most people would go out to the bar to spend their new year eve, maybe even the club; ramona has done both in the past. losing herself in the atmosphere of life & noise was perfect to make her forget her troubles for a while, even if only for one night. the idea was usually her friends, they were the ones who wanted to party, so she obliged, & gotten drunk plenty of times, met plenty of lovers who she took back to her apartment ( & vice versa ) but nothing too serious ever came from it. she met ricky at some point in her life & she hasn't thought about partying & meeting people to hook up with in a while.

lilah always warns her, & she knows lilah has nothing but her best interests in her mind; ricky is not good for her, there's always something about ricky that doesn't make any sense. ramona often lies to herself there's nothing wrong with him, but even she has days when she wakes up & realizes that there is plenty about him she doesn't get. something she feels she should understand—& she wants to understand.

when ramona first arrived at ricky's apartment for the first time, it was a pigsty, & since then, she has hung around enough times to clean it up so it now looks presentable. she tossed out the pizza boxes, cleaned up the dishes, & even did his laundry ( she could already hear lilah's groans. ) the apartment is now cleaner, as the two of them sit on his sofa, while the excitement of fireworks exploded outside, flooding the black sky with splashes of colors. it's on nights like this that ramona prefers to stay inside with ricky, for once in her adulthood.

ramona claps her hands joyously as the countdown begins; it's just the two of them but she still feels the new year spirit in the air. as the clock finally reaches midnight, she feels it—a pair of lips pressing against her forehead, strangely chilly but not uncomfortably so. it's a simple, tiny gesture, yet her heart feels full. when ricky pulls back to look at her, ramona cannot help but grin, cheeks flushed, & not because of the champagne. "happy new year," she hums, then presses a chaste kiss on his lips.

@afteriimage : Manny: " hey — stay with me. "

she can't blame him for being startled. in the short time since waking up, pat has managed to yank the iv from her arm and nearly fall over the second she tried to get up from the hospital bed, overcome with a head rush that made everything around her spin for a second. she tries again, a little bit steadier this time, but she still has to hold onto manny's arm to keep her balance. " take me home, manny, " she orders, although it sounds more like a cry than anything. " i'm serious. i wanna go home. "

accepting : misc angst starters.

He’s leaning over the counter, a few guns and parts splayed out between them. She’s done more than impressive work fixing up his guns like new, better than any gunsmith he’s found in his many, many years in the Wasteland. But it almost seems a waste—what else can she do or make? She’s the one who’s called most guns that come to her rudimentary. Maybe with the right parts she can make something better, and if he brings her the parts…well, maybe he can be the first to test it out.

So the pair examine his offerings, her more closely than him, as the question hangs in the air—what can you make with all of this?

SMASH OR PASS. accepting

The streetlamp outside his apartment glows tangerine mothballs and casts a halo behind Manny’s head. 

He strategically considers the best answer to this question. He lost his phone. Lazy, but believable. He was too busy, which, while true, is nullified by the knowledge that there have been exactly two instances where he had gone ghost. The first was before the advent of cellular data. The second: when he lied regurgitated on his own bed for a week, his life spat out into multiple fractal parts, the miserable owner of a new heart. 

Tonight, he’s been caught like he’s lying. The worst kind of found. Sam’s de-vested of his suit jacket, feeling exposed. 

@afteriimage sent 💋 for a picture of my muse’s IDEAL DATE

She hadn't been called Hellfire for nothing. Five years after Kite Kennaway disappeared from the world of professional fighting and she is still a storm in the ring, vicious and bloody and victorious. More so, if anything. Some months after recruiting her into the underground Ames had slowly begun pitting her against men here and there, plausibly for lack of women in the circuits, but now they are the only fights she takes and he's gotten bolder, setting her up for bigger odds. This has been the biggest fight yet, and the first one she'd flown for since being a public champion.

It always itches, being so far away from her sister, but at least they're on the same continent and having a fight takes the edge off, as much as she knows Dove would hate it if she knew. The truth is Kite likes her new career; really likes it. There's a freedom that wasn't there before in the professional limelight, both in the fights and outside. Namely no god damn paparazzi to deal with. No autographs, no fan photos, no entourage needed. Ames takes care of the technical business and Kite does what she does best.

She's climbed out of the ring and is pushing through the crowd when someone is jostled into her by the excited throng already cheering for the next fight.

"Whoa—easy there." Kite steadies the girl with strong hands still in their wrappings, bloody from the fight. Ready to push on, she pauses, studies her. Petite and far too lovely to be part of this sweating, blood-hungry horde. "You okay? Seems like maybe you took a wrong turn somewhere."

handwritten url meme.

never too late to the party <3 i didn’t have a green that matches what your blog’s theme has so i leaned more to the warm brown, orange and copper tones (this was also an ink sample so that’s why it looks like that)