#...is not here anymore; but their contribution can stay!

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bags

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

masterlist

a/n: happy pride! this month is so special — my birth month and first pride as a bisexual 😝 what better way to celebrate than a clairo fic 🩷 i tried really hard to get this up to my standards but i fear i’ll have to edit it more tomorrow morning … anyways i hope you still enjoy the read <3

ALSO PAIGE W CAREER HIGH IKTR 🙂‍↕️

one.

every second counts, i don’t wanna talk to you anymore.

all these little games, you can call me by the name i gave you yesterday.

–

paige would say she was pretty good at this.

this being attracting people, turning heads.

though she would never admit it, she knew she was…somewhat attractive.

she knew how to style her blonde hair that toed the line between effortless and done with enough effort. she knew her blue eyes looked a little deeper and a little more irresistible under the sun.

she also knew that she was attractive in a way that drew people, boys and girls alike. that her undeniable athleticism contributed to her already attractive looks, and that her height definitely drew attention from girls the same way her soft giggles drew in guys.

so yeah, maybe she’d practiced a few pickup lines in her time. maybe she had a look. a signature smirk. a way of leaning in, just enough to catch people off guard — to blur the lines of friendly and flirty.

and yeah, she’d say she’s pretty confident that she’s got game.

but right now? she was seriously rethinking it. because there's only two options.

either she’s not as attractive or smooth as she thought she was.

or azzi’s just fucking clueless as hell.

–

gone were the facetime calls stretched thin over different time zones, the half-asleep whispers just to stay connected for another five minutes. no more quick weekend trips that ended too fast, or half-unpacked bags by the door.

azzi had finally committed. to uconn, to her team, to paige.

and now she was here. with her vanilla-scented shampoo that somehow lingered in every room she walked through. with her soft curls and oversized hoodies and the exact brand of laundry detergent that paige used but somehow smelled more fragrant. and god did it make paige’s heart hurt in a weird, intimate way. she’s everywhere, burrowed in every surface and corner of paige’s life and she didn’t know if it was a good thing or if it was genuinely gonna kill her.

and yeah, maybe paige has been subtly flirting since that plane ride back to minnesota, but that was all in the past. when she didn’t have the confidence she did now, before all the nights they spent getting to know each other, before she had confidence that azzi felt the same way.

now, they were older. they had their own space, their own schedule, their own life.

now, paige wants.

achingly, embarrassingly, and disgustingly desperate in the middle school crush kind of way.

and honestly, she thinks she deserves some kinda recognition cause she’s really been trying here.

she brought up azzi’s boxes the second her car pulled in. helped build her furniture, even when it gave her splinters and a mild breakdown. she complimented her every chance she got during practice—sweet, casual comments laced with a longing she hoped azzi might finally pick up on.

“you look pretty with your hair like that.” she had said after a team workout, paige pressed up azzi’s side. the younger had braided strands of her hair back into a soft crown. and despite being sweaty and flushed, still she looked like something straight out of a daydream. it was unfair really.

azzi barely blinked. “thanks, paigey,” she said, casual and light, chugging her water before patting paige’s knee like she was a dog who just did a trick.

what the fuck?

she tries to ignore the flare of annoyance at the nickname, remembering how she only called her that when they wanted to tease each other or piss each other off a little.

but she tried again, a little braver. a little more direct.

“no seriously, az. did i ever tell you how pretty you are?”

this time, azzi looked a bit startled.

paige thought, finally. she’s catching on. she sees it.

see me. please see me.

“i literally look like shit paige.” she rolled her eyes playfully as her attention drifted, pulled toward caroline laughing over a dumb tiktok.

paige blinked, trying to ignore the sting behind her eyelids and the pang of hurt that bubbled in her chest.

azzi: 1, paige: 0

—

two.

can you figure me out? just doin’ to waste more time on the couch.

the second time paige really tries was their second year together, and she thinks she actually might lose her mind. or kill someone. or both.

they’ve found their rhythm now. azzi wakes up first, padding into paige’s dorm with her hoodie sleeves swallowed over her hands, whispering “wake up” like it’s a secret just for them. then it’s morning runs, team practice, and a stop at 7/11 for their excuse of a breakfast: beef jerky, chocolate milk, and whatever chip brand they were currently obsessed with that week. afterwards, they head back to paige’s dorm to shower and complain and half-nap before dragging themselves to class.

they were practically stuck to the hip, even having their night routine together down. after class and any obligation they had for a day, it was almost an unwritten rule between the two that they would take turns sleeping over at each other’s dorm, eating sugary snacks that cd would absolutely murder them for eating and passing out during a movie, limbs intertwined and breathing in sync.

it’s predictable. sacred. comforting. theirs.

and if paige’s heart stuttered a little every time azzi leaned into her side on the walk to class, or when their hands brushed accidentally-on-purpose at the vending machine – well. she told herself it was normal. it was fine. they were best friends.

the team had a name for it. they called it “the thing.” paige and azzi’s thing. a relationship that wasn’t a relationship, but also very much was. an entire ecosystem of soft looks, inside jokes, and brush-of-the-hand flirts.

and yeah paige would elbow whoever said it out loud, but everyone knew.

azzi fudd was untouchable. off-limits. claimed.

and paige bueckers?

hopeless. head over heart, down bad.

