t have brought her up, so Jukes gestured for him to carry on with it, giving him the floor to keep talking. He was more verbose than Bill, so conversations where Paz dominated were generally comfortable for both of them. “Ye wanna tell me about her? Go ahead.”

Paz knew the feeling of struggling to fit into a group, always more of a one man show himself. It wasn’t until after years of being on his own that he realized it was better to have someone by your side, whether that be a lover or a friend. Someone you could rely on to be loyal. Obviously, Paz still struggled with the loyalty part, always putting himself first, but he was working on that. Bill was quiet, much like Paz used to be long before his ego got the best of him. He felt as if there were more to this lost boy than meets the eye, and perhaps a drink with him could help him open up more.

Billy’s answer came off more like an excuse — for what, he wasn’t sure, but maybe he just needed space from the boys and didn’t want to admit it. They could be a lot, Paz learned that rather quickly, but he thrived on that sort of energy, ever the extrovert. Chuckling at the question, he shook his head. “Ah, I used to, you see. Long time ago.” He sighed, taking a sip of his beer. “There is someone though — but women, I’m sure you know how they are.”

[crazy4tank]

Petter PAZ1 Diesel Engines

Petter PAZ1 Diesel Engines

Petter PAZ1 The British built Petter diesel is a storied brand but not well known here in the U.S. The Petter began in 1892 when twin brothers Ernest and Percy Petter grew up enough to branch the family foundry business off into the engine business. After a short foray into high speed steam engines, the duo began working on internal combustion engine designs and eventually developed 1-2.5…

[vertigosmx]

Tras la Vocación de La Paz

Tras la Vocación de La Paz

Tras la Vocación de La Paz

• Identidad y Vocación • Ineficiencias de Servicios Públicos • SAPA Cobra mas • Baches y Arbolitos

Por Tito LOYA H.

http://www.vertigos.mx/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/TYras-la-Vocacion-de-La-Paz1.mp4

Hasta el momento no hay una identidad definida del municipio de La Paz, sobre cuál es su vocación e identidad, ya que un día amanecen con la intención de ser ecologistas y…

[jppres]

Dibucaine release from chitosan semisolid vehicles

Dibucaine release from chitosan semisolid vehicles

Article published in Journal of Pharmacy & Pharmacognosy Research 5(2): 96-105, 2017. (PDF) Original Article | Artículo Original In vitro release of dibucaine hydrochloride from chitosan semisolid vehicles: emulsion and hydrophilic gels [Liberación in vitrodel clorhidrato de dibucaína desde vehículos semisólidos con quitosana: emulsionados y geles hidrofílicos] Nilia de la Paz1, Dania Pérez2,…

[charliexclayton]

Words said in anger, slamming doors, raised voices, arguments that linger in the air for days, all collages of Charlie’s childhood. Questions loaded with hidden meaning: When are you coming home? Do they really need you for this? Do you love me still? A relationship doomed by the narrative from the start. A devoted father and husband, slave to the flames, to the politics of natural disasters, the devotion to help others, neglecting wife and child until the two worlds intersect. It’s been so long since Charlie has been in that environment, thinks that maybe she should be more used to it. But when Paz’s fist collides with the wall in a resounding CRACK, Charlie feels herself jump. It’s a demonstration of violence so unlike the one that saturates day-to-day life in Arcadia. She knows it’s because that violence is directed at her, and in many ways, she feels like Paz shouldn’t have taken it out on the wall when Charlie is standing right here.

Paz doesn’t hold back on her assault; it should make Charlie grateful but all it does is constrict the muscles in her chest until it hurts to even attempt pulling air in. It’s not Charlie’s first loss, hell it’s not even the first loss she’s witnessed in this ACCURSED town, but it’s entirely different to any grave that she’s helped dug, than any body she’s carried to be buried (or whatever was left, scooping intestines into plastic bags or old t-shirts). Charlie feels this loss in her bones, in the crevices of her skin, underneath her fingernails where she swears Conor’s blood is still encrusted.

