#we runnin' from our feelings sometimes

[mintycurry]

entering my lovergirl era

[jarofstyles]

Miss jars!!! Can you do something about Harry seeing you interact w kids and he’s weirdly quiet when they leave and she thinks something’s wrong but he really is just thinking about wanting one of their own hehe

Oh yes yes yes.

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—-

Harry was oddly quiet on the way home.

It wasn’t like he was upset, per say, because when he was it was something she could click immediately. His jaw wasn’t clenched, his hands weren’t gripping the wheel until his knuckles were white, he wasn’t controlling his breathing. Yes, his brow was slightly furrowed and he was lost in his head, but that wasn’t abnormal.

The man was always in his head thinking of his next projects, his work, his family- her. She was leaning towards that, considering he hadn’t even noticed her gaze on him yet. Big Yellow Taxi was playing and there wasn’t much to react to except the subconscious tapping at the wheel in beat to the song.

“H?” She asked as they approached a red light so she didn’t startle him. His eyes blinked a few times before he turned to look at her, the little smile on his face before she could even realize it. Okay- definitely not mad at her.

“What’s up, dove?” His tone was light as he gave her his attention for the first time in the drive.

“Are you alright?” Y/N kept her tone soft, not wanting to irritated anything if there was something wrong. “You’re just being quiet, is all. You’re usually more chirpy after we see your family.”

That was an understatement. Harry was usually giggly and in the best mood after they left his mum’s house, kissing on her and bringing her home. Sometimes they danced in the kitchen because the good mood was that infectious. It wasn’t normal for him to be so reserved and quiet after a gathering and it made her wonder what or who was on his mind.

“Oh, I’m great. Trust me.” He assured her, dropping his hand to her thigh for a squeeze. “Nothing is wrong at all. I’m just thinking about something.”

Y/N gave him a look, but let it go for now. There pulling onto their street so she kept quiet about it and put her hand on top of his, threading their fingers together before bringing it to her lips to kiss the back of it. She could see the dimple in his cheek from the action before he took their joined hands and returned the gesture, moving it back to her lap when he pulled into the garage.

The silence was comfortable as they went inside, Y/N knowing better than to get her own door as Harry opened it for her. She followed him inside, the leftover cake his mum sent with them in her hand to put into the fridge- but as soon as they got into the kitchen it was taken from her hand and his palms gripped her face, bringing their mouths together.

Harry stole her breath as he kissed her fully. It wasn’t sloppy or messy, not like the ones he did before things were about to turn into bedroom time, but like he needed to do it. Like he was feeling the urge so fully that he was keeping her lips glued to his, a weak sigh leaving her nose as she melted into his grip. What brought it on? She had no clue. But she wasn’t going to question it.

“I was thinkin’ about how good you were with the kids today.” His little cousins and his niece and nephew. She had spent a lot of time with them today, playing and entertaining them whilst Harry caught up with family. Y/N loved them, it was no chore, but she had no idea he’d been laying so close attention.

“Oh?” She asked breathlessly, knees a little weak from the kiss allowing him to push her back into the kitchen island.

“Mhm. It was…” he shook his head. “Saw you as a mum. Imagined what it would be like when you were runnin’ after our own little ones. How good you’d be with ‘em. You’d make such a good mumma, my love.” And- oh. She felt him against her stomach, a gasp leaving her lips. He shook his head again, catching her lips in another kiss- albeit shorter and a little heavier. “And I was thinking about how soon you’d let me do it to you. Make you a proper mumma. Had me thinking about starting soon so we can have our own little family together. Cause… god, it made me crazy.” The groan was loud as he rested his forehead against hers.

“There’s nothing sexier than seeing you act like that. I dunno why it makes me feel so worked up, but I had to stop myself from taking us home early and begging you to let me give you a baby on the way home. I was bein’ quiet because I knew if I spoke, that’s what would come out of my mouth. And I’d rather us be home for a discussion like that.”

Y/N was shocked by his admission, but also slightly not. The man had been hinting at it slightly and while she had been weighing in if it was the right time or not- she had been waiting for a sign. A clear one. This seemed to be as good of one as any.

“Well.. let’s talk about it then.” She replied, swallowing the arousal he had set off in her throat. “Cause as much as I want to say fuck it and take my clothes off… we need to have a discussion first.”

“Of course.” He nodded eagerly. “But it’s not a no, yeah?” The hope in his eyes made her laugh out loud, cupping his face for another kiss. The man was shameless, it seemed.

“It’s not a no, H. But let me put the cake away first before we plan a family, yeah?”

[peachesofteal]

That nurse au? Devoured it and it lives in my brain rent free. If Simon and Johnny notice the bruises on Nurse do they share looks? Maybe Johnny tries to gently ask about them? I loved this so much.

Anon is referencing this. The way nurse x ghoap has spread through my brain like a flesh eating bacteria is insane. And I can't actually answer this ask because I'm writing it as a fic but I'm happy to give you a little possible snippet/glimpse/ramble down below:

The tablet in your hand chimes, drawing your attention away from the vending machine and to it's far-too-bright-for-this-ungodly-hour screen, to where it displays a status change in red.

268: 38.5 degrees.

Fuck. You abandon your sub par dinner options for nearly sprinting to the room, slowing to a walk to take long, deep breaths before your knuckles are rapping on the glass. Get control of yourself. Simon is too perceptive. He will panic. It could be nothing.

You don't even bother acknowledging your thought process there, the truth that is starting to bleed from your heart, through your body like a disease. The reason why you check on them so often, the reason why you can't stop thinking about them, even when you're off shift. The reason why, when you go home in the morning to go to bed, you drift off thinking about Johnny's sleepy smile, or Simon's voice, humming in your ears.

"Hi." You whisper when you slip inside. He straightens a bit in the armchair, but you're happy to see he's using it as a recliner now, progress from last week when he wouldn't even let himself lean backwards, or fall asleep willingly.

His brow furrows above the black mask.

"Hey, everything alright?" Shit. You're not surprised, you were just in here, after all. Spending too much time sitting in the chair opposite him, next to Johnny, on your break before your patient fell asleep.

"Yeah, I ah... have to draw some blood." You really do not want to wake him up, or alarm Simon, but you also refuse to lie to either of them. You fire off a text to the attending on call, just to advise him of Johnny's temperature and the impending labs that he can expect, before sliding a drawer open as softly as possible and pulling out everything you'll need. You can feel his gaze burning a hole in your scrubs, his ever present scrutiny impossible to escape. Sometimes you think he might be reading your fucking mind.

"He just fell asleep." He protests, and you think, you imagine, that he's frowning behind the mask. You think you almost know what it looks like, strong mouth pulled downwards in consternation, wide jaw gnashed tight.

"I know, but he's running just a bit of a fever." He jolts, and you hold up a hand in caution. "It's not too high, so I'm not super worried, but we'll need to check his white cell count, just in case okay? And then we'll go from there."

"Post op fever is common." He repeats the words you told him last week, after Johnny's second surgery, the one where they went in for the pneumothorax complication, and you nod to reassure him.

"Right. So, just going to do a quick blood draw and get it downstairs so we can find out what's going on." Simon shifts uncomfortably, but nods. You squeeze Johnny's shoulder softly, before swabbing the spot on the inside of his elbow.

He blinks, eyes opening slowly, confused brow smoothing when he looks from his partner, over to you.

"There's our girl." He mumbles softly, and your face heats, eyes widening in surprise before you regulate your reaction. Simon coughs, loudly, and you shake your head with a nervous smile.

"Such a flirt, MacTavish." You tie him fast, fingers a little more clumsy than usual, off balance from hearing him say 'our girl', like you mean something to them. "I just need to get some blood and then I'll leave you in peace." He shrugs, but Simon grabs for his hand and squeezes it.

"Ah come on, Si." He slurs, but reaches to cup Simon's cheek over the mask, rubbing a thumb over the fabric.

"You're runnin’ a fever, Johnny."

"Ach. 's nothing." He brushes it off, but you watch how his eyes are slow to track Simon's movements. You casually glance at the monitor, noting his blood pressure.

"Could be." You assure him. "But can't be too sure, so we're going to check a few labs, alright?" He nods, sleepy, already falling back under, and you pull the needle, taping a small patch of gauze over the puncture in one fell swoop. “Alright. Let me run these down, and I’ll be back up to check on you in a bit.” You turn, stripping your gloves off into the trash.

“We’ll miss ye.” He whispers, and you roll your eyes playfully, even as your stomach clenches.

Simon’s eyes don’t leave you for a single second, not until the door is shut and you’re out of sight.

[harrysfolklore]

please you write beautiful, so I have to ask you to make a imagine of harry and the reader where she and he write together sweet nothing like taylor and joe, thanks 🥺

sweet nothing

something lovey dovey for valentine’s day, i love you <3

MY PATREON | MASTERLIST

Your relationship was still a secret to the world.

They knew about you and Harry working together for his album, Harry's House, but they didn't know about the feelings that sparkled between the two of you, the shared kisses and intimate moments. They didn't know about your sweet nothings.

Sitting by the piano, with your writing journal and pen in hand, you reflected about you and Harry, about how last July you escaped from the busy life and the spotlights, and went away to your cottage in Wicklow, where you spend every second together, falling more and more for each other. You thought about how one night as you stargazed, he told you that your eyes reminded him of the tiny fireflies he used to watch growing up, and how you both promised that whenever life got overwhelming you'd always find home in each other.

I spy with my little tired eye Tiny as a firefly A pebble that we picked up last July Down deep inside your pocket We almost forgot it Does it ever miss Wicklow sometimes?

The words came to your mind smoothly as you scribbled them down in your journal, during the last few months, you've found out that writing about Harry was the easiest thing in the world.

You were in love, and your songs reflected it.

"Busy there?" his soft voice made you turn you head towards the door, he was leaning against the frame with a relaxed smile and a fond look on his eyes, you couldn't help but melt at the sight, everything about him radiated comfort.

"Just writing songs," you said as you made room for him next to you on the piano's bench, he kissed the side of your face tenderly once he sat next to you before speaking again, "Love songs about me?" his cheeky remark made you let out a breathy laugh, he was right.

"What makes you think you're any good of a muse, Styles?" you decided to tease him, even though he had been your only muse for the last few months, just as you have been his.

"Baby, I'm a great muse! Stevie Nicks said it herself!" his words made you laugh again and you moved your hands to brush away a loose curl from his forehead, taking the opportunity to press your lips to his for a moment. You could never get enough of the other, and you cherished these moments when it was just you and him wrapped up in your little love bubble.

"Remember that poem I wrote on our way home from Wicklow?" you said after a few minutes of silence, with your head against his shoulder, "I do, you never showed it to me tho." his voice was soft and quiet, as if he didn't want to break the tender ambiance around you.

On the way home I wrote a poem You say, "what a mind" This happens all the time

"It is about how I find safe heaven by your side whenever life gets hard" you let yourself be vulnerable, at the end of the day, Harry was the one who taught you that being vulnerable was part of being human.

And Harry could only look at you in pure love and adoration, he felt so lucky that he found someone so honest and real, someone he was willing to protect and take care of.

"You're my safe heaven too, baby. Nothing else matters if I get to come home to you and your sweet nothings" he confessed, every single one of his words touching every fiber of your heart.

You stayed like that for a while, your head against his shoulder and his hand softly caressing your back, scribbling lyrics on your journal and playing soft melodies in the piano. The world outside was full of pushing and shoving, but as long as you got each other you would be alright.