–

that night, they go out to celebrate the start of the season. just the team, their partners, and a plan to let loose before their lives get swallowed by the practice, travel and press they’ve grown to be thankful for yet still despise. they’re at some packed bar with too-loud music and neon lighting, and paige is already two drinks in when azzi slides up next to her, cheeks flushed and eyes bright from laughter.

“hey, stranger,” azzi says, nudging her shoulder. “been looking for you.”

paige blinks, thrown off for half a second. her pulse spikes. “yeah?” she asks, teasing, turning toward her fully. “you miss me or something?”

azzi doesn’t answer, just grins while she looks up at paige.

paige doesn’t know if she's turned on or in pain.

cause azzi looks good. a simple crop top that showed smooth skin, mascara that accentuated the brown eyes paige has been wanting, needing, begging for.

azzi looked like sin.

“you’re glowing,” paige says, voice low and soft like she means it. because she does. god, she does.

azzi just snorts. “it’s the vodka soda.”

paige grins and leans closer, breath warm against her ear as her lips brush the skin ever so slightly. “nah, it’s just you.”

azzi laughs, easy and bright, like paige’s words are harmless. like they don’t mean everything.

“you’re so drunk, paige.”

“am not!” paige says, pouting now, bumping their knees together. “but even if i was, i’d still say you’re the prettiest person here.”

azzi paused for a second, lips apart and an unreadable look in her eyes and for a second, paige indulges – lets herself embrace the dangerous hope bubbling up in her chest.

her heart actually stutters.

but then azzi giggles, ruffles her hair, and sips her drink.

“you’re actually ridiculous.”

like paige is a joke. a pet. a harmless, harmless crush.

paige laughs along, like her chest didn’t just cave in a little. she turns to aubrey and joins in their conversation, pretending not to feel the slow, quiet crack deep inside her.

still, she tries. because she’s stubborn. because azzi’s worth it. because maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance. she sticks by the younger’s side, buying their drinks, slipping her water every now and then, slipping her arm around azzi’s waist lightly like it was the most natural thing in the world – like paige’s arm belonged there

god, it does. and maybe that’s what made it worse.

because maybe that’s the problem. maybe it’s too easy. too natural. maybe paige’s touches don’t register as more because they’ve always lived in this space between friendship and something deeper. a line that azzi never seems to notice, even as paige teeters right on the edge.

nonetheless, she stays close, whispering dumb jokes in azzi’s ear just to see those deep dimples and her melodic laugh that for some reason, paige could never get sick of. she lets her fingers linger, lets her eyes do the talking. flirts with a kind of quiet desperation.

and azzi? she just smiles, taking the affection like it's casual. like paige isn’t holding her breath every time she reaches for her hand.

and paige? she doesn’t know what the hell is happening.

maybe azzi was just so comfortable in their friendship she didn’t second guess paige’s motives, and god paige would feel really fucking terrible if that was the case. or maybe she felt the same and was scared to show?

or if azzi knew what she was doing, and cared about their friendship and the team to let her down.

fuck.

still, paige believes. there has to be something behind the way azzi always comes to her—her dorm, her bed, her arms. the way her cheeks flush across the court when their eyes meet. that has to mean something. it has to.

maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance.

so paige heads to the bar, heart buoyed by vodka and stubborn hope, intent on grabbing them one more round. she’s halfway through ordering when she glances over her shoulder and freezes.

azzi’s still at their table, but she’s not alone.

beside azzi, perfect azzi with her stupidly pretty cheekbones and stupidly pretty smile and stupidly perfect curls sat a guy. tall, muscular, with dark, unruly curls that fall over his eyebrows and clear blue eyes. and he’s close—too close. his hand rests casually at her waist like it belongs there. like he belongs there.

and the worst part?

azzi was laughing, her smile wide and effortless. her posture relaxed. her body tilted just slightly toward him, just enough to say she’s interested. just enough to hurt.

oh.

and suddenly, the cool bar was too warm, and she could feel her throat dry.

her grip tightens on the edge of the bar, knuckles white. it’s too hot, too loud, too much. her chest aches. her throat is suddenly dry. she watches as azzi brushes a curl behind her ear, the way she always does when she’s flustered or shy. she’s seen that look a hundred times.

she used to think that look was meant for her.

fuck, she was gonna be sick. all over this disgusting counter top.

she turns back to the bartender, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“just one drink,” she says quietly. “for me.”

she doesn’t go back to the table right away. instead, she finds a quiet corner near the back of the bar and lets the music drown out the sting of everything. her drink sits untouched in her hand, condensation running down the sides as she blinks back the sudden burn in her eyes.

maybe she has been ridiculous. maybe azzi’s been this close all this time, and paige never actually had her.

she physically shook her thoughts away like they pained her.

cause honestly? they really did.

“caroline!” she calls out, voice hoarse from emotion and noise. “i’m heading back. tell azzi if she asks.” she ignores the way her friend’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“paige, what-”

she slams the glass down the counter too harshly, weird glances thrown at the sudden noise. but she couldn’t bring herself to care as she marches down the dance floor to the exit.

past the dance floor, past the tables, ignoring the curious glances and concerned stares from her friends, chest hollow.

she doesn’t look back.

the worst part?

azzi doesn’t either.

later that night, azzi pushes open the door to paige’s dorm, adrenaline still buzzing from the night out. she expects the usual: paige half-asleep on her bed, tv playing something they’ve seen a dozen times, snacks scattered across the sheets.

but she stops short.

paige was curled up on the couch, her blanket pulled high over her shoulders like armor. small, still, silent.

which only meant one thing.

paige didn’t want to sleep beside azzi tonight.

didn’t want to see her.

and that realization hits harder than it should.

—

three.

can you see me? i’m waiting for the right time. i can’t read you but if you want the pleasure’s all mine. can you see me using everything to hold back?

–

they never talk about it.

not the distance.

not the moment at the bar.

not the way paige disappeared and never came back to the table, like vanishing would make the ache disappear too.

the tension settles between them like a fog, quiet and dense, too thick to cut through. it lingers in the way paige stops cracking as many jokes. in how her texts come a little slower, a little shorter. how she starts replying with one emoji instead of three. it lives in the space between their shoulders when they sit next to each other on the locker room bench. it’s invisible, but it’s everywhere.

and yeah, maybe it stung, but paige was nothing if not loyal.

and maybe stupidly in love.

so she lets it go. or at least tries to.

a week after the bar, she invites azzi over like nothing happened. like she didn’t feel her heart splinter watching someone else touch what she’d spent years silently longing for. she says everything she usually says, they start their routine again like nothing had happened. hell, she even starts touching azzi again.

platonically, of course.

they slip back into routine. barely. paige tells herself it’s fine. and when she let herself touch azzi again, people noticed the scripted familiarity in place of actual closeness.

everyone sees the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. the way she pulls out of azzi’s hugs a beat too early. how she watches azzi like she’s memorizing something she’s about to lose.

everyone could feel that something had changed. that the bar broke something open.

because that night didn’t just sting. it splintered something deep and raw inside her.

watching azzi laugh with someone else didn’t just hurt, it shattered her.

except azzi.

azzi who lived in her own world, who apparently, was the most oblivious person in the planet. azzi who smiled at paige like she hung the stars but never saw paige quietly looking, no, admiring her in the locker room after each game. azzi, who dances in paige’s orbit, always just close enough to warm her but never close enough to hold.

paige doesn’t know what it is—if it’s her, if it’s the way she loves too hard, too quietly. but no matter how badly she’s been hurt, she can’t bring herself to leave. it’s like gravity. like she’s caught in azzi’s orbit and doesn’t know how to break free.

and yeah, maybe the love of her life was painfully oblivious. or maybe she just didn’t reciprocate her feelings. paige tried not to think about the latter for too long or else she would actually have a breakdown and never stop.

so she stays.

and she tries.

and as she looks at herself in the mirror with her hair in her signature game day braids and ponytail. she takes a deep breath trying to gather every piece of her heart and soul she could bear.

one last time.

and this time, she’s not gonna hold back. she’s gonna get a reaction – an answer.

one last time, no holding back.

–

from the second they step into the locker room, paige is already reaching for her.

trying like her heart didn’t shatter just a few weeks ago, like she didn’t feel absolutely bat shit terriffied. and frankly, that she didn’t feel a little exhausted of the constant rejection that wasn’t rejection? maybe? who the fuck knows at this point.

her eyes find azzi as soon as they broke their team huddle, coach going over their strategy and his usual “don’t fuck up” talk.

and it should be a crime really, how azzi managed to look absolutely radiant under the fluorescent lights, her headphones on and hoodie pulled over her head. her long lashes brushed her cheeks as she scrolled through her phone, probably trying to find a playlist to blast before they start their shoot around.

she walks straight up to her like a magnet being pulled in.

paige bumps their shoulders together, “you’re walking around lookin’ too pretty, gonna distract everyone from the game.” she said slowly, her eyes locked on azzi’s with everything she’s too scared to say aloud.

she didn’t expect much, she’s been knowing this was gonna absolutely crush her. so really, it was only a slight sting in her heart when azzi laughed dismissively, “you’re the one with thousands of thirst edits under her belt, be serious.”

paige masked it all with a smirk, “i’m always serious.” she leaned in closer, making sure the distance between their body screamed anything but platonic, “especially when it comes to you.”

they were close. closer than paige had ever dared trying. she could feel azzi’s breath stutter and see the telling pink slowly colour her cheeks.

and god, she really was down bad. cause after all the heartache she’s been through, she still finds her heart stuttering at the sight.

nearby, kk hears it and mutters under her breath to caroline, “god, she’s trying so hard.”

caroline raises an eyebrow from across the court. “do you think azzi knows?” she whispers.

“no,” aubrey sighs. “and it’s kinda sad. i’m starting to feel bad for paige.”

“starting?” caroline mutters. “girl’s been down bad since freshman year.”

paige ignores them all.

her focus is zeroed in on azzi,s tanding so close and still somehow so out of reach.

who had the nerve to fucking giggle like paige hadn’t just casually flirted like her whole heart wasn’t in it. like it was just another day.

paige wanted to die.

it stings. again.

but she pushes through.

they run through warmups and shooting drills. paige’s eyes keep drifting. her fingers brush azzi’s when they stretch side-by-side, and her breath hitches every time their arms bump. she laughs louder around her. lingers longer.

and this time, she means to be obvious.

because tonight, she’s tired of guessing. tired of almosts. tired of being brave in a way that doesn’t count.

so the moment coach’s final pregame huddle breaks, paige tugs azzi’s wrist gently and pulls her just outside the tunnel, into the quiet shadow of the hallway.

“hey,” she says, eyes soft and unreadable.

azzi tilts her head. “what’s up?”

paige hesitates. her fingers tremble at her sides, heart knocking against her ribs so loudly she swears azzi can hear it. she opens her mouth. closes it. opens it again.

“i like you,” she blurts. “no, i love you.”

azzi blinks.

paige pushes forward, voice steadier, “i love you, azzi. like, can’t think straight, can’t breathe right kind of love. like, every time you walk into a room, it’s like my entire world resets around you. and i’ve been trying to push it away, really i have. but i just… i just need to know.”

and then.

azzi laughs.

paige’s chest drops.

“paige,” azzi says, bumping her shoulder like it’s all one big inside joke. “you’re so dramatic. is this like… one of your locker room speeches? you tryna pump me up before tip-off?”

“no,” paige says, voice low, raw. “i’m not kidding.”

but azzi’s already turning back toward the court, pulling her arm gently. “c’mon, let’s go. we’re gonna be late.”

paige stays frozen.

she watches azzi jog ahead, her ponytail swaying behind her, completely unaware of what she just did.

and just like that.

paige thinks that was her answer.

—

the game goes on. and paige plays like a woman possessed.

she’s on fire from the jump. every three-pointer hits. every steal turns into a fast break. she’s moving with a kind of controlled rage that the opposing team can’t figure out how to contain. she drops twenty by the half. thirty by the fourth. and when the final buzzer sounds and uconn takes the win, the whole bench erupts.

the locker room is chaotic joy. music blaring. gatorade everywhere. aubrey filming a live stream. kk’s dancing in the corner. even geno cracks a smile.

paige doesn’t. doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even spare a glance at her team mates.

she slams her locker shut so hard that it echoes, the metallic clang slicing through the music.

everyone goes quiet.

“paige?” caroline calls.

but paige doesn’t answer. doesn’t look at anyone. just grabs her bag and storms out of the room, jaw clenched, eyes stinging.

and still – she doesn’t let the tears fall.

not yet.

a beat of stunned silence.

“…what just happened?” ines asks.

azzi’s still pulling off her shoes, confused. “she’s probably just mad about something else.”

“mad?” aubrey echoes, incredulous.

“yeah,” azzi shrugs, unbothered. “she pulled me aside earlier and said she was in love with me or something. tried to make it all deep and dramatic.”

the room falls completely silent.

caroline drops the water bottle she’s holding.

“what.” aubrey said lowly, as if she didn’t know if azzi was being serious or not.

azzi blinks. “what?”

“azzi,” caroline groans. “that wasn’t a joke.”

“you can’t be serious,” aubrey mutters.

“she’s been in love with you forever,” caroline says, exasperated. “how do you not know that?”

azzi’s smile falters.

“that was her confessing,” caroline says, stepping forward. “god, azzi. you haven’t noticed how down she’s been every since that night at the bar? when you were flirting with a guy in front of her?”

the bar?

azzi feels a flare of confusion and guilt, remembering at how shrunken and small paige had looked that night. when she entered her dorm to a sleeping paige.

“no, i–” azzi starts, suddenly unsure.

“she’s been trying for weeks,” she continues, “you think paige – the one who consistently begged you to come here just so she could play with you, the one who literally will not let you carry anything heavier than a fucking newborn, the paige that’s been loyal and lovey dovey to you for years now – you think that paige bueckers flirts like that with anyone?”

azzi’s breath catches.

and there it is.

that moment.

that horrible, gut-wrenching, oh.

the realization that she misunderstood everything.

that what she thought was playful banter was actually someone – paige – her best friend, handing over her heart.

and she didn’t know whether she should cry or sit and marvel at the realisation that paige liked her.

paige likes her. azzi.

“i… i didn’t know,” azzi says quietly, voice suddenly small.

aubrey sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. “well, now you do.”

and somewhere down the hallway, past the chaos and celebration and confusion—paige is gone.

and this time?

azzi feels the distance.

and she’s terrified it’s final.

–

four. – azzi’s one.

i don’t wanna be forward, i don’t wanna cut corners.

savour this with everything i have inside of me.

—

azzi doesn’t sleep that night.

her bed feels unfamiliar. hollow. the faint scent of paige’s body wash lingers in the sheets, like even her bed misses her.

she couldn’t remember the last time she fell asleep without someone warm beside her. without soft whispers, or a weight curled into her side. without paige. without the quiet reassurance of her presence, the grounding comfort of her voice when azzi’s thoughts got too loud.

and god, how could she be so dense? how did she miss the ache in her chest when paige was an inch too far? how did she miss the giddiness she felt when paige’s eyes zeroed in on her? the way she saw her, really saw her, and not who people wanted her to be.

paige. of course it’s paige.

she loves paige.

of course she does.

the paige who had stuck with her through sweaty practices, sticky summer visits, mental breakdowns and insecurity that came with her acl injury. the paige that was the first to compliment her form and the first to give her pointers on how to improve. the paige that was so gentle with her it practically ached, but the first to make a stupid joke just to see her laugh.

the paige who’s been her constant. her person.

the paige who was so beautiful she had been pushing herself so far. that maybe if she tried hard enough to pretend that this was all a joke, that what she felt was just a silly crush – a figment of her teenage, hormone filled brain, that she could stay in the safety zone they called friendship.

but instead, she ruined it.

her phone sits heavy in her hand now, the screen dimming in and out of sleep. paige’s name glows at the top of their empty thread.

she keeps typing. deleting. typing again.

paige i’m sorry.

can we talk?

please.

call me back, please p.

nothing. no bubbles, no typing, not even a read.

nothing.

and now it all clicks into place: the way paige would pull her closer, only to retreat the moment azzi leaned in. the way her jokes hid something deeper. the way she looked at azzi like she was scared of being seen, but more afraid of being invisible.

god. she’s been breaking paige’s heart without even knowing.

and paige had still tried. had still stayed.

the silence feels like punishment.

cause fuck, she’d been so sweet. she’d been patient with her and she laughed? brushed it off like it meant nothing.

fuck, she really messed up this time.

azzi sits up in bed, blanket around her shoulders, and finally lets the tears fall.

“i didn’t know,” she whispers to no one. “i didn’t know, i didn’t know, i didn’t know.”

but that doesn’t stop the image of paige’s face from playing on repeat. that look in her eyes when she said i love you. the way her voice broke. the way she stood still while azzi walked away. the way her voice broke, the way her hands stayed at her sides like she was bracing for rejection.

and azzi gave it to her.

and now all azzi wants is to run back.

–

it’s raining when azzi stirs.

she doesn’t remember when she fell asleep. the night stretched on like a nightmare, and it was clear she was dragged through it and back. her face felt sticky with smeared mascara and tears, her hair still in her game day braids, now frizzy and messy.

she couldn’t find it in her to even care.

she throws on a hoodie – paige’s, she realizes when the familiar scent hits her, and her chest cracks open all over again.

she walks across campus in her hoodie and slides, socks soaked, barely feeling the cold. her heart’s pounding so hard she thinks she might puke. she doesn’t even stop to think, just walks straight to paige’s dorm, praying she’s there.

she knocks once.

twice.

then harder.

“paige,” her voice is shaky. she tries to steady it but fails. “paige, please. can you open the door?”

nothing.

and azzi can’t even blame her. but still, she feels her heart crack a little more.

“i know i don’t deserve anything more.” azzi starts, sniffling as she attempts to steady herself. “i get it, i wouldn’t wanna talk to me either after… everything.”

she leans her forehead against the door, her voice cracking.

“i just wanted to say, i’m sorry. i’m sorry i kept pushing you away. i’m sorry i didn’t let myself feel.” azzi’s hands were trembling at this point.

but no.

paige has always been the brave one.

paige loved her, even when azzi didn’t make it easy.

paige gave and gave and gave.

and now it’s azzi’s turn to give something back.

“i didn’t let myself believe it was real because… i think i’ve been in love with you too, and i was scared.”

a beat.

and then another.

“you’ve been in my life for so long, and you’ve always been this… bright, golden thing. and i thought if i let myself feel it, i’d lose you.”

her voice drops to a whisper, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“and i don’t know. maybe i already did. but i don’t wanna lose you paige. i can’t.” she couldn’t help the soft sob that leaves her mouth as she crumples to the floor.

she sniffles, wiping her sleeve across her face. “i’m sorry i laughed. i was nervous and caught off guard and i didn’t mean to make you feel like that. if i could go back and do it over, i’d tell you the second you looked at me that i’ve been so stupid in love with you too.”

for a moment, all she hears is her breathing.

god, she must look so pathetic right now.

but then.

a click.

the door opens.

paige, in the hoodie azzi has stolen a hundred times, eyes swollen and glassy. her expression folds at the sight of her, and azzi can barely breathe.

“azzi.”

and god, azzi doesn’t know how to handle this. the way paige breathed out her name, like it was the only thing keeping her alive. like she was her everything.

like she was in love.

“you mean it?” she says, voice barely a whisper.

azzi nods through her tears, already standing, already stepping into her arms. “i mean it. every word.”

and then paige’s arms are around her, warm and trembling and so desperately needed. azzi wraps herself into her like she was always meant to be there, like it’s the only thing that makes sense. she lets herself inhale paige’s scent, lets herself burrow her face into the blonde’s chest like she’s always wanted to do.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” azzi rambles before she could pull herself back, shaking as paige pulls her tighter.

“i know. i know, baby.”

fuck.

azzi looks up, gazing into the blue eyes she’s known for forever.

and she looks, really looks.

and maybe it’s the nickname, or the rain, or the way paige still holds her like she’s everything, she has absolutely no fucking clue.

but her body knows before her brain can catch up.

her fingers reach up to cradle paige’s jaw, soft and hesitant at first. she lets her thumb brush the damp curve of her cheek, tracing the warmth of skin that’s always felt like home. and paige just gazes down, awe in her blue eyes – and doesn’t pull away. and when she leans into the touch like she’s been starved for it, azzi moves closer, closer, until there’s no space left between them.

her breath stutters. her heart’s in her throat.

and then she closes the distance.

it’s not perfect. it’s messy and tear-slicked and trembling. their lips crash more than meet at first, azzi’s hand shaking as it curls around the back of paige’s neck, as if afraid she’ll disappear.

but she doesn’t.

she stays, rooted in place at first, as if she couldn’t believe this was happening. like this was another one of her dreams and she was terrified to wake up.

but then she melts.

she melts into azzi like she’s been waiting for this forever. like she’s been holding her breath for years and finally, she’s allowed to exhale.

the kiss deepens, slow and aching. paige lets herself soften under azzi’s fingertips, lets her hand wander to the younger’s waist as she pulls her closer, the kiss turning eager yet desperate. she kisses her like azzi is the only thing in the world that makes sense. like this is everything she’s ever wanted.

it feels like breathing for the first time.

like finally coming home.

when they finally pull apart, foreheads pressed together, breaths shared in the quiet space between them, azzi’s hand is still resting over paige’s heart.

azzi feels herself smile, “so, we’re okay?”

and god, paige feels herself fall deeper.

“we’re more than okay,” paige says, smiling for the first time in days. “but next time i confess my love, can you maybe not laugh in my face?”

azzi groans, burying her face in paige’s neck. “i will never live that down, huh.”

“not a chance.”

and when they finally close the door behind them, curling up together in the quiet warmth of paige’s room, it feels like everything that’s been aching finally finds peace.

and this time, no one’s holding back.

—

ps: talk to me thru the inbox w your thoughts :) makes me so happy after posting a fic to see reactions hehe

[ablobwhowrites]

I saw your post about the Poppy playtime: New Home Sweet Home Au and I really like the concept!

Since the release of Ch4 I wanted to request… how would the 17 toys react to seeing the doctor, Harvey Sawyer now in a robot (like in the fan arts) just showing up at the door when Reader goes to open the door.

I can imagine the chaos that would happen.

Especially when the doctor simply requests to live at the house with them.

(thanks for liking the au. Hopefully I can keep cooking with this one. Might make more I don't know)

The doctor forced to live in the garage or something like that.

When y/n opened the door they just kinda froze up looking up at the doctor a doey who was coming out of the living room just quietly ran back in the living where most of the smiling critters where and he just whisper yells that the actual doctor is here and everyone freaks out quietly. Cause like they would be all scared out of their minds because what do you mean the doctor of out side and at the literal door.

Doey immediately plans to protect everyone. He did it at the safe haven, he can do it again. The smiling critters well panic but dog day is the same as doey wanting to try and protect the house and the other toys inside. As most of the toys are afraid of the doctor cause like how the fuck is that guy alive and if he's out than what about the prototype? But it's almost impossible for the prototype to escape cause limitations.

And doey quietly trying to reach out to grab y/n and close the door but it's to risky as they don't want to make their presence known. As they are scared that the doctor will kill them after everything especially trying to kill him as I like he's was the main reason that most of them exist especially that he contributed to making the toys alive and was the head scientist and worked with the prototype. But y/n reluctantly let's him in but just because it's the morning and they don't want the neighbors to see him. Y/n makes a deal that the doctor can live here but the toys can decide where he sleeps and thats ends up to be the garage or attic or any of the rooms that is away from the other toys and y/n and the doctor if fine with that but y/n wants to give him a second chance but doey doesn't. He just wants the doctor away from everyone else and no where near them or y/n.

Harley kinda just had a bed, blanket and a bookshelf as the room he stays in is mainly a spare room and less used guest room. But y/n tries to be nice and put up some posters and some plushies and books in his room but Harvey kinda keeps it bare and does read the books while in his room. Even though the toys don't trust y/n being around the doctor and at least mommy long legs or one of the toys go up with y/n to make sure Harley doesn't try anything funny but mostly Harley doesn't come out of the room. Only at night to take some things to tinker with them (mostly y/n's stuff) but returns it after tinkering with it (he is a control freak. As he realizes he has no power now and isn't able to see everything around him) he does try to be "nice" as he does want a place to live but he's weak and feels vulnerable, having to take refuge in y/n's house and he wonders if he could take you back with him to the factory or to find a something more have you in his grasp (he very much Is delighted by you and your abilities back at the factory and wonders if he could perhaps make you into something greater but doey and the rest of the toys ain't letting that happen if he even tries it) plus picky piggy isn't allowed in the kitchen at night anymore cause she literally had eaten almost all the groceries so now theres a lock on it that stays on until morning.

(that's it for my yap session, I glad you guys like my little silly au. But if you want more please don't feel shy to request any ideas for this or any other fics or stories. Please stay safe and drink water!)

[ethnicallymoral]

Reframing Vander as protective, rather than peaceful.

posted this to twitter here, if you’d like to yap about arcane together! I’m a bit more unhinged on it, heads up.

Here’s a case for reframing Vander dropping his gauntlets on the bridge as choosing PROTECTION over violence, instead of peace. And how, contextually, this could work well with his and Silco’s characterizations pre and post-betrayal. I don't see him as a pacifist.

We know Vander as the Hound of the Underground, and he didn’t earn that title lightly. "Be a shame if I had to put them on again. Cast iron's, well, it's hard to clean." Young Silco, on the other hand, is shown with his journal. He was strategic and that trait stays consistent.

Silco isn’t naturally physically violent, but he surrounds himself with people who are strong, capable, and willing to act on the anger he internalizes. And he knows how to foster that well — something we later see with Sevika & Jinx. He channels his revolutionary ideals through people.

What’s compelling about this is we could then easily make a case that Silco respected Vander’s duty to the cause AND his violent nature. Maybe young Silco wanted to specifically channel Vander’s violence toward their cause/Piltover, often by instigating his temper a step too far.

Vander, by contrast, is capable of terrifying violence, but it’s shown to us as reactive: when the people he’s responsible for are threatened. That can suggest he’s more naturally driven by a protective & parental instinct. His default is to be passive, gentle, & voice of reason.

In this same conversation, Silco listens for most of it and contributes by reaffirming his commitment to their cause. “To Zaun, then.” It would be a great way to foreshadow an inevitable divide between them — regardless of Felicias death. An echo to where their true loyalty lies.

Either way, I think Silco would have kept pushing limits that Vander couldn’t reach. And eventually, he would have hit a wall that Vander refused to cross. AKA, I think Felicia’s death may have been the final catalyst for Vander losing his patience with Silco, but it didn’t START there.

“You had my respect—the Lanes’ respect—but that… that was never enough for you.”

The phrasing makes it sound like Vander was already fed up with just how far Silco was willing to go to not be seen as a filthy little thing anymore (and all of Zaun by extension). That wasn’t new.

When Felicia tells them she can’t parent and be a soldier, she says they’re not allowed to fail anymore. Except they did “fail,” with Silco instigating again. The protest led to a massacre, ankle biters orphaned, and that’s where all of it was brought back up to the surface.

Vander reacted by prioritizing safety. He narrowed his scope to what he felt responsible for: protecting The Lanes and those he loves.

Silco dug his heels in further, staying fixated on ALL of Zaun & its cause. He could not let Felicia’s death be in vain.

In Jinx Fixes Everything, Silco praised Felicia’s courage to have kids with admiration and signed the bottom with “Blisters and Bedrock” — a direct call back. It could suggest that her memory as a martyr fueled his resentment and resolve even more.

Silco was always going to keep fighting, no matter what. Whatever it takes. He had to see everything they did up until then as meaningful. The Day of Ash strengthened his conviction and MAYBE caused survivors guilt that he couldn’t shake.

“What is truth but a survivor’s story?”

Vander’s betrayal may have actually pushed Silco into becoming an even bigger zealot than he already was. It turned his love for people into love for ambition. People hurt you. Ideals don’t. And Vander’s choice to give up the fight was like killing Felicia all over again.

But, Vander saw Felicia’s death as a sign that the Nation of Zaun wasn’t possible. His job as her friend was to protect her and he failed to do that. So his ideals shift: now the only thing that matters is his responsibility to protect what’s left of the community they built.

He tells Silco as much and pleads with him to “spare the Lanes.”

Vanders scope: The Lanes and his family

Silcos scope: ALL of Zaun or nothing

Which does say a lot about Vander’s leadership… but I digress. Even then, he doesn’t say he’s against war or violence, just that they won’t win.

I also don’t think Vander is a pacifist because he never tried to eliminate violence in the Lanes — just contain it AWAY from Piltover. When Vi takes the kids to rob a topside apartment, he isn’t angry about the crime itself. He’s scared because it happened in Piltover.

He gives the “violence isn’t the answer” speech, but smiles when Vi says she beat up Deckard. So violence within Zaun is acceptable; what he fears are the consequences that come from provoking Piltover.

The letter shows Vander still blames Silco to some extent after the river: “The dirt is on both our hands.” Vander regretted the way he went about the split, but I don't get the impression that he feels cutting Silco off at the time was a mistake. Since despite the time that’s passed, he still considers Silco an extremely dangerous loose end. A lurking threat to the people he wants to keep safe. Enough so, that even Benzo was convinced. He knew Silco would still burn everything if it meant saving it.

Meanwhile, Silco had already forgiven Vander by time they meet again. He doesn’t even ask why because he’s not hung up on it. He just wants his Hound back. But they can’t coexist in Zaun. Not in the main timeline.

One was always going to either die fighting or protecting.

TLDR: I think Vander realized that Silco would still stop at nothing to pursue Zaun’s independence causing him to snap out of grief, guilt, but also intense fear. Vander’s responsibility to protect The Lanes kicked into high gear, which meant killing what he saw as the #1 threat: Silco.

I also like this because it parallel’s Silco’s arc as his scope narrows in, too. He wouldn’t stop fighting for Zaun, but he does come to understand Vander by choosing to protect (and love) Jinx.

"The greater good."

[bighungrywolf]

Are you looking for a friend who was here in the pool a moment ago? I'm sorry, but there's nothing left of him. Like all the other swimmers who were in this pool, he has been completely assimilated by my body, and you can't deny that devouring so much delicious prey has paid off, eh? Oh, and don't worry, you're lucky that since you found me after a big feast I'm not hungry anymore, so if you want you can come and admire what your little friend has contributed to my body. I don't bite, for now. But be careful, if you stay worshiping my body too long, my voracious hunger will return, and I could not avoid the temptation to devour such a delicious snack that is within my reach.

So what do you say, do you want to take the risk?

[midnite-c6]

ICKY RLS NAMGYU ARGUMENT HATEFUCK PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

< icky namgyu icky namgyu icky namgyu 3 roh jae wons new photos r making me ovulate (respectfully) byeeee 💔 I MISS NAMGYU sorry this fic is 4 the ppl who mstch my freak only 💔

icky!nam-gyu x reader || warnings: DARK content, 18+, hate sex, hair pulling, nam-gyu's an incel & a mysoginist here 💔 (toxic boyfie), dubcon, degradation

◍⁠✧⁠*⁠。for some reason, you stay, despite his CLEAR red flags, despite how he treats you, you stay. maybe because there are some sweet moments (if you squint), maybe because he gives the best dick, but it doesn't outweigh how filthy he is to you, and it doesn't change how he makes your face wet from tears more than your pussy :(, poor little thing.

so it really took all your courage to kindly ask him to clean a lil' bit, since your small shared apartment was disgusting, dishes uncleaned, clothes all over the place, used tissues beside his desk because he just loves to jerk off infront of his computer, even when your laying in your shared bed, he knows it makes you jealous everytime he plays a video of "a girl who's much prettier than you"

"please atleast learn to throw used cups and tissues inside the garbage bag, nam-gyu, can you even smell the place? clean up, right now." the concerned girlfriend you are reasonably argued, walking right behind his office chair, yet, he brushed you off with a laugh and a dramatic groan. he was not one to take you seriously. "really? why make me a sandwich first, dummy." he says, as a joke, of course. after so many jokes just like that one, it can't help but piss you off. like it was your last straw. "please! just clean up after yourself you... pig." he was silenced, turning his face with a look far from amused, "you're serious, cunt?" that name rolled so easily on his tongue, "i'm just telling you to be a grown up-" his hand cuts you off by tugging on the ends of your hair, making you get on his level since he was sitting down, he was furious you'd have to tell him this, "wowwww... you... tryna' teach me how to be an adult?" you can't help but be quieter in these moments.

he stands up, still having a tight hold on your hair. "dumb bitch, you've got no right to tell me shit." he drags you as he walks near your shared bed together, "...you fucking horny jerk- all you think