Rage crashes into her with the full force of Paz’s hatred. She takes it, letting it destroy any chance of forgiveness she might have had for herself. It’s so easy to carry the guilt when it’s made home in every organ, her heart, stomach, liver. She reckons it’s only a matter of time before it tattoos itself on its skin permanently for all to see, for all to blame, for all to hate.  

Arcadia has no mercy. Is that why she’s still alive? “I tried,” she says, quietly, like she doesn’t expect Paz to care or understand. “I tried to… to be the one to… you know? But he… he fought me. It should have been me; I know it should have been me. I wish it had been me.” The last part is said in a whisper, barely audible in the noise happening inside Charlie’s head. Absentmindedly, her tongue traces her teeth until she finds the loose tooth she’s been nursing since Conor’s light caught the edge of her mouth. She pushes it gently with her tongue, feels the sting of it. It’s holding on and decaying, much like Conor’s memory, rotting her from the inside of her mouth.

She is unyielding, Charlie thinks as she stares at Paz through her glassy eyes. Soldiers know how to kill, how to torture, how to get information. She wonders how much she could tell Paz if the woman let her, how much she would listen to Charlie’s desperate need for someone else to know the HELL she’s been carrying in her head for the last fourteen days, each day more painful than the previous. Would it ever stop?

“Ever since it happened, I’ve been playing it in my head, and I can’t—” Charlie chokes back an angry sob. “I don’t know why it wasn’t me. And I don’t know why I haven’t told anyone. Maybe because it doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real. You don’t even feel real.” It’s said with more hate than intended, but Paz has also been anything but gentle with her. The world seems different now, painted with so much blood Charlie wonders if it had ever been any other color than this raging hateful red.

Her pacing makes Charlie uncomfortable, nauseous. Asking her to stop would be a MERCY Charlie isn’t entitled to. But Charlie knows if she continues to watch Paz’s resentment grow and physically manifest the way it was, she will vomit.

Didn’t think. Charlie didn’t think, did she? She hadn’t been thinking when she decided to come here, seeking what? An escape? A way out? A distraction? Assurance that whoever she’s with can’t be used against her? What’s stopping the creatures now from giving her an ultimatum on Paz? The thought makes the saliva in her mouth sour, she is such a liability. At least she knows Paz wouldn’t fight her if one of them had to die, hell, she knows Paz would hold the door open for her to waltz right to her death. DEATH. Such an elusive concept for someone like Charlie, who waits with bated breath every time she rounds a corner to be warmly embraced by it.

The room suffocates her, walls closing in, lights above spinning in her vision. It’s a spell she’s grown accustomed to in the last two weeks, the lights blinding her followed by the pounding in her head, like church bells signifying a solemn hour. If she closes her eyes, she can still feel the cold metal rod of Conor’s flashlight hitting her in the head. Concussion had been Shaw’s diagnosis, with strict instructions to avoid exercising and lights (and alcohol – whoops).

I meant no harm, it just happened, she wants to scream at Paz, wants to defend herself. She wishes she had tried harder, wishes that she’d never even brought Conor out there, but it had happened, how could it ever be undone? TELL THEM I WASN’T SCARED. Scared. She’s so scared. He appears then, like a punch to Charlie’s gut, visible just over Paz’s shoulder. His face is normal at first, perfect, like she remembers when she focuses on the before but then his mouth opens with a blood-curling scream that sounds just like her name, and his face morphs into something so inhuman, all teeth and no smile, and it drops Charlie to her knees.

Her breath shudders as it leaves her lungs, tearing through the air like a whip. Eyes wide, Charlie brings her hands up to her ears, blocks out the echo of Conor’s scream. Breathe, she can’t breathe. Her chest hurts. Is this what it feels like to have a heart attack? Every attempt to let air back to her lungs prove futile. In the corner of her eyes, Conor’s twisted little apparition crouches next to her, inches from her face, his intestine falls on the floor next to her with a loud slop. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. Her vision tunnels, but she manages to look at Paz and only at Paz. “I need to—,” she heaves through her teeth, “I—.”

The room falls silent, her choppy breathing lingering like dust in the aftermath of battle.

❛ ⸺ 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗥? 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡 𝗛𝗘'𝗦 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗? ❜

The words lacerate the air, jagged and fresh, carrying the weight of Paz’s disbelief. Her voice, sharp as a blade, cuts through Charlie’s drunken haze, SHATTERING the fragile tension between them. It’s not the kind of fury that flares and fades — it’s deep, seething, and relentless, tempered by too much loss and too many unanswered questions concerning this fucking place.

Paz halts mid-thought, her mind tripping over itself as the accusation spills free. Her boots strike the floor in heavy, deliberate steps as she moves to her makeshift bed. Calcifer watches silently from his perch. She sits, planting her hands flat against the worn denim stretched over her thighs, trying to steady the QUAKE of emotions storming beneath her skin. Her scowl deepens, shadowed by something darker than mere anger. Flatly, ❛ It’s real fuckin’ convenient you’ve kept that to yourself all this time, ❜ Her tone is stripped bare of quietude, each word landing like a hammer’s blow.

Rage simmers low, a SMOLDERING coal she refuses to let ignite fully. This  kind  of  fury  (  and  this  kind  of  reservation,   because as much as she wants so desperately to put her hands on the other hunter, slap some fucking sense into her,  what solace lies in standing tall on a crumbling pillar of self-righteousness, shouldering the grief of an entire town?  ) : slipping  away  from  the  world  in ��which  real,  battling  stakes  could  hinge  life  or  death,  isn't  a  rare  surprise.  

Arcadia has no mercy. Its losses are not infrequent treasures to be mourned — they are CEASELESS waves eroding the soul. Paz knows this. She’s carried it, buried it, felt it carved into her bones with every grave dug and every life lost. The thought of another senseless death turns her stomach, filling her with a hollow, aching dread she can’t shake. Her hands tremble, clenched into fists as she fights to contain the storm brewing inside her. But it slips through her grasp, spilling out in a BURST of bitter laughter — sharp and joyless. ❛ You’ve got to be kidding me, ❜ She's pacing the room now with the restless energy of a predator trapped in a too-small cage.

She is unyielding with others because she doesn't spare herself that same courtesy. Every misstep, every mistake that might have been avoided, gnaws at the edges of her resolve. The squandered gift of life — lost when it could have been saved — rakes its CLAWS across her conscience. Her past carved these truths into her bones, each lesson learned through the searing pain of firsthand loss. But here, in this unholy ground, the rules are different. This place devours without pause, an unfeeling maw that swallows lives whole and spits out vacant echoes. It offers no reprieve, only the grim ritual of lowering bodies into the earth, each one a haunting reminder of how unforgiving survival can be. She seems to stand unbroken, a fortress against the typhoon, yet beneath her iron composure lies a terror she can't exorcise. It coils in her chest, a silent specter that grips her heart and refuses to let go. Her calm is a mask; beneath it, fear whispers of a fragility she can never allow to show.

❛ Ever since I got here, all I’ve done is listen, ❜ she snarls, her voice rising, cutting like a whip. ❛ That’s why I haven’t gotten anyone killed. Yes, you carried me back but it was the least you could've done considering what you caused. ❜

Her pacing sharpens, her boots hitting the floor like gunfire. The anger coils tighter, spilling out in a sudden punch to the wall. The wood protests under the force, a dent left in its wake. Calcifer’s ears twitch, his gaze never leaving her. Paz doesn’t look at Charlie — can’t. The tide of emotions is too overwhelming: grief, rage, exhaustion, all clawing at her ribs like a beast caged too long.

❛ Didn't think I'd have to explain the simple concept of everyone having their own weaknesses, ❜ she says, quieter now, her tone weighted with a cold, bitter edge. ❛ I don’t pretend to be perfect. But I don’t sit around whining about my fuckin’ losses — I learn from them. ❜

The room seems to exhale with her, the silence thick and oppressive. She turns, her eyes shadowed under the weight of her words.

❛ I mean, fuck, this isn’t even about me explaining myself to you. I don’t need to. You showed up at my fuckin' door. But you — ❜ her voice sharpens again, striking true, ❛ — you need to get your shit together and tell the truth about Conor. If you don’t, I will. And if you think you’ve got nothing to lose, you’re more fucked than I thought. ❜

Her breath shudders as it leaves her lungs, caught somewhere between exhaustion and RESIGNATION. Paz glances at the dent in the wall, already cataloging the apology she owes Jude. Then her gaze flickers sideways, her voice cutting through the air one last time. ❛ This isn’t some petty tit-for-tat. You don’t have the power to destroy me — because that’s not something I give away. And don’t worry — we won’t be hunting together anytime soon. But hear me really fuckin' clearly: if this doesn’t prove you need to step back, I’ll make sure Reagan knows just how much of a danger you are. To yourself. To EVERYONE. ❜

The room falls silent, her words lingering like smoke in the aftermath of a fire.

[charliexclayton]

Compartmentalization was an interesting coping mechanism. Boxing up all the very difficult things to think about and feel into little boxes and putting them in the caverns of your mind to unpack later, well, that sounded more productive on paper than in practice. In practice those boxes weren’t left on a shelf, neat and organized. No, they littered the pathway of every thought so that when you were just the right amount of unguarded or, in Charlie’s case, the right degree of fucked up, tripping over them was inevitable. Careening down the corridors of her mind, Charlie’s thoughts were snowballing over boxes at an alarming rate, setting fires with every box. You wouldn’t ignore a fire in your own house. But here, in her mind, there was no fire extinguisher, or a lid she could suffocate the fire with. It just had to burn, and Charlie had to endure it, and do her best not to externalize the flames, contain the fire until it died.

She felt a different type of heat now in the pit of her stomach, one that brought about self-pity and revulsion in waves. Alcohol only did so much to numb her to such feelings and did nothing but further other things. Like the arousing spell that Paz had cast on her with the simplest touch of her fingers. Looking at her now, Charlie battled (and lost) not thinking about the warmth and silence that Paz’s mouth had brought coupled with hers. That had suffocated the flames in her head only to set fires everywhere else. Charlie felt like pyromaniac, the way she’d gladly make love to someone who did nothing but set her heart ablaze. No, not her heart, because she didn’t care about Paz like that, reasoned that it was easy to confuse these types of emotions with the hatred she knew bloomed in her every time Paz so much as breathed in her direction.

Had she been even the slightest bit more sober than she was, perhaps Charlie would have seen how hard it had been for Paz to reject her advances. But Charlie was inured to rejection, embraced it like an old friend (a friend that you hated spending time with but also, they showed up for you every time, and you would be very lonely without them). So instead of noticing the wanting pulsating at her from across, Charlie felt her throat go dry. Okay, so Paz had kissed her back, that was perhaps Paz’s natural reaction to being unceremoniously accosted and violated. Charlie might have hated the woman, but right now she hated herself more for the clear way that she had crossed an unwanted boundary.

Now they had nowhere to go— she had nowhere to go.

The alternative to being here was opening the door and being with them which, while an enticing thought presently, was a risk to Paz (and to Jude, whom Charlie had forgotten was sleeping somewhere nearby). The irony of Charlie feeling like she needed a drink right now.  You don’t have to act like this for recognition, you know. As cutting of a sentence as a knife, piercing Charlie so deeply in her gut that it was a miracle she remained standing. Paz was a soldier, calculated in violence, deadly in tactics, torturous in how she executed her words. Charlie figured Paz might has well have wrapped both hands around her neck and squeezed, the way it suddenly felt hard to breathe.

A scoff crossed her lips, and the sudden escape of air was enough for the floodgates she had barely been holding up to burst. Unyielding tears cut paths down her cheek, accompanied by a choked sob (which in and of itself brough a wave of humiliation so jarring that Charlie was kind of wishing the Earth would implode). The last thing she wanted was for Paz to think Charlie was unable to handle a simple no when, in reality, a no had been the most merciful thing said to her all week.

All the little boxes burnt and unable to contain any of the thoughts that had been shoved carelessly into them crumbled to ashes. Through the blur of her eyes, and just over Paz’s shoulder, a familiar face. Charlie, her mother spoke, each apparition increasingly blistered and raw red, your father will be home soon. The flames in here roared so loudly, licked up every wall, ignited such a violent reaction from Charlie the girl heaved. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” she growled as she brought a hand up to her head—which pounded from the incessant onslaught of guilt— to cover her eyes with a pinch. Hardly able to bear it, she turned away from Paz in an attempt to regain composure, or some semblance of it. She cried quietly into the palm of her hand, willed air to return to her lungs, saw now and understood the darker side of being so wasted that it no longer felt good.

“I’m sorry,” she said so softly it was almost buried in the roof of her mouth, a moment of raw honesty before she rebuilt her walls. She wiped messily at her face, sniffled, and turned back towards Paz. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me, you didn’t bother to learn, did you now?” she said tiredly, words slurring together. “You just made up your mind, no matter how much I apologized. You think I’m useless, and pathetic, well,” she shrugged, “maybe I’m just giving you what you want.”

Charlie breathed out shakily before continuing, “I don’t need your pity, it has no place here. I came to tell you how much I hate you, so fuck, let me do this one thing right tonight.” Charlie laughed, the kind of sad broken laugh that was more hurt than humor. “You know almost no one wanted to work with me after you?”

𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦, 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗣𝗔𝗭 𝗠𝗢𝗦𝗘𝗟𝗘𝗬-𝗞𝗔𝗜𝗨𝗦, 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗦 — towering, jagged things that surge from the earth like shattered teeth, reaching hungrily for the sky. She builds them swiftly, mercilessly. Yet, place her near a ledge, where the ground ends and gravity whispers its invitation, and she'll fucking jump.

She is a contradiction made flesh: a multitude of women and a unfilled shell, carrying the weight of countless memories locked away in IRONCLAD boxes. These boxes keep her steady, control intact, though their edges cut deep. Paz’s inner war began early, shaped by loss and honed by duty. As a young woman, she bore responsibility for what was and wasn’t hers, each missing person poster in her neighborhood another chisel to her resolve. That relentless shaping forged a soldier in the army — not just disciplined, not just "honorable", but something far more dangerous: a weapon finely tuned to the chaos of the world. She can be vacant, programmed, the perfect machine. Yet, she is brimming — overflowing with shards of the past, fragmented truths, and impossible feelings jammed into the spaces within her. A cavity that never quite heals, a wound too deep to close, and somehow, she thrives. She excels not because of her trained skills on the battlefield but because she understands its unspoken rules. And those rules aren’t just confined to wars or killing; they are ETCHED into the very fabric of existence, the natural order of the world.

Yes, she has become known to put others first, has carried the weight of sacrifice on her shoulders. But not this time. Not when the ghost of her brother turned out to be a reality and already occupies that SACRED space. Not when the stakes are towering, monstrous things clawing at her every decision for a way out. She knows better than to let distraction slip through the cracks. A good fuck might be a temporary reprieve, a fleeting escape from the nightmare they’re all stuck in — but it could just as easily become a fatal misstep. Paz knows how it feels to fly, to wait too long to pull the parachute, and to hit the ground. Hard. Charlie is no parachute; she’s the gust of wind that sends you spiraling. She’s also not Paz’s problem, but she’s damn good at becoming one for anyone who dares let her in.

And truth be told, Paz STILL doesn’t like her. The irresponsibility is GRATING, a spark to the kindling of disdain. The fury it stirs makes the thought of Charlie’s discord even harder to stomach.

❛ Fuck off, Charlie. ❜ Paz  doesn’t  yield. She  doesn’t  know  HOW  and  she  wasn’t  crafted  to  do  that. It’s  beyond  the  emotional  strength  forged  up  of  relentlessness  and  bullishness  into  her  body  and  into  the  mulish  temperament  that  would  leave  her  and  Sterling fighting  like  cats  and  dogs  into  the  early  hours of the morning when they were younger.    She  shakes  her  head,  all  dark,  lanky  hair  swishing  around  her  sallow  skin and currently  angry ( but still wanting )  mouth.    It  would  be  EASIER  for  Charlie  (  for  everyone  )  if  she  pretends  that  she  doesn’t  see  what’s  right  in  front  of  her; if she acts like she doesn't want as desperately as the other woman in the room pleads that she does.    Paz  doesn’t  do  easy, however. ❛ Don't make me repeat myself again. ❜

It would be so simple to give up on Charlie.

Paz could lift her hands — palms out, fingers splayed, a silent gesture of surrender — and turn away. She could leave her there, spine arched with those sharp shoulder blades jutting like wings clipped too soon, walking away without a glance back. She could cling to the paranoia, the threadbare roof barely holding the smiling monsters at bay ( even now she can hear their inhuman screeches outside as they search for their next prey ), and count the days, the possible years, until she could let loose a sharp-edged, unapologetic FUCK YOU and send the blonde on her merry, destructive way.

But it isn’t in her nature — because needling just beneath the surface of her gruff, sour glower lies the faintest whisper of empathy, stubborn and unyielding. A flicker of unwillingness to send Charlie out into that hell alone regardless of what she almost cost her, not when Paz can see the weight of rejection etched into the other, not when she knows Charlie might even welcome it for the sake of her pride. And yet, it’s all for her own good — or so Paz tries to convince herself. ❛ You're completely fuckin' wasted. ❜ Eyes glazed like fogged glass, words slurring, cheeks a fevered flush — Charlie entreats with the unspoken for the truth to stay buried. But there’s something about her, something Paz can’t quite name, that refuses to let this moment drown unnoticed. She won’t let it slip beneath the current, won’t plaster it over with the counterfeit calm of pretense. No, she won’t FAKE IT like the rest of them — even as she catches Charlie wipe away the stray tear falling down her cheek; she's not the only person in this shit-hole hurting. ❛ You don't even know what you want right now. But if you wanna destroy yourself, do it on your own. ❜ Deadpan,   because  she  knows  the  highs and  the  lows  better  than  anyone. ❛ ⸺ you don't have to act like this for recognition, you know. ❜

The last words fall soft, a whispered breath paired with the restless scuff of her boot against the worn floor in her makeshift sanctuary. They’re so different, Paz thinks — Charlie, all encompassing without even knowing, golden hair catching the light like halos, an angel's face MASKING fractures. Paz is the antithesis: shadowed, deliberate, a storm bred in extremes, every edge honed sharp with dilligence and intent. Before this, Paz’s world was solitude and survival, carved from necessity. Charlie, always surrounded yet profoundly alone, clings to self-pity and a grasping need that repels as much as it yearns; selfishness Paz finds repugnant, yet strangely familiar. Still, Paz knows she cannot let the younger hunter drown in ignorance or squander her potential. For her own sake, Charlie must see, must be more or she wouldn't live to see the day they possibly made it out. Despite their differences, they are the SAME at their core — scraping through the darkness, pulling themselves forward toward that faint pinprick of light at the tunnel’s end.

❛ ⸺ you don't. ❜