They said the end is comin' Everyone's up to somethin' I find myself runnin' home to your sweet nothings Outside, they're push and shovin' You're in the kitchen hummin' All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

taglist: @cucciolafaerie e @eleanordaisy @sunflowersndpeaches @golden-hoax @alienorknight @daydreamingofmatilda @ivyproblems @ayeshathestyles s s @stylesmygucci @gimsaysay @rosaliedepp @dontworrysunflower @milfrrynation @manifestrry @iceebabies @harrystylesrecs @pleasingrryyy @harianaswhore @noitsmebecky @abeanontoast @grapejuice-rry @vrittivsanghavi @msolbesg @tati813 @sad1esgf @eviesaurusrex @itsgabbysblog @theekyliepage @watermelonsugacry @be-with-me-so-happily @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @musicforcinemas @harrybabyyyyyyy @tinydeskwriter @noooovaaaaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @mxltifxnd0m @rach2602 @balletdancerry @b-reads-things @juiceboxrry @lomlolivia @itsgigikay @goldensstateofgrace @missmielyhoran @fdl305 @lightsoutstyles

[cybersteal]

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕨: 𝕍𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕪

Tagged by @dreamskug and subsequently ripped off inspired by his, @lokiina’s, @nightcityace’s & @arcandoria’s creative take on it.

V: Hey, sorry I’m- Interviewer: Late? V: Only by thirty minutes, can't be that big of a deal. Interviewer: Maybe it is-

V: Okay, well, I'm here now, on a Friday night, instead of drinking myself stupid like I wish I was. Go ahead and ask your questions.

ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇ:

V: V. Interviewer: That’s it? V: Yup.

ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ:

V: Male.

ꜱᴛᴀʀ ꜱɪɢɴ:

ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ:

V: Six feet. Interviewer: Actually? V: Does this look like a face that would lie to you?

ᴏʀɪᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ:

V: You first. Interviewer: Excuse me? V: Hah! Relax, choom, just trying to lighten the mood! Jeez. I’m Pan. Equal opportunity for all. Mostly me.

ɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ / ᴇᴛʜɴɪᴄɪᴛʏ:

V: I was born in SoCal, but my parents are both from Mexico. I have a…complicated relationship with my Latino heritage, since it wasn’t really somethin’ that my parents took the time to share with me in detail, or my siblings. Never had the chance to ask why, but after comin’ to Night City, I realized I kinda missed out on a lot growing up.

ᴅᴏɢ ᴏʀ ᴄᴀᴛ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ:

V: Well, I have a cat at home. One of those hairless ones. But I did always want a dog. Interviewer: Oh? What kind? V: Xoloitzcuintli.

ꜰᴀᴠᴇ ꜰʀᴜɪᴛ, ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ, ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀ, ꜱᴄᴇɴᴛ:

V: Whoa, whoa, slow down, Jesus. Uhh…first one was-? Interviewer: Fruit. V: Right. I like grapes. The purple ones. Interviewer: Why purple? V: Shit, I dunno. They taste better? Interviewer: Heh. Yeah, fair enough. Season? V: I love summer. Life slows down a little, people take more time to relax. I don’t mind the heat, neither, ‘cause I can just go for a swim whenever, or go for a drive with the windows down. Cools me just fine. Interviewer: Preem. V: I like those orange poppy’s that grow all over the Badlands. California poppy’s I think they’re called.

Interviewer: And for your favorite scent? V: Right – probably amber. I've used the same brand of amber-heavy cologne for years. Oh, and I really like that one specific brand of tobacco my mom smoked. Interviewer: What brand was that? V: Can’t recall. Somethin’ imported.

ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ, ᴛᴇᴀ ᴏʀ ʜᴏᴛ ᴄʜᴏᴄᴏʟᴀᴛᴇ:

V: Coffee. Double shot. Sometimes triple, if I’m doin’ a long gig. Interviewer: Christ. V: Hey, merc work ain’t easy. It’s that or synthcoke. Interviewer: I’m scared to ask the next question…

ᴀᴠᴇʀᴀɢᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ:

V: Yikes…like 5? If I’m lucky. Interviewer: I’m not at all surprised. V: The fuck is that supposed to mean?

ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴀɴᴋᴇᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ:

V: No, no. Hold on. I wanna know why you’re not surprised. Do I got bags under my eyes or somethin’? Interviewer: Actually, no. V: Nova. Interviewer: You got suitcases.

V: You’re fine, choom. I appreciate the banter. I don’t need to sleep with any blankets though. Interviewer: Really? Why not?

V: Sub-dermal armor. Got a bunch of other stuff you can’t see as well – keeps me runnin' hot, all the time.

ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ���ʀɪᴘ:

V: Aw, shit. There’s so many places. If I had to pick, I guess…Havana. Interviewer: Cuba. You into history? V: Nah, choom. Beaches.

ꜰᴀᴠᴇ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ:

V: Mad Max. Interviewer: You don’t think that’s a little…stereotypical? V: Does it look like I care? Me and my sister used to pretend we were members of the MFP and annoy the hell out of our brother. I called him nothin' but Toecutter for two years. He hated it.

ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ꜰᴀᴄᴛ:

V: If you lick a person’s elbow when they’re not looking, they won’t feel it. Interviewer: …huh. Misty: Oh, V… V: It was the first thing that popped into my head, okay, I panicked-

This was a lot of fun to make tbqh. He's such a gonk - that ADHD brain keeps him moving around and fidgeting 24/7 even without the help of caffeine or stims and boosters, and he can talk about himself for hours, the narcissistic dickhead.

Shoutout to my bestest choombatta @klept0kid you deserve to have your name attached to your masterpiece lmao.

tags: @chooh2 @pinkyjulien @meltingangels @ouroboros-hideout @ne0n-rust @netripper @wilxfyre @klept0kid @glitchinginthegarden @nightcxty @shimmer-like-agirl @noirapocalypto @katsigian @wanderingaldecaldo @cyberpunkaddict @elvenbeard @wraithsoutlaws

[joepringle]

[Scene: The campus radio station of Himbo University. The room is buzzing with excitement. The station's soundboard lights up, and the host, Chuck, is seated across from Rudy Buckingham, the star football player who just led the Himbo University Himbos to a victory in the 2001 Collegiate Himbo League Championship. Chuck leans forward to speak into the microphone.]

Chuck: Good afternoon, Himbo University! This is Chuck on WHIM 97.3, your campus radio station. Today, we've got a special guest—Rudy Buckingham, the man of the hour! Rudy just led our football team to victory in the 2001 Collegiate Himbo League Championship! How's it going, Rudy?

Rudy: Uh, hey, Chuck! It's, uh, goin' real good. We did the football, and now we got the shiny, uh, trophy thingy!

Chuck: That’s right, Rudy! You guys really crushed it out there. Tell us, what was going through your mind in those last moments of the game? The score was tied, and you pulled off that incredible play.

Rudy: Oh, uh, yeah... So, like, Coach was like, "Rudy, go do the thing," and I was like, "Okay." And then I, like, ran real fast, you know, with the, um, ball. I think I, uh, did a touchdown? Yeah, that's what it called!

Chuck: You sure did, Rudy! A 90-yard run to the end zone—absolutely phenomenal! Now, Rudy, a lot of folks are curious about what it takes to play in the Collegiate Himbo League. Can you share some of the challenges you and your teammates faced this season?

Rudy: Oh, yeah, challenges! Uh, so like, the games were, um, hard? And, uh, we had to, like, do lots of runnin' and hittin'. Sometimes, uh, my brain hurts from thinkin' about the plays, but Coach says, "No think, just muscle!" So I just use, uh, my big muscles, and we win!

Chuck: That's certainly one way to look at it, Rudy! And speaking of muscles, you’re known for your incredible strength. How do you keep in shape? What’s your workout routine like?

Rudy: Oh, yeah, my, uh, routine! So, like, every day I lift the big heavy things. First, I lift them up, and then, uh, I put them down. Then I do that, um, a lot of times. And, uh, I eat lots of, like, chicken and, um, the green stuff... I think it's, like, trees or something?

Chuck: (Laughs) Trees, huh? You mean vegetables, Rudy?

Rudy: Oh, yeah! Vegetables! Those are, like, the green things that ain't candy, right?

Chuck: (Chuckles) That's right, Rudy. Now, some people might not know this, but Himbo University competes in a unique league. The Collegiate Himbo League isn't like the NCAA; it's a bit more laid-back, focused on spirit and fun as much as skill. How does it feel to be part of something so special?

Rudy: Uh, it feels real good, Chuck. Like, um, we get to play the game, and, uh, have fun with all the friends. And, like, sometimes there's, um, parties after, and I like parties ‘cause, uh, they have pizza. And, um, balloons? Yeah, balloons are fun too!

Chuck: (Smiling) Sounds like you’ve got your priorities straight, Rudy. Now that you’ve brought the trophy home for Himbo University, what’s next for you? Any big plans?

Rudy: Oh, uh, big plans! I think, like, I wanna, uh, keep doin’ the football. Maybe I’ll, uh, go to, like, the big leagues? Or, uh, maybe just get, like, a really big sandwich... I dunno. Coach says I gotta think about, uh, my future, but I just like liftin’ and runnin’, you know?

Chuck: Well, Rudy, whatever you decide to do, I’m sure you’ll bring that same energy and enthusiasm. Thanks for coming by the station today. Any last words for your fans out there?

Rudy: Uh, yeah! Thanks, everyone, for, like, cheering and stuff. And, uh, remember to eat your vegetables, 'cause they make you, like, strong... like, um, trees!

Chuck: (Laughs) You heard it here first, folks! Eat your veggies and stay strong. Thanks again, Rudy, and congratulations on the big win! This has been Chuck on WHIM 97.3, signing off!

[End Scene: The theme music fades out as Chuck and Rudy share a laugh off-mic, the energy in the room electric from the win and Rudy’s unforgettable interview.]

[machiavellli]

hey hey I wanna know what taylor swift song to you associate with each of the slytherin boys? I've been thinking about it all day because I already have one in mind for all the marauders and I'm interested in what you think

Ciao tesooo!!😽🩷

Mhhhh personally I think I would associate each boy like this:

Mattheo Riddle - my tears ricochet

"And I can go anywhere I want/ Anywhere I want, just not/ home"

pls this is his trauma and I live for it

Lorenzo Berkshire - gold rush

"I don't like that anyone would/ die to feel your touch/ Everybody wants you/ Everybody wonders what it/ would be like to love you"

he is my golden boy and everybody would die for this cinnamon roll, change my mind, you can't.

Theodore Nott - mirrorball

“And I'm still a believer, but I/ don't know why/ I've never been a natural, all I do/ is try, try, try"

Also trauma for his deatheater family and also because I headcanon him to be an introvert, sometimes he has to force himself in situations, and a tad insecure. He is smart, as we established in our headcanons, but he might feel like that he always had to prove himself, he is a natural, but he doesn't feel like it.

Blaise Zabini - Sweet Nothing

"’Causе they said the end is comin'/ Everyone's up to somethin’/ I find myself runnin’ home to your sweet nothings/ Outside, they're push and shovin’/ You're in the kitchen hummin'/ All that you ever wanted from me was nothin'"

I feel like this is about his relationship with his mom/dead father, I know he has mommy issues and he just wants to be loved🥺

Draco Malfoy - Would've, Could've, Should’ve

"And if I was a child, did it/ matter/ If you got to wash your hands?/ Oh, all I used to do was pray/ Would've, could've, should've/ If you'd never my way/ I would've stayed/ On my knees/ And I damn sure never/ would've danced with the devil/ At nineteen"

I know this song is about grooming and also probably one of my favourites, so I know what I am talking about here, but I imagine this song to be applied to the relationship that he had with the deadeaters, voldemort and also his parents. Everybody used him, and he was so young, so naive.

can I add Ominis and Sebastian?🧍‍♀️they are also slytherin boys...OKay I will, just ignore them in case:

Sebastian Sallow - this is me trying

"They told me all of my cages/ were mental/ So I got wasted like all my/ potential/ And my words shoot to kill/ when I'm mad/ I have a lot of regrets about that/ I was so ahead of the curve, the/ curve became a sphere/ Fell behind all my classmates/ and I ended up here/ Pouring out my heart to a/ stranger/ But I didn't pour the whiskey"

Seb is the goddest boy, a brilliant one, that was blinded by the love for his sister. He went too far and lost himself in the darkness during the process. Now, he is just a kid, full of regrets, still tasting the tears for his action and for his failure. Love is indeed a weapon.

Ominis Gaunt - epiphany

"Keep your helmet, keep your/ life, son/ Just a flesh wound, here's your/ rifle/ Crawling up the beaches now/ "Sir, I think he's bleeding out"/ And some things you just can't/ speak about/ With you I serve/ with you I fall down, down/ Watch you breathe in/ watch you breathing out, out"

My poor boy, the purest cinnamon roll ever, what adversity he had to suffer because of his family. The pain they indulged shoot straight back at him.

Sum up: everybody is traumatized except Lorenzo!

Thank you for asking, this was fun!!🩷🩷🥺

[aggravateddurian]

Cyberpunk 2077: Chorus

Judy Alvarez (2077) and Vega 'V' Hawse (2077)

If you could pull the lever to carry on forever Would your life even matter anymore? Sure it’s a calming notion, perpetual in motion But it’s not what you signed up for

The Rare Occasions - Notion

"Time's runnin' out, Judes... don't have a lot of time left. Relic Malfunctions gettin' worse... sometimes I'm out for half a day," V explained, "...fuck... I feel bad for draggin' you into this, Judy."

"No," Judy sternly replied, grabbing her chin, "We both knew what we're getting ourselves into. You'll find that cure. If there's anyone who can make magic happen, it's Vega Hawse..."

She leaned closer, "Also, you wouldn't want to make my abuela angry by dyin' on me, would you?"

"Fuck no!" V responded, "...but what if curing me meant we had to be apart for a while? What about us, Jude? Wouldn't be fair to you."

Judy's thumb reached up to her lips, hushing her, "I'll be waiting for you, calabacita."

Warning: Sad story below

Some Time Later...

"We almost never come up here, V... we can see the whole city from here."

"Yeah... there's some memories associated with this place. I can't remember the original feelings I... we... she... fuck, I dunno, had at the time... but I remember the events, and I can't help it... I hate this place."

"What happened here?"

"Two years ago, not long before I... we joined the Aldecaldos and went into Arasaka Tower... just helped Goro Takemura kidnap Hanako Arasaka..."

So Mi raised a concerned eyebrow, "...long story. We stayed the night with Judy, and then we came up here, on the way back from Laguna Bend."

Vega turned towards the city, "Looked out upon the city and asked her how she'd feel if my getting cured meant I had to be apart from her for a little bit. She told me that she'd be waiting for us."

"...Vega..."

"It's in the past now. A different life... can't help but feel somewhat betrayed, So Mi. V's last two years before Arasaka Tower were rough. Disowned by our father, kicked out of the clan, Jackie... I guess I picked up this feeling that V has an aura of death around her... everyone close to V either dies... or they leave, move on, find something better."

So Mi crossed her arms, "Plenty of people you worked with... helped... who're better for it, V. River? He's thriving, same with Randy, Joss and the kids. The Aldecaldos took a hit, but with Panam and Mitch at the helm, they've never been better. Dorian and Kaylee are doing... fine."

Val raised a brow. Dorian may have been physically fine, but years of reflection on his shitty corpo enforcer career had led him to go full Johnny Silverhand, wanting to set the whole city on fire. Kaylee, his closest friend, had spent years in the NET doing God knows what, and came out the other end... different.

"You always know what to say, So Mi."

"Not worried I'm quickhacking your hormone levels, or emotionally manipulating you?"

Vega furrowed her brow, "Have you been talkin' to Johnny?"

"Yeah, crazy conspiracy theory... you wouldn't even guess he's never been able to hold down a woman."

[jujumin-translates]

[A3!] ★ Main Story | Act 14 - DREAM CATCHER | Episode 20 - To the Outside World

Staff: Now, allow us to announce the results. The successful applicants are--.

Muku: …

Staff: Number 3462.

Muku: --Gh.

Staff: Only successful applicants will be asked to stay for the meeting afterward.

Staff: All others please leave the room. Thank you very much for your participation in the auditions.

Participant A: Sigh… Excuse me.

Muku: …Excuse me.

Staff: Ah, you, number 3333--.

Muku: …?

Staff: Unfortunately, you were a little too young for what we were looking for this time, but you were in the running during the selection process until the very end. We’d love to see you apply again the next time around.

Muku: --I will. Thank you so much!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Phone notification*

LIME

KAZUNARI MIYOSHI ☆: Is it about time for the audition results?

Tenma Sumeragi: Is he even gonna get the results right away?

Yuki: Didn’t he say he was gonna leave first?

Kumon: I hope you passed, Muku~!

△△△: I really hope you passed~!

Muku: …

LIME

Muku: The audition just finished.

△△△: Good job!!

KAZUNARI MIYOSHI ☆: Good worksies~!

Yuki: How’d it go?

Muku: I didn’t get in.

Kumon: WHAT!? SERIOUSLY!?

KAZUNARI MIYOSHI ☆: They must’ve been blind~.

Muku: “But I was still chosen as a finalist out of 4000 applicants, so because I was able to give it my all, I have no regrets.”

Muku: “I want to grow even more as an actor for when the next chance comes along. That’s why I want to keep trying.”

Kumon: “Gotcha… Let’s do our best together!”

Kazunari: “I’m sure you’ll get in next time, Mukkun!”

Yuki: “If that’s how you feel after doing it, then I think your challenge was already a success.”

Tenma: “Good job.”

Misumi: “You were a good boy, Muku~.”

Muku: Ehehe…

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Banri: Gotcha. Well, auditions can be influenced by all sorts of things, and some luck ain’t gonna hurt either.

Tsumugi: And I’m sure that there were things that weren’t written out in detail in the application guideline as to what kind of actors they were looking for.

Tsumugi: But the fact that you made it to the final selections shows just how good you really are.

Muku: Thank you so much.

Muku: Anyway, Kyu-chan and I were discussing what would be good ways for us to grow more as actors…

Kumon: There’s a limit to what we can do by ourselves, and I wanna “challenge” myself more in the outside world like everyone else is doing!

Banri: Even when ya rehearse with other troupes, it still doesn’t really feel like you’re gettin’ out there…

Tsumugi: If you both want to grow as actors, why not try doing a workshop?

Muku: A workshop?

Kumon: Now that you mention it, there’s sometimes information about them on the bulletin board on Veludo Way.

Muku: Yeah. I’ve never participated in one before…

Banri: Ah, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for, I got a notice from the Andromeda Theater Company the other day about a workshop aimed at actors.

Banri: The guy runnin’ the workshop is Miyazaki-san. He was the instructor for the workshop aimed at directors that Director-chan and I went to.

Banri: He’s got a kind-lookin’ face, but he’s real harsh.

Muku: Oh…

Kumon: Harsh, huh…

Banri: Well, it ain’t like he was bein’ unreasonable. The points he made were spot-on and real informative.

Muku: I-I want to participate!

Muku: I’m nervous, but I want to “challenge” myself to grow even more than I’ve grown now.

Kumon: Yeah, I wanna do my best too! I’m anxious, but… If I’m with you, Muku, I think I can do it!

Kumon: I’ll grow even more and surprise everyone!

Banri: Aight, then I’ll forward y’all the notice with the info.

Tsumugi: Do your best, you two.

Muku: We will!

Kumon: Let’s do our best, Muku!

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

[dailyhelldorm]

[TL] Rabbit of the New Year [! story]

Scenario Writer: Yuuki Yoshino Character: Hajime, Ritsu, Eichi Season: Winter

The story is a part of Zodiac 2 Scout.

[♪]

Location: Garden Space

Hajime: Everyone~ The tea is ready ♪

Even though today is warm, you can still get cold easily when being outdoors.

I’ve already poured the tea into the thermos, so please drink it as you please ♪

Eichi: You are as gracious as ever. Thank you for always making such delicious tea, Hajime-kun ♪

Ah, such a sweet and refreshing smell... The high-temperature weather is also favorable too.

If there is snowfall today, we won’t get to enjoy Hajime-kun’s tea like this.

Cough... cough...

Ah, it is because Hajime-kun’s tea was so good, I accidentally choked when I drank it all in one gulp, you see.

Ritsu: Nope, you were really coughing just now, weren't you~

Well, no need to worry, not like I’m telling you to call off the tea party or something.

Being overprotected is not a good thing. Until you say ‘Let’s call it a day’ then Ecchan can rest assured that we will carry on with our tea party.

Haa-kun, it is essential to have some nice snacks to serve with nice tea. Please go take the apple pie from inside our tea club’s fridge.

But let me have a word first, I made the pie normal-looking this time. I make my desserts in that manner for aesthetic reasons...

Yet I can see that no one in this world has the same appreciating view.

Eichi: That is because Ritsu’s sense is unparalleled after all. Anyway, the apple pie is the perfect treat for today’s tea leaves. Good job, Ritsu-kun ♪

Ritsu: Hey now, don’t you think of petting my head... Anyway, please go grab it, Haa-kun.

Hajime: Okay. I will be going now ♪

Eichi: Good grief, don’t just make Hajime-kun do everything like that, sometimes you should do it yourself as well.

Didn’t we leave all the tea preparation for Hajime-kun these days too?

Ritsu: I’ve already prepared the tea snacks so I’m good.

Rather Ecchan, you always say things like Haa-kun’s tea is good, but you haven’t made the tea yourself lately, right?

Eichi: Of course not, since Hajime-kun’s skill in brewing tea has improved.

His tea sometimes even tastes better than my or Ritsu’s tea.

More than everything, when your adorable junior says ‘The tea is ready ♪’, doesn’t it make you feel euphoric?

Ritsu: That’s true, still you appraise my tea?

Eichi: By all means, Ritsu-kun’s tea is also delicious.

However, your ‘this is such a pain’ thought is hidden in the plain brewing way. I can even taste it in the tea too.

You should learn from Hajime-kun who is pouring his ‘President-san, like you, like you ♪’ feelings in his tea-making ♪

Ritsu: No way, no one thinks about gross things like that, now do they?

Hajime: U-uhm? I’m sorry for interrupting your conversation. I have brought the apple pie over and will set up the plates now.

Eichi: Thank you, Hajime-kun.

...Oh my? Ritsu-kun, other than the apple pie, did you also make the dango too? I’m delighted, but don’t you think the dango won’t go well with black tea?

Ritsu: Nope, didn’t make them~ I only made the apple pie.

Hajime: Ah, I was the one who prepared them.

The dangos are bite-sized pieces, and I thought they would be easy to eat... So they don’t go well with black tea.

Eichi: If it is the treat Hajime-kun prepared, for certain I will savor them delightfully.

Hajime: President-san... Uh-ugh, I am so sorry!

Eichi: Hajime-kun? Why are you apologizing? You haven’t done anything wrong yet. If there is any cause behind then you should try to converse about it.

Hajime: Actually those dangos were from a coworker I often work with at my on-campus part-time job, and they said ‘It’s a delicacy from my hometown~♪’ while giving them to me.

Eichi: It is not the typical combination, but it might unexpectedly be tasty.

Fufu. Hajime-kun, do you know the nursery hymn ‘Hometown’? The one starts with ‘I follow a runnin’ bunny on the mountain~’

Hajime: Ah, I know that! It is quite a famous children's song. But what's about it?

Eichi: Oh dear, don’t you know? A ‘runny bunny’ is a ‘yummy bunny'(1) ♪

Ritsu: Uwah, again with Ecchan’s bad pun…

Eichi: No, I don’t think it is that bad.

There are lots of people who misremember the lyrics be ‘yummy bunny’. However, if I am being sensible, rabbits don’t taste good when you consume them.

Ah, it isn’t like I have actually eaten them before, you know?

I hear that despite their cute look, rabbits’ muscles are tough so their meat isn’t succulent.

Hajime: Hie!? That’s no good, you absolutely shouldn’t eat them at all!?

Eichi: Oh dear, did I frighten you? My apology, of course I wouldn’t do things like eating a rabbit so you can rest assured.

Speaking of muscles, lately Hajime-kun also gained some, right?

When you first joined the club, you struggled to hold the heavy porcelain teapot, but now you can do it with ease.

Hajime: Ah, it is due to the heavy lifting from my school part-time job. Recently I’ve been getting more manual labor work too...

U-ugh, if I get too muscular then I probably won’t look cute anymore.

Eichi: Not at all, no matter how Hajime-kun turns out to be, I think you are adorable.

Gaining some muscles isn’t something pessimistic. Hajime-kun's loveliness will always continue refining beyond that.

Now then, how about we enjoy our tea before it gets cold? Today is such a luxury to have apple pie and dango as our teatime snacks ♪

[☆]

The song 'Hometown' (故郷 Furusato)'s first verse starts with the line 兎追いし 'usagi oishi' means 'I chase after the rabbit'. Eichi's pun delivers the homonymous word 兎美味し 'usagi oishi' but with the meaning 'rabbits are delicious'.

[flatlinerburning]

ode to the stars while thinking of my first beer, deceased

blood is thicker than water and mine's runnin into yours fast as anything. orion's watching over us and im drunk for the first time and you ain't bleeding half as much as i am. i know you're gonna make it even cuz the world ain't fair and that's what we're runnin from— bruised bloodied burned and running someplace blood can't find us. highway 17 wont get us there but if we bleed enough maybe something'll change in the mirror. just wait until i'm dead honey, then you'll see. theres shards of glass in my soul and jim morrison's reflects off em from where it's scattered in orion's concho belt. i think about us being tangled in the red string of fate and how jim wanted to live to a hundred n twenty. he died two years after brian jones did and the thought's enough to make me sick. two years to the day. jim wrote a poem about brian after they found him in that pool, and sometimes i wonder if he knew that brian played on let it bleed, cuz he isn't listed in the credits and he died before he could tell anyone. sometimes i wonder if i'll die like that— facedown and fading and forgotten. gimme some shelter honey, before i fade away. i feel sick again and when i look up from all the blood to feel that graveyard air on my face, there's a cigarette-burned feather floating down. there's a mostly gone newport where it lands and i've never smoked before but i stick it in my mouth n light up anyway. thank you dixiana angel. newports taste like savannah and if you've never been to savannah i hope you never find yourself there, but fate's a cruel bitch ain't it? stay in savannah too long and you'll start seeing things. desperate boys with lying mouths and too-big souls tangled up in that cruel red string, ghosts that got more to do with mirrors than they ever did with the dead, blood on blood on blood on blood. stay any longer and savannah she'll get her claws in you. turn you into what you're running from before you get off highway 17. wrap you n someone else all up in it and take a piece of your souls before you notice they've been gone. savannah doesnt let go of her dead and rock n roll doesnt either. you're already on the list of martyrs and i reckon i'll follow you down. i ain't no jim morrison but i'll be there two years after. to the day n all. your bloods in my blood. highway 17's our red string anyway.

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 4

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. Happy to be posting another chapter! Please enjoy :)

We drive all morning.

The leafy dirt and tilted trees of the quarry crawl past our windows, and they take about an hour to turn into cement roads, gas stations, pharmacies and corner stores with the windows busted out. We're in an empty town, now, trailing the sidewalks like a long line of ants.

At the head of the group is officer Rick's car, leading us left and right 'round the edges of danger and death, 'cause that's what cops do. Behind him is Morales' car. Then, me and my Dad are in the middle, and behind us is the RV. At the back, sandwiching us all together, 'cause he's the only other cop, is officer Shane. His voice crackles up on the walkie every few minutes, goin', everything lookin' good up front, over, which Rick's voice answers, all's good, over, except for that one time, 'cause there was a dead buck blocking the road, and they had to get out and shove it off.

Sometimes we'll get a, Daryl, from one of them, which means, How's Harley, which means, Do we need to pull over and shoot your daughter in the face, and my Dad always answers with a, Keep drivin', and he throws the walkie down like it tried biting him.

Adults like addin' layers onto what they say, 'cause the truth is too offensive to say out loud.

My Dad's watchin' me real close; closer than the road, even. He's chewin' on his thumb.

Things were a little like this when it was just us, in the beginning. All we did for the first three days was drive.

Then, we found these people.

I think about Rick — And how just for one more day, he saved my life.

He split Sophia's Dad in half with a bullet, to keep him from ripping me up. Without him, maybe those teeth in my shoe would'a had one more moment to sink into me, and I'd be dead again, some other way. The only reason I'm able to feel the sun on my skin right now, and listen to the birds as they flutter and chirp on the phone lines is because of Rick, the man who killed my Uncle. I'm half-dyin', and Rick — He's half-good. There might be walker germs inside my body, and they might be squirming their way into my lungs, and my heart, and eventually, my brain, which will turn me into one more dead name the living will have to carry around with 'em, and my Dad will be sad forever, but today, I get to watch the sky pass over us.

That's just enough, I think, for me to only hate officer Rick with half of everything I got.

The walkie chimes.

"Daryl?" It's Rick, again, and I know his police badge is prolly winkin' in the sunlight.

Do we need to shoot your daughter in the face? Did I fail?

Dad snatches up the walkie. He don't like answering the secret question that Rick's askin', not one bit.

"No. Keep drivin'."

He throws it down and goes back to chewin' his thumb, bouncin' his knee, and glancin' at my arm. If he could, he'd blast the music so loud that there wasn't enough space left in his head to think so hard about everything. I go back to watching the clouds pass by, just for today.

We drive all morning, and then after that, we drive all afternoon.

Somebody honks twice, quick. Honk, honk.

That's code for, everybody pull over; something's wrong.

"Stay here, chicken," My Dad mutters, before he hops out. We're in a parking lot for a supermarket.

The adults gather, and the kids are all lookin' at each other through the windows, mouthing what's going on, and frowning. We all shrug.

My Dad comes back a few minutes later.

"Old man says the RV's runnin' on fumes." Dad reports, folding him arms on my window.

"What's that mean?" I ask him.

I can feel nausea spilling in through my stomach; rolling inside my skull, for the third time today.

"Means we're gonna have to stay here for a little bit." He sighs.

The first thing I do when he lets me out the truck is retch my guts up onto the front tyre.

Heads turn, and I know everybody's already makin' excuses in their heads, like I'm just feeling car-sick, but it's just not true. I'm not car-sick. I've been throwing up since yesterday, and everyone knows it, 'cause they watch me like hawks.

My Dad helps me use a spare shirt to wipe my chin clean, and then he sets me up in one of the camping chairs people are pulling out for the long wait. He makes me drink some water, three big sips, and he finds me an apple to nibble on, nagging me to eat as much I can. I hesitate, 'cause it's just gonna end up in another slimy puddle of vomit some hours from now, but I bite into it, anyway.

He tells me to stay put, and then he's leaving with all the other men to search for gas. The women hover around me — Some sitting, some leaning, some standing, but all of 'em starin'. Except for poor, poor Andrea, who's not staring at anything other than her shoes. I feel like Andrea.

More apples and water get passed around.

"Sweetie, I just wanted to tell you I'm so sorry." Lori says to me. "I should have been paying more attention. I shouldn't have let you run off."

I force myself to look at her. "Don't be sorry. It's my fault."

"Oh," She sighs, and she just looks so, so sad. "Please don't say that. It's not your fault."

But, "It is my fault." I tell her. "I ran away."

Carol speaks up. "Honey, what happened was not your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was just... a terrible, terrible accident."

Jacqui nods. "Don't blame yourself."

"Rick feels awful." Lori admits. "After Atlanta, after Merle... Now, this. God. He's just so torn up about it."

I shrink into my chair, 'cause I don't wanna hear a single word 'bout Rick, or his feelings. He saved me, but he's not my friend, and I don't have to care about his feelings; especially not when they're about murdering my family. I don't have to care about any of their feelings. I think they're forgetting that I'm also waiting to see if I die. They keep glancing at my skin, my eyes, and my fingers, which aren't twitching, yet — But, so am I. I don't want to die. I want to listen to the birds every day. I want to see my Dad, too. I want to watch the stars at night, and pick out the shiniest one.

"Okay," Is all I can croak out, 'cause there's something very thin inside of me that's stopping me from crying, and I don't wanna break it.

Then — "God," It's Andrea, and she's laughing. "She's dying! The kid is dying, people!"

I whip my head up. The other women gasp.

"Last thing she wants is you people pestering her all-damn day, so just do her a favor and shut your traps."

Everyone is gobsmacked, as Dale likes to say. Their mouths are hanging open, and their eyes are all shifty, like they're lookin' around to see if everyone just heard what they just heard. But, yep, they heard right. Andrea just said the word dying, which is basically a cuss word, and nobody can do anything to take it back.

You can't swallow words you already said. I know that, 'cause I've tried, like the night I told my Dad he killed my Momma.

"Or Daryl's gonna come back and do it for you."

Andrea don't even care 'bout the stares. She goes back to eating her apple. 

"I don't think that's appropriate," Lori tells her.

Jacqui sighs. "Let's just talk about something else, y'all, huh? Like, uh..."

"There's nothing else to talk about, Jacqui. We're all just playing the waiting game, here. Whether we talk about the damn weather or not isn't gonna change the fact that we might have to shoot Harley in the face in a few hours."

Andrea's right, and nobody can change it.

After that, all we do is wait, and wait, and wait, for me to start twitching. Nobody likes this game.

To keep busy, me and the other kids scribble flowers and stick-men into the tarmac with some chalk that Carol finds in a trunk, and she makes sure to compliment my drawings way more than the others, even though they're kinda wonky. Carl snacks on some jerky. Then Dale wonders on back, and we get to listen to some more of his poetry book, which has teeny-tiny letters that he needs to put his glasses on to read. It makes him look more like everybody's grandpas than he already does. My Grandpappy Dixon, though — He wouldn't read no damn poetry book. He'd chop it up and use it for firewood, just so he could burn some more poetry books.

We're on a poem about a newborn lamb when the men come back.

They're all carrying jerry cans and plastic tubing and heavy, droopy frowns that mean bad news. Glenn flops onto a chair and when he shakes his head, sweat goes flying off, and his arms are covered in black car soot. Morales and T-Dog pinch and shake out their sweaty shirts.

My Dad stands behind my chair, squeezing onto the muscles on either side of my neck.

"You eatcher apple?" He murmurs to me.

"Yeah," I murmur back, and he nods.

Everybody straightens.

"Alright, y'all." Rick hooks his thumbs into his belt. "At the moment, we're only getting gas from 'bout one outta every fifteen cars we check, which'll have us back on the road in about a couple hours. I'm aware that ain't ideal. I'm aware we're on a time limit, here. But we don't have a lotta options."

"There's space in the RV." Comments Dale. "We could ditch one of the cars; pile in the RV."

Shane tries to laugh. "That's a whole lotta pilin', there, Dale."

Glenn looks like he hates to say it, but, "He's right. We've already got me, Jacqui, Carol, Sophia and Andrea crammed in there."

Dale deflates and goes back to stroking his beard.

"Now, this here's a parking lot, people." Shane announces. "There's cars here. There's gas. We're just gonna have to stick it out 'til then."

There's a general wave of disagreement passing over everyone's faces.

I know what they're thinking.

"Is someone going to say it?" Carol huffs, and nope, nobody's going to say it, so she has to. "Harley can't just, 'stick it out'."

We haven't had a real conversation about this. My imminent maybe-death has only been passed around in whispers and mumbles, like a bad stain nobody wants to hold onto for too long. Nobody wants to mention my weak stomach or just how much I've been hurling up my food, because that way, it can't just exist in the background, anymore. It has to take a front seat, where they can see it; where it's scarier.

As soon as the words come out Carol's mouth, eyes start jumping around, as if it's easier to discuss my death if they can't see me.

"I'm sorry, but that's the reality, here." Carol's taking a page out of Andrea's book. "Daryl, how many times has that girl thrown up today?"

His hands grip me harder. "'Bout... 'Bout four-five times."

"Right. So, I think it's time we throw the possibility of those scratches bein' nothing out the window." She says, grim.

Glenn rubs at his forehead. "Oh my God."

"W— H-Hold on, now." Dale's stuttering, shaking his head. "We can't just diagnose her from— from one measly symptom."

"This doesn't change anything." Shane suddenly argues.

My Dad starts, "The Hell it don—"

"We're headed to the CDC for a cure." Shane talks over him. "We're headed there, and that's it. It's all we can do."

Dale's just totally appalled. "I think there's a lot more we can do."

"That supply run from a few weeks ago," Glenn's frowning, "I brought back some good stuff. Maybe that can... Stave it off."

It, meaning the germs reaching my brain, once and for all. I recall the posters in my old science classroom, where a person's head would be sliced in half and you could see all the brains on the inside, and I imagine that it's my brain, and that there are millions of little ants chewing away at the edge, and then one of them breaks through, 'cause all it takes is one, and they eat my brain from the inside-out like an old melon, then that's the end — I die.

My Dad can tell what I'm thinking, 'cause he's magic like that, and he silently takes my place in the chair, and sets me in his lap. His arms wrap around my waist, and Jacqui reaches over to put her hand over mine.

You can't stave off turning into a walker. You can try — Like, with cables, and apologies — but really, it doesn't work like that. We're all just meat and bones and guts and skin, and rules like dying apply to us, even if we don't want 'em to. We're all just animals, even if we read poetry.

Shane scrubs his face with his hand, and he looks like he really wants to call Glenn a cuss word. "Glenn—"

"It doesn't work like that, I know." Glenn snaps. "You think I don't know that? You think I'm an idiot? You think I wanna watch a kid die?"

Rick pipes up. "Nobody's sayin—"

"'Nobody's saying that', I know," Glenn argues, "But you're all thinking it. What? You don't even want to try?"

"No. It's a good idea." Rick disagrees. "In fact, I'm all for it. Daryl?"

My Dad's gone quiet. He gives a nod.

"Well, then I don't think it's anyone else's decision to make." Rick concludes. "What do we have?"

"Kaopectate, Ibuprofen. Nausea stuff." Glenn lists, calmer now.

"Still stuck sitting on our asses, though." Morales sighs, holding Eliza, who's not full of germs. "Wasting time we don't have."

"CDC's not going anywhere." Jim shrugs.

Suddenly, Dad's not quiet anymore. "How 'boutchu go ahead and share whatcher fuckin' problem is with the class?"

Jim claims, "Don't got one."

"Nah, matter fact," Dad scowls, "You know what? You said my daughter's life ain't worth a few drops of gas this mornin', if I 'memmer right, so why don't you go ahead and shoot a fuckin' hole in yer head 'fore I get up 'n do it for you? Right here, right now?"

Jim's jaw drops. "Woah—"

"Hey — Let's just get back on track, here." Rick holds up his hands, always the peacemaker. "There's no need for this."

Jacqui whips her hand in the air, squinting. "Hang on. What?"

"Yeah," Dad's getting heated; his voice higher. "This fuckin' string-bean bastard, you know what he said to me this mornin'? He said, 'Let's just think 'bout how much gas this is gonna cost us', with some lil' fuckin' smirk, when we were talkin' about savin' Harley."

Jim bursts, "Oh, that's compl—"

Conversation breaks out, but my Dad's shouting over all of it. "Yeah, man! S'what you said, right to my face!"

"That's—" Lori's gobsmacked. "I don't even know what to say to that, Jim."

"H— H-hang—" Rick's trying desperately to squash all this arguing down, but the shouting and the bodies — standing, now — are drowning him. Underneath me, my Dad's legs are jerking up and down, up and down, like that day in camp, 'cause he wants to get up and beat Jim until he's just a lumpy, red smear in the road. Suddenly, there's half a dozen people out of their chairs, forming one hostile voice. "H— Hang on, a secon—"

"You know what," Shane's booming, "I thought there was something off 'bout the way you said that, Jim."

"Is that true?" Glenn's asking, eyebrows screwed tight. "That's messed up, man."

Morales frowns, "Would you say that about my daughter?"

"Calm down," Dale echoes Rick. "Calm down."

"What, you gonna hit me, now? That's whatcher gon' do?" My Dad goads, grinnin', now. "Really?"

"Calm down," Jacqui says.

"Calm down," Lori says.

"Calm down!" T-Dog says.

"Calm down!!" Rick bellows, furious, absolutely furious, and there's a cracking gunshot — a bang — aimed into the clouds, and then silence.

Absolute, total, complete silence. It's so solid that people are stuck in it. So solid that I can hear the bird on the hood of Dad's truck jumping back and forth on its little talons, twenty feet away. It watches, oblivious, hopping and shuffling, until people start remembering to breathe again.

Even Rick is disturbed, and he's the one that pulled the trigger. "That's enough," He exhales, lowering his revolver.

"That's gonna pull a lot of geeks this way." Glenn whispers.

"Good thing we can leave right now, then." Rick pants, and he's staring down Jim, now. What does he mean? Leave right now? But we're stuck here. He said that. His cheekbone looks like an old plum, from where my Daddy punched him a couple days ago, and his eyes; they're piercing, like sharp, blue shards of glass melting under a blowtorch, and suddenly, he don't look like much of a peacemaker no more. "'Cause, Jim, your seat just became available."

His seat? What's that mean? Is he—?

"You're leaving me here?" Jim cries.

"Next bullet's goin' in your leg." Rick tosses the words at Jim, tired. "You doin' this willingly, or not?"

Jim cries out again, and that's how he goes down — He goes down crying and kicking and screaming, bastards, bastards, bastards, but the words mean nothing, and Dale's tryna stop them but neither him or Jimmy are strong enough to fend off four other grown men. I find myself in Lori's arms, right beside Carl, watching with my heart in my mouth, as Shane, Rick, Morales, and my Dad pin Jim down like he's an angry cat, and beat his fighting hands into a long coil of rope that they twist — God, you don't have to do this, please, you don — it tight, and then they anchor him to a shopping cart bay, and they leave him there, with nothing but a jar of peanut butter, a steak knife, an unloaded gun, and their bitter regards.

Dale's blubbering, speaking up for everyone who won't; can't. "This isn't right—"

But they brush past us, into the cars. Rick grabs Lori. My Dad grabs me. Shane starts unloading his Jeep, 'cause we're leaving that behind, too.

"We're leaving Jim?" I shriek quietly to my Dad, who's ushering me back into the truck.

He yanks my seat-belt down. "Ain't our fault," Click. "Fella deserves it."

"But—"

The door slams shut.

"Please!" Jim cries. I scramble to peer outside, and I see him kicking the air. "Please! I'll die out here!"

"If yer smart, you'll cut yourself out with the knife, and you'll ration the jar." Daddy calls out as he hops in the driver's seat. "But it's like I said." Slam. "Bag'a bricks."

"No, no, no! Please!"

More doors slamming shut; engines roaring to life. Rick shouts out the radio channel, again, as a reminder.

I can still hear Jim screaming when we peel out onto the highway.

"Everything lookin' good up front? Over."

A pause.

"All's good. Over."

I never wanted this.

Outside the windows, the sunset is melting purples and oranges all over each other like hot wax, and the tips of wheat fields are whipping past.

There's a long list of things that have happened the past few weeks that I never wanted.

I never wanted to leave home. Homes aren't meant to be left. That's why we got a word for house and a word for home, 'cause they're different. House is the walls and the bricks and the paint, but home is the twenty-year-old sofa that's in it, and the people that have been on it, and the old pictures stuck on the fridge. It's where I made memories in the day and dreamt about 'em at night. It's where I took my first steps, and it's where I cried, and laughed, and broke my first bone, and got my height scribbled into the doorframe. It's where I miss — deeply, like a wound I can't put a bandage on — every moment of every day. It's where I won't get to grow up. I never wanted to drive for days and go nowhere. I never wanted my Uncle Merle to turn into a star. I never wanted a dead man to scratch my own death into my skin, and there be nothing I could do to stop it besides stave it off. I never wanted to die; not yet, not now, not before I could live.

And parents aren't supposed to live longer than their kids. It's just one of them rules that everybody's born knowing.

I think that's why my Dad is cryin' again; crying, crying, crying, and he just can't stop. My Daddy never cries. Toughest man in camp, I'd say.

The common assessment, now, is that I really am infected. I'm going to die.

I remember my Dad's wallet, with all the photos tucked into the sleeves. I remember all the other photos we lost, or left, or didn't think to capture. I remember my last birthday, which was my seventh. Such a small number. Not even all my fingers. Some people get two number-candles on their cakes before they die. I only got one, but that's okay, 'cause I got other things. I got a day just for me, and I got I love you's, wrapped up in pink and even pinker birthday paper, and I got it all even though my Daddy didn't have much money. I got to live. I don't know how many days are in a year, but I know it's a lot. There's even more in seven years. I got to be alive for every single one of them. Isn't that lucky?

We left Jim to die, and I never wanted that, neither. Nobody deserves to die. I don't.

"Daddy, are you gonna leave me?" I ask. Maybe I won't get shot; I'll get left. I don't know which one I'd choose. I don't wanna choose at all.

"God," My Dad snuffles, smackin' away his tears. "Don't fuckin' ask me that."

"I— It's gonna happen, though." The germs will reach my brain, and that'll be it. "E-everyone thinks so. I'm sick."

"Shut the fuck up, Harley." My Dad whispers, and I wish he was singing again. 

"Dad—"

"Don't."

"Maybe you should— Maybe you shoot me instead."

"This weren't never supposed to fuckin' happen!" He shrieks, suddenly, and punches the horn. "Fuck!"

Then, right on time, the walkie chimes.

"Daryl?"

Do we need to shoot your daughter in the face? Is it over?

With a rage like I ain't never seen before, my Dad steals the walkie off the dash and smashes it into the horn, over and over again, honk, honk, honk, honk, honk, until a piece breaks off, and then another, and another, until the buttons all pop off and the plastic cracks in half, like a broken heart. Then he chucks the whole thing out the window, and it's gone forever, and he sucks in a breath that sounds like a chainsaw tryna start, and he cries.

I feel sick again. My stomach's ballooning up and shrivelling down at the same time, and I'm gonna be sick.

By now, all the cars are pulling over, 'cause my Dad honked the stop, pull over signal ten times over, and then some.

"Daddy, I need to get out—" I'm sayin', gagging.

"Fu— I know. I know." He's sayin' back, and he swerves onto the side of the road, into the wheat.

He leaps out, slams the door shut, and runs around to my side, but by the time he yanks my side open, I've already thrown up all over my feet. I lurch, and then there's more, and my stomach empties again, and there it is — I see the apple, and I see- I see blood, streaked through it, like red-brown poison. I cough more up while my Dad soothes my back and holds my hair out the way.

Then, there's Rick and Dale, standing at either one of my Dad's shoulders.

"Is she okay?" Dale's panting.

"That's it. There you go." Dad beats on my back, and I spit the last of the apple-slime onto the floor. "It's done?"

I murmur a uh-huh, and then I realise what I've done. "I'm sorry."

"Hell you got to be sorry 'bout?" He frowns, still half-crying; still mourning me while I'm still here.

"The— The truck."

"Huh? The tr—?" He huffs, confused, and then shakes his head. "Truck's the last thing I give a damn about."

Rick's tryna put a smile on, but it don't look quite right. "We've got tissues in our car. We can clean it."

I wish they'd all turn away, 'cause it's like I'm naked. My vomit, and the blood, is just sittin' there like a puddle of evidence and dead people germs, for everyone to see. My Dad pulls me out by my wrist, and then we're sitting on the steps of the RV, and he's cradling me, and I'm crying like a baby, and the seven years mean nothin', 'cause I'm zero years old again, like I was in that picture at the hospital, a little pink newborn, so new and alive, and I just need my Momma and my Daddy to kiss it all better again. All I got is my Daddy, now. He's tryin'. But all the kisses in the world won't bring my Momma back. They won't give me another birthday. 

"Sh, sh, sh, baby." He's sniffling into my hair, kissing where it meets my skin. "Shhh. I'm sorry, baby. Stop cryin'. Stop cryin'. Please."

But I can't. Not when I'm dying, and I ain't even lived, yet.

Lori and Rick clean the car out for my Dad, and when I climb back in ten minutes later, it's like it was never there, but we all know it was.

We continue driving into the night.

Carl can balance spoons on his nose.

He can also bend his thumb all the way back, twirl a coin like a spin-top, and cross and uncross his left eye. It's pretty cool. Now I know five things about Carl.

"Check this out." He says.

We're sitting at the RV booth, 'cause I get to sleep in here again, tonight. Morales is driving my Dad's truck for us. It's nearly us kids' bed-time, but Carl's trying all this stuff to make me feel better, and his Momma's lettin' him. My stomach's still whirling around, and my eyelids feel bloated, but it's working. I'm not crying anymore, not so much.

"How do you do that?" I giggle, sniffing. He passes me the spoon, and I try copying him.

I wish we had actual toys to play with, but we just gotta make do with what we got.

He shrugs. "I don't know. I just kinda do it."

Lori's chuckling to herself in the passenger seat, next to Dale.

I drop the spoon. This is hard.

"Show me again," Demands little Eliza, who looks far too grumpy for someone so small. "Show me how it works."

Carl's like Glenn — He's a good sport — So, he tilts her head and moves her spoon around until it stays, and she's giggling, too.

"Wanna see what else I can do?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

There's more? Just how cool is Carl?

He takes Sophia's spoon, and he takes my spoon, and then he grips them both so they're cupping each other. He shakes them. Cluh-clink, cluh-clink, cluh-clink. Music!

"I need a piece of wheat to chew on or something." He smiles, pulling an uh-huh, look how awesome I am, face. "Cowboys used to play the spoons, right?"

I grin. "You should have a cowboy hat, like your Dad's. Then you'll be a real cowboy."

"And a horse!" Sophia adds.

"And a gun!" Louis snarls, excited.

Lori gives us a sassily raised eyebrow. "Uh. I don't think so."

It's so silly that we all start laughing together. Carl, the spoon-clinkin' cowboy of the West.

"Oh, and did you know—?" Carl's got another trick. He presents the spoon to me, backwards.

My upside-down reflection stares back at me. For a second, I'm curious, but the feeling quickly fizzles away. Is that really what I look like? The little girl in the spoon got blonde hair that's all spillin' out of a rushed pony-tail in shoulder-length strips, and choppy bangs, and heavy brown eyebrows at the bottom of her face. She got one little black mole dotted onto her cheekbone, a fairy kiss, like Momma called 'em, and another one under her nose. She got purple-ish craters above her lids. She got red cheeks. She got a pair of green eyes, blinking at me from her upside-down prison inside the spoon. She's me, but inverted; wrong. I don't like this trick.

The girl in the spoon is frowning.

"What is it?" Carl asks. He pulls the spoon away and inspects it. "It didn't work?"

"N— No." I quickly tell him. "It worked."

"Then, what's wrong?" He asks, but not in the way adults do. There are no layers to anythin' he says, 'cause he ain't learnt to add 'em, yet.

I think of the spoon-girl, and I compare her to my school photo — The right way up; healthy, a neat ponytail.

"I just look so different," I shrug, 'cause I ain't learnt neither.

Sophia looks like a little dolly when she pouts. "Yeah..."

"What's it feel like?" Eliza asks.

She leans forward, 'cause she wants to hear a secret. Am I allowed to tell her one?

Everyone at this table's seen somebody turn before. Sophia saw her Dad turn. Eliza and Louis saw their Aunt and Uncle turn. Carl was there when Amy... I saw a hitch-hiker turn, once. There's not really an exact moment where someone changes. There's no switch. There's only a slow decline, and then a last breath. Then somebody else wakes up, in your body. This is what I say to the other kids. I think they're picturing each step happening to me as I describe them.

Louis goes, "Woah..."

Then, Eliza asks the un-askable. "Harley, you should show us what's under the bandage."

We all look at her. A proposition. We're all thinking, is she crazy, but then I say the un-sayable, 'cause lookin' won't hurt.

"Alright," I murmur, glancing at Lori and Dale. Their backs are turned. "I'll just lift the corner, okay?"

They all nod and lean even closer.

I pick at the edge of the seal, and it burns, just a little, and nope, the adults are still not looking, so I keep peeling and peeling until there's a little hole. We all contort ourselves to peer inside, and I keep going and going, and it's halfway off, now. It's like I'm opening a little door into a different dimension. I'm expecting melting, pizza-cheese skin, and maybe some gross, alien fungus carpeting a layer of yellow ooze, and blood bubbling up under my muscles, and we can almost see the scratches, now, and I wonder if—

"Hey." I whip my head around — we all do, like meerkats — and it's not Lori, or Dale. It's my Dad, coming in through the bedroom door. He's too tired to be proper angry, so he just sighs. "What the Hell do you think you're doin'?"

"Sorry—"

Wordlessly, he comes up to me and sticks the patch back down.

"What's going on back there?" Lori asks. "You guys behaving?"

"Takin' her bandage off." Dad snitches on me.

He kisses me quickly on the hair to balance out the scolding. He's never done that before. Then he pulls a box of pills off the kitchen shelf.

"Time for yer second one of these."

Lori gets up to pour me a cup of water, and Dad pinches my nose, and I swallow the pill in one gulp.

This is what some people would call a last ditch attempt — Racing to the CDC, filling my stomach with Glenn's medicine, and not being allowed to fiddle with the bandage, to stave it off. Rules are just words, but I'm supposed follow 'em, anyway. That's why I say I'm sorry again, but Dad don't like that, either. He says it's bed-time.

"Say goodnight to everyone," He tells me, 'cause he likes when I have good manners.

He grabs my pyjamas off the back of the driver's seat, where Dale's trying not to fall asleep on his face. I say goodnight to the other kids, and Lori, who gives me a hug. Dale calls out a goodnight, too, and he reaches over to ruffle my hair, like a grandpa. Then my Dad tugs me back into the bedroom we spent the last night in. The kids mumble goodnight to me again as I'm dragged away, but they feel a little too much like goodbye.

I hope Carl knows he made me feel better, even if it was just for a few minutes.

Apparently, we're on the outskirts of Atlanta now. When I peek outside, I see skyscrapers.

"We're gonna make it, right? To the CDC?"

I won't run outta time?

Dad freezes for a second.

"I'll drag you all the way there myself if I gotta." Dad says, and I know he's dead serious. Outta Hell on hot coals.

We're not stopping for the night. We can't. The engine's rumbling below me when I hop onto the bed.

My Dad grabs my hair-brush from our back pack on the floor, and he settles himself behind me on the covers to do my hair. My Daddy's a Dixon, and that doesn't just mean that he looks out for me and hates when people see him cry. It means that instead of saying I love you, he'll show me I love you. This is what he's doin' right now, by carefully running the brush through my messy hair, petting my baby-hairs into place, and threading his fingers through it all from scalp to end. He's done my hair so many times that I couldn't count, even if I used all my fingers and all my toes. He'd brush it while I sat in the bath when I was littler, and when he was gettin' me ready for school. He ain't that good at it, 'cause his hands are made for tools and guns instead of little-girl-hair, but that don't matter. The I love you matters more.

After that, he helps me into my pyjamas even though I don't need any help at all, and I realize that he's got that same intense look on his face that he did on that night in the quarry. It's not so much flaming, anymore. It more of a sinking, heavy look. I study it as he wraps me up in my button-up dinosaur pyjama shirt. Does he think this is the last time he'll put me to bed? 

"Can you sing for me tonight, Daddy?" I ask, suddenly. If he gets to brush my hair and do my buttons, then I want to hear him sing.

He was just about to do up the last button. He hesitates.

"Yeah." He says. Then, he pinches my cheek, and he finishes looping the button. "I'll sing, little chicken. Lay down."

I burry myself in the thick covers. My Dad sets down his crossbow on the side-table, and shirks off his red flannel shirt, leaving him in a white tank-top. It's warm enough in here that he can do that, and I wish it was his lamb-skull tank-top, the one with all the crumbs, and I wish I still had my Raggedy Anne doll, which Uncle Merle found on the side of the road but I loved with all my heart, anyway, and I wish we were home. He kicks off his mud-caked boots. That's the last step. This is it.

Dad clicks off the lamp.

The room turns dark, and he rolls onto his side, facing me, but on top of the covers. I reach out and touch his mole, 'cause it matches mine. Lots of him matches me. His blonde-ish hair, his thin mouth. If time let me, I might've looked a little like him when I grew older. Then, I touch my name, permanently marked into his skin. Another I love you, shown and not spoken. I wonder if this will be all that's left of me if I don't wake up. He watches me, and I must be pretty interesting, 'cause he does it for a while. It's like when he was staring at my baby picture. He cups his giant hand over the side of my head, and I can feel his thumb wagging back and forth. Then, he starts whisper-singing, and I close my eyes and I imagine home. Home, where I belong. Home, where everyone I love, plus me, are all still alive.

I dream of a tyre swing and baby lambs.

I hear retching outside.

It's so dark I can't even tell if my eyes are closed or not, and my Daddy's already half-way on his feet, but it's not me, this time. I was sleepin', just a second ago. He notices, and then he's just confused. Who's throwing up? The lamp clicks on, and ugh, that's real bright. I sit up, rubbing my eyes. Dad's pulling his flannel back over his tank-top. He tells me to stay here, baby, and he grabs his crossbow and hurries outside. I crawl to the window.

We're pulled over in an emergency lane. The headlights are beaming a spotlight onto all the commotion.

It's Carl, hunched. He's throwing up over the guard rail, and Lori's crouched next to him.

Why's he throwing up?

My Dad pokes his head back in, hand outstretched, and he says I'm allowed to follow him outside, so I pad alongside him into the night. We reach the small crowd that's gathered around Carl, and I grab onto one of my Dad's belt loops and hide behind him, 'cause I'm scared. There's this terrible moment where I think that Carl is also bitten, or scratched, somehow, but Rick rips Carl's shirt off and rolls up his shorts, and nope, he's totally clean. Lori feels his forehead. It must be hot and wet, 'cause she frowns, but mostly, they're all just really, really confused. Weird, weird, weird.

"What's goin' on?" T-Dog asks, jogging over from one of the cars.

Dale answers, tense. "We're not sure, yet."

Rick searches for me and my Dad amongst the others. "Daryl, bring Harley over here."

We squeeze past some people and into the light. Dad stands me right next to Carl, and now I'm gettin' spun and poked and peered at.

First, me and Carl's skin is the same blotchy white. Weird. Then, our eyes are the same red. Weirder. We've both thrown up. Doesn't make sense.

"They have the same symptoms?" Jacqui asks.

How could we be the same typ'a sick, if he ain't even infected?

"How could this happen?" Glenn's asking for everyone.

"It can't be anything contagious, right?" Dale guesses. "Otherwise, we'd all have it."

Nobody knows what to do or say, 'cause this is the biggest, weirdest mystery in the world. Rick looks back and forth between Carl and me. Lori does, too. My Dad's got a frown on. But then my Daddy's eyes shift off my face and down to my arm, and he gets an idea and it's a weird one, 'cause he pinches the edge of my bandage, and I flinch, and then all in one go — ouch — he rips it off, just like he told me never, ever to do, and it lands on the road, and there's my arm.  The cars fill the silence with hums. Am I dreamin'? Am I really still in the RV, sound asleep? My arm— It's not fuzzy or melting or oozing. It's—

"It's healed?" Rick shakes his head, eyes wide, and he grabs my arm like my Dad, to bring it close to his face.

I can't believe it. My arm — It's healthily scabbed over, with not one skin cell outta place.

I gasp, "Daddy, my arm."

"Am I seein' this right?" Dad asks Rick and Lori, suddenly breathin' as if he's been running.

"It— It looks completely healed." Lori breathes.

Several people come forward to take a look at me. Nobody's quite believing it. I'm not—? I'm not dyin'? Is that what this means?

"Have either of you kids eaten the same thing these past few days?" Asks Shane.

It's a weird question, but I have to answer, so I think really hard and so does Carl. The fish fry? The peaches? The—?

"The jerky!" We both shout.

"The—?"

"Who made the jerky?" Dad's lookin' through the crowd; desperate, not breathing, not yet. "Who was it?"

"It was m— I made it." Glenn confesses, but he doesn't know what it is he's confessing to.

"How'd you make it?" Dad asks, and he's pointing, now. So many strange questions, tonight. "Tell me exactly how you made it."

Glenn stammers, and we all listen to him list his jerky recipe like it's the most important thing in the world. "W—Well, I guess I took that meat you bought back — The possum? — And I don't kno— I sliced it, and then I—" Dad barks at him to tell us the exact thickness of the cut. "I guess, like an inch. Then I smoked it, I guess, on a stick over the campfire. I don't know, man. I—"

"You ain't salted it? You ain't cut the fat off?"

Glenn's lost. "No. No, I guess not."

My Daddy, then, drops onto his butt on the tarmac and he does the most confusing thing. He huffs out a big lungful of air, like he's boutta cry, but he doesn't cry. He starts laughing. He starts laughing, hard, like it's all a giant, funny joke that no one has gotten until now. Rick stands and starts laughing too, but his eyes have gone wet, too, and slowly, surely, everyone else starts sighing and laughing and clapping. Even Andrea's smiling! I'm smiling too, because I feel like I'm allowed — Like there ain't some catch. The jerky. Glenn made botched jerky. All those times my stomach was clenching like a sore fist — I weren't dying. All those times I was hurtin', back at the quarry — It weren't nerves. It was the jerky, messin' up my insides, 'cause it weren't made right. Jacqui runs for the food supply and she comes back with a zip-lock bag full of Glenn's jerky, and—

"God!" Everyone cringes all at once.

It's absolutely covered in mold. It's the worst-cured jerky in the entire world.

"Daddy—?"

"It was the fucking jerky?" Glenn's never looked so happy to be an idiot. "It was the jerky?"

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." My Daddy grabs both my cheeks. "You're fine. You got food poisonin', baby."

"I'm not dyin'?" I ask, just so I can hear him say no again, and then I ask it three more times, just to be sure. My Dad kisses my forehead, and then I'm in a big, strong, hug, and I'm alive. I'm alive again! And I can feel my heart-beat in my chest, and I can breathe, and I can do whatever I want, 'cause I'm alive. All that pacing and worrying and breaking of hearts and grave-digging of old memories, just for it to be Glenn's fatty, unsalted jerky. He's coming closer, now, and my Dad pulls away from me just enough to let Glenn give me a little hug.

He almost killed me. I think that makes us friends, now.

"Hoo! Praise Jesus!" T-Dog hoots, and Carol thinks he's bein' silly, 'cause she slaps his shoulder.

"I'm not dyin'." I laugh.

It's like we've won the lottery. All one camp, all happy, together. Rick grabs my Dad's arm and gives him a nod, a nod that says, It's over now, and my Dad nods back. I think to myself, randomly, that this is what family looks like. None of us were born together, and we ain't even know each other before, but we're all cryin' and laughin' together, and we chose each other. We chose to be scared together, and now we get to be happy, together.

"Man, we gotta keep you away from the food for a while!" Shane's teasing Glenn. "I mean, whoo!"

"I love you, Daddy," I'm suddenly admitting to my Dad, under all the happy shouts, while he stares up at me in the light of the truck.

He says somethin' he ain't said in years. "I love you too, Harley."

I get another kiss on the head, and another hug, and maybe, I'm thinking, this could be home. I might get to grow up here, instead.

I'm alive.

"Somebody throw that damn bio-hazard jerky in the trash!"

Author's Note. Hehehe, that last scene. So much fun to write. Stupid Glenn.

There's actually quite a few lines of foreshadowing in all the chapters leading up to this one. We all knew that Harley was probably going to be fine, but I tried using the food poisoning to keep everybody on their toes. Drama. Gotta have it, hehe.

I really hope you enjoyed reading. Thank you for being here! :)

[crowsource]

🐦‍⬛ 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇, 𝚙𝚝. 𝟷 —quotes taken from the album of the same name by twenty one pilots. some edits have been made to allow for rp purposes. feel free to adjust for pronouns/names/etc. [ part 2 here! ]

❝ Cover me. ❞

❝ I can't believe how much I hate. ❞

❝ I'll be right here. ❞

❝ You'll have to grab my throat and lift me in the air. ❞

❝ If you need anyone, I'll stop my plans. ❞

❝ You'll have to tie me down and then break both my hands. ❞

❝ Cowards only come through when the hour's late. ❞

❝ Everyone's asleep. ❞

❝ I know I shouldn't say this. ❞

❝ I probably shouldn't show you, but it's way too late. ❞

❝ This is not enough. ❞

❝ Don't feed me to the vultures. ❞

❝ I am a vulture who feeds on pain. ❞

❝ Please keep me down from the ledges. ❞

❝ Can't stop thinking about if and when I die. ❞

❝ We're surrounded. ❞

❝ Are we still in love and is it possible we feel the same? ❞

❝ If I keep moving, they won't know. ❞

❝ What they throw at me's too slow. ❞

❝ I'm just a ghost. ❞

❝ Anybody listening? ❞

❝ I'll morph to someone else. ❞

❝ When everyone you thought you knew deserts your fight, I'll go with you. ❞

❝ I'll go with you. ❞

❝ Stay with me. ❞

❝ You don't need to run. ❞

❝ They're callin' for your head and they're callin' for your name. ❞

❝ Did you know I was grown with you? ❞

❝ If you find yourself in a lion's den, I'll jump right in and pull my pin and go with you. ❞

❝ I'll be back when it's all complete. ❞

❝ I'm runnin' for my life. ❞

❝ I felt I was invincible. ❞

❝ I despise you sometimes. ❞

❝ I'm so sorry I forgot you. ❞

❝ Can you build my house with pieces? ❞

❝ I've always been collected, calm, and chill. ❞

❝ I never look for conflict for the thrill. ❞

❝ For you, I would get beat to smithereens. ❞

❝ What's my problem? ❞

❝ I want you to follow me down to the bottom. ❞

❝ Keep your wits about you while you got 'em. ❞

❝ I could give up and boost up my reputation. ❞

❝ I could go out with a bang. ❞

❝ They would know my name. ❞

❝ Our words are loud, but now I'm talking action. ❞

❝ How could he go if he's got everything? ❞

❝ I'll mourn for a kid, but won't cry for a king. ❞

❝ Promise me this: if I lose to myself, you won't mourn a day. ❞

❝ Move onto someone else. ❞

❝ Can we give this some room for a new point of view? ❞

❝ Well, I'm refusing the weapon. ❞

❝ I'm not disrespecting what was left behind. ❞

❝ Maybe we swap out what it is that we hold so high. ❞

[verdantcrimson]

Gourmand Fragrance / Wagashi Revolution - 5

(Unproofread)

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[The next day]

Nazuna: —So yesterday, me and Keito-chin did some research to figure out what kind of wagashi to make for Valentine’s day.

Nazuna: Kuro-chin, you should have a look at the recipe too.

Kuro: Yup. Already heard about what we’ll be makin’ from Hasumi danna.

Kuro: What was it… We were gonna make a kind of wagashi called ‘nejikiri’, right?¹

Nazuna: You meant to say ‘nerikiri’, right? Saying we’re going to make screw cutters is scary, Kuro-chin!

Kuro: Sorry. Didn’t really check exactly what the name was. So, what kind of wagashi are nerikiri, exactly?

Nazuna: It’d be quicker to just show you on my phone. Nerikiri is a kind of wagashi made with bean paste that’s also fun to look at.²

Kuro: Ahh, I’ve seen those. Kanzaki brings them to me sometimes.

Kuro: I get it. Now that you mention it being fun to look at, I can see how cute they are.

Kuro: When Kanzaki gave ‘em to me, I ate ‘em without really lookin’ too close. I feel kind of sorry about that now.

Nazuna: Ahaha, well I’d feel good eating something delicious too.

Kuro: So, why’d ya decide on nerikiri?

Nazuna: After our market research, we realized that people like cutesy stuff for Valentine’s day.

Kuro: Ah, s’pose that’s true. Girls love cute things, after all.

Kuro: Recently my little sister’s started preppin’ to make chocolate. I’m lookin’ forward to what kind of chocolate I’m gonna get. ♪

Nazuna: Ahaha, Kuro-chin, you’re on good terms with your little sister as usual~.

Nazuna: On Valentine’s day I’ll bet we’ll get to see you looking all smug because you got chocolate from your little sister. ♪

Kuro: I don’t plan on showin’ that side of myself so easily. Besides, it’s gonna be busy that day thanks to the Chocolat Festival.

Nazuna: You really think so~? You tend to slip up a lot when it comes to your little sister.

Nazuna: Well, we’ll save that fun for the day of. For now, let’s focus on wagashi!

Nazuna: Since you can shape nerikiri however you’d like, I thought we might be able to create a cute design for Valentine’s day!

Nazuna: Making the nerikiri paste is pretty time-consuming, but there’s nothing you can’t do at home! What do you think?

Kuro: Right. If we leave the cute design work to you, Nito, there won’t be much to worry about.

Nazuna: Yup! When it comes to cute stuff, leave it to us Ra*bits!

Nazuna: … Is what I would really like to say, but I’m not great at cooking.

Nazuna: So that’s why we’ll be relying on you, Kuro-chin!

Nazuna: Kuro-chin, you’re great with your hands, so I’m sure you’ll be able to make the cutest nerikiri of them all!

Kuro: M’not sure if I can live up to those expectations, but I’ll do what I can.

Kuro: Anyways, Hasumi danna and co. are runnin’ late. Are they not back yet?

Nazuna: They’re taking more time than you normally would to buy ingredients, aren’t they? I haven’t heard from them, so I’m a little worried.

Keito: Sorry, did we keep you waiting?

Nazuna: Woah, speak of the devil. Welcome back, Keito-chin and Rei-chin.

Kuro: Ya took your sweet time comin’ back, didja get into some sorta trouble?

Keito: No, we just stopped by the office to drop off a proposal.

Nazuna: A proposal? Well, it’s fine if you happened to find the time while out shopping, but I wish you’d tell us beforehand.

Keito: I’m sorry, the proposal was put together in a hurry after some discussion with Sakuma.

Keito: At the time I left, it hadn’t been completed yet, so I was unsure if we’d be able to submit it.

Kuro: A proposal that you finished in that much of a hurry? What kind is it?

Rei: It’s a plan for Valentine’s day wagashi. We went to the agency and proposed a cooking show with the theme of ‘Wagashi as the star of Valentine’s day’.

Nazuna: Wh- What!? Why’d you go and do that!?

Keito: I apologize for not asking you first. In retrospect, it wasn’t a good idea to put off having a proper discussion about it in our frantic rush to create a proposal.

Kuro: I don’t really care. I’m used to bein’ pushed around by you, danna, and it’s not like I can’t think for myself at all, right?

Nazuna: I don’t mind either, but could you at least explain why you made that plan?

Keito: The reason is quite simple. It’s to solve the problem that we encountered during our research yesterday.

Nazuna: It was the fact that the fancy, formal image of wagashi didn’t match people’s preferences for Valentine’s day sweets, right?

Keito: Indeed. Though that isn’t the case in actuality.

Keito: We will remedy this by appearing on a cooking show to promote them. We’ll introduce and make all sorts of cute looking wagashi.

Keito: Let’s spread the word that “wagashi can be the star of Valentine’s day too!”

Nazuna: Keito-chin, I didn’t think you would go that far……

Rei: It just so happened that the agency was looking for a Valentine’s day project aside from the Chocolat Festival.

Rei: Little lady Anzu is helping out too, so as long as things proceed smoothly, the plan should go through.

Nazuna: I-Is it really going to happen so fast?! Actually, that’s concerning…

Keito: I feel that way too. The fact that the agency is looking for additional Valentine’s day projects alongside the Chocolat Festival sounds too good to be true.

Keito: It feels like someone conveniently suggested it to them in advance, doesn’t it?

Rei: Goodness gracious, whatever are you suggesting? I haven’t got a clue myself.

Keito: … Well, it’s fine. I’ll let this odd coincidence slide for now, since it’s working in our favor.

Keito: Kiryu and Nito, I’m sorry for getting you involved without asking you first. Like I said before, if you can’t do it, feel free to turn me down right now.

Keito: In which case, Sakuma and I will simply film an introductory program by ourselves.

Nazuna: Don’t start talking like a stranger, Keito-chin! Since we’ve come this far together, I’ll definitely join in!

Kuro: Yeah, danna. It’d be worse if ya decided to have us be the only ones left out.

Keito: … I see. Thank you, both of you.

Rei: Fufu. Now that we’ve decided on this, we ought to start our practice in making the wagashi that will be introduced on the cooking show.

Rei: We can’t be making concrete chocolate on filming day, now can we? ♪

Keito: Hmph. Even if you hadn’t said that, I’m well aware that I’m the weakest link of the bunch.

Keito: However, you have no reason to worry. I’ll make them perfectly on the day of.

Keito: I’ll prove that wagashi can be the star of Valentine’s day too!

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Translation Notes

Nejikiri is, well, a screwcutter. I couldn't translate the pun, so I did my best.

Nerikiri are small, detailed sweets made of sweetened white bean paste and rice flour. They come in a variety of designs and shapes. I happened to stumble across an artist's Valentine's nerikiri. Have a look!

[pianocat939]

I'm sitting here stranded by snow the height of a 6/7-year-old child and just living with it. It's fucking winter wonderland and it's great.

This can be read as romantic/platonic whatever you interpret it as.

(To be honest, I feel like there really isn't any) Tw: If you aren't used to snow you might die hah weaklings

December Disentangle

"I'm cold~ Give me an arm or a leg~" Leo whines, arms outstretched with layers upon layers of blankets on his body. He shivers, the frosty temperatures chilling his veins.

"If it'll get you to stop whining then sure." Y/n unamusedly stares at him for a moment before sinking onto the sofa next to him. They cross their arms, staring at a random wall.

While the pair rest on the furniture, Donnie and Mikey are in the lab, bickering with each other.

"You need to get the power up and running again really soon because I am not having them stay so cold! Think about how uncomfortable they are right now!" Mikey complains to his elder brother, his brow muscles furrowed in dismay. He turns around, clutching a few candles in his hands.

Donnie sighs in frustration as he hurriedly rewires everything while trying to figure out the breakage in the electrical current. "'Angelo I'm almost having a breakthrough here, now make sure to tuck in the edges of the blanket to maintain enough body heat...For them at least, since we're not warm-blooded."

"Get it up and runnin' Donnie! I put my trust in you, my man!" Mikey calls out as he exits the lab, plastering a smile on his face as he excitedly skips to the duo on the couch.

Leo dramatically puts a hand to his chest, a snarky tone coming out from his mouth, "When will Donald get the power working again, I'm literally freezing!" He kicks his feet over Y/n's legs, trying to take as much space as possible.

"Now, now, Leo, he's working really hard and is going to get it back soon. Anyway, move over! I'm cold too!" He pushes Leo's legs aside and sits down on the other side of Y/n, nuzzling his face onto their arm.

"What are we going to do about those candles? Did you just bring it out here for nothing?" The middle one questions, further leaning back into the cushion. Despite their interrogation, no response answers back, just some grunts of acknowledgment.

"I gotta lighter here. Let me light 'em." Raph enters from a distant corridor, holding a firearm-shaped contraption. He takes the candles from Mikey's arms and lights them one by one, placing them on the table in front of the couch. "There, should be a bit warmer."

He stares at the warm bunch and steps closer, hesitating about what he should do. He walks to the edge of the sofa, and then falls forward, crashing onto the other three's laps. Yelps of surprise and complaints come from the group, not impressed with Raph.

"Raphhhh, you're heavyyyyyy!"

"Ow! I already have Leo's legs on my lap!"

"EXCUSE ME, MY LEGS ARE GONNA GET CHOPPED OFF!"

Raph chuckles and nuzzles closer, absorbing the heat trailing through the bodies. "I'm cold too, y'know. Now stop complaining."

They don't persist and try to sleep, having nothing to do with the power out.

——————————————————

"Brothers I have gotten the power back up, now we shall be able to return to our daily routines..." Donnie trails off, processing the sight before him. He frowns slightly, his shoulders slumping a little. "As much as I hate physical touch, I wish to be included in your group." He walks up to one of the arms of the sofa, and climbs upon it, sitting quite close to Leo's shoulder. He leans back, resting his head on the top of the couch.

Winter, a time of cold yet brings even the strongest to the warmth.

——————————————————

I wonder how the turtles survive in New York sometimes. Like it's probably not as bad as I live but it's still the North (I suppose in the Rottmnt version Splinter's human genetics might make them more resistant). Idk thoughts at midnight ig

Sorry I haven’t much in a while, procrastination takes over my brain.

- Celina

[autumnalwalker]

Songs and Ships Tag

Rules: write about two to five songs from them that represent your a ship between your ocs (it can be platonic or romantic or a secret third thing). then add a quote from said wip (if possible!) underneath it.

Thank you for the tag, @theprissythumbelina.

Passing the (optional) tag to @blind-the-winds, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, @void-botanist, @theimperiumchronicles, @ieppiq, and an open tag to anyone else who wants to join in.

So, now here's Sullivan and Road from Empty Names being "a secret third thing". Think of these all as being sung from Sullivan's perspective to Road, and in roughly chronological order:

Dear Fellow Traveller by Sea Wolf

Dear fellow traveler under the moon I saw you standing in the shadows and your eyes were blue You put your hand out, opened the door You said, "Come with me, boy, I want to show you something more"

You spoke my language and touched my limbs It wasn't difficult to pull me from myself again And in our travels, we found our roads You held it like a mirror, showing me the life I chose

Eternity by Mizz Fish

Friends like you are hard to find So I’ll stick with you til the end of the line We aren’t perfect but that’s alright

All your dreams, your passions, ambitions You’ve told them to me like a man on a mission And I’ve done the same to you many times

Somehow we made our way here just by lookin around Somehow we knew what was lost had somehow been found Because of you I knew I could be who I wanted to be without feelin a fool In front of those who don’t understand Because of you I knew that sometimes you may be hurtin But that cannot stop you from feelin deserving And following your dreams You come runnin when I fall even if I don’t make a call for help No one needs their eyes to see We’ll be friends for eternity

Trying times and metal struggles I know for a fact you’ll be there on the double Because you won’t want me to feel alone

And anytime you need someone beside you A shoulder to cry on, a friend to stay true You know I would never let you down

The Funnyman's Smile by Michael McCormic Jr.

Well, I had a dream I was trapped in a cave with nothing but a magic lamp I polished its side, and out you came with gold shackles around your hands You said, "Son, I think there's something people like you and me should know" Life is more than empty jokes and putting on a show 'Cause you can make the world smile, and get nothing in return And in the end you find that what you give is what they think you're worth Then you offered me three wishes, but I saw only one worth while" I said, "I want the chance to make the Funnyman smile Oh, give me a chance, a chance to show you"

Funnyman, you're not alone No, even when you're crying I'll be there to hold you close And tell you everything will be alright

Because doctors still need checkups Bartenders need a drink or two The funnyman, still needs to smile And these days, I do, too 'Cause all the times you made me laugh Now they feel a little colder To know that when life knocked you down You cried on your own shoulder 'Cause you can make the world forget its problems for a while But who was there to make you smile? Tell me, who was there to make the Funnyman smile? Oh, to make the Funnyman smile

Ship in a Bottle by fin

You can fit everything you know In a bottle for you to show Pick your brain apart and put it in And build it again with needles and pins Everything you have earned is a ship With blue waves crashing into it But nothing can touch your happy thoughts anymore With your glass ceiling, walls, and floor

Between My Teeth by Orla Gartland

And I-I-I bite my tongue 'Cause I don't know how to tell you I'm getting this urge to run And I-I-I bite my tongue 'Cause I don't know how to tell you Oh, you deserve someone else Who can treat you like I want to

Oh, ah, ah, please don't lean on me 'Cause I don't want your heart between my teeth I, I think I better leave 'Cause I don't want your heart between my teeth I can't take the pressure of it, I can barely breathe Ah, ah, please don't lean on me 'Cause I don't want your heart between my teeth, no

Turtles All The Way Down by Sammy Copely

See, I could choose for the both of us And you'd just go along because You've trusted me for no good reason Love no matter what the season

Force the last page of our story You're my favourite allegory Hope to god that you'll forgive me My mistakes will long outlive me Mine, mine is the unkind, kindest cut of all And I'll watch you fall

And I don't know if this makes it any easier Perhaps you'll find comfort when I say You and I are nothing more than meteors Never meant to live long past today

Yes, I'll choose for the both of us You'll just go along because You've trusted me against your judgement You deserve someone who doesn't

Force the last page of your story No more boring allegories Hope to god you'll rise above me Though you'll always be part of me Mine, mine is the unkind, kindest cut of all I'll watch you fall

Now watch me fall

And now a snippet:

“I see.  I’ll leave you to it then.  Just try not to rough anyone up too badly while you’re there.”

“Of course not.”  Unlike with this job, Sullivan had given his friend his word about certain aspects of his conduct ahead of time.  It had been long indeed since the last time his friend had simply explained a situation and left with no implication other than that they wouldn’t ask questions about what Sullivan chose to do with the information.  It was certainly one way to keep their conscience clean.  “Sleep tight,” he adds.

“I’ll try.  See you later.” 

The line goes silent but there’s no click of a hangup.

Sullivan moves to the kitchen, checks the freezer, and finds it surprisingly boring.  No stashed electronics, frozen potions, or preserved body parts.  He grabs a carton of ice cream, kicks another body out of the way so that its partially-crushed head won’t hold the door open anymore, and closes the freezer.  

Returning to the balcony, he leans over the railing, balances the carton on it and begins scooping out ice cream with a knife.  Much like the city vista below, it’s night black and speckled with glazed bits that reflect the glowing veins of light that run through it.  At least the penthouse’s late owner had good taste in something.

He glances back over his shoulder and blinks through his filters.  No significant signatures other than the already-ransacked saferoom.  He returns his gaze to the view, eats his looted ice cream and waits with his phone still up to his ear.

“Su?” his friend’s expected voice finally whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Am I a bad leader?”

“Of course not, everyone loves you.  They’d follow you anywhere.”

“But should they?”

“Hey, what brought this on?”

“This is twice now that Eris and Ashan have come back in bad shape, and every quest so far we all wind up separated.”

“That’s just a new team going through the growing pains of getting used to working together.  The point is they came back and it’s not been anything they couldn’t recover from, and you’ve been able to help everyone you’ve tried to help.  That sounds like a resounding success to me, especially for the early stages.”

Silence.

Consideration.

Waiting.

“Has this happened before?”

“Do you want me to answer that?”

“No.  I don’t think I do.  It’s just…”

Sullivan’s grip on his phone tightens.

“Just what?”

“I’ve been thinking about the gaps more than I should lately.”

“And?”  They should barely be able to think about them at all.

“The list of reasons I’d want to leave them empty is pretty short, isn’t it?”

The ice cream carton tumbles down to the streets far enough below to be another world.

“You trust me?”

“For happily ever after.”

How bitter the old joke between them is.

“This isn’t going to be another gap.  I would have tried harder to talk you out of it if I thought there was a chance of that.”

“Thanks.  I needed to hear that.”

“That’s what I’m here for.  Now get some sleep.  You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I’ll try not to dream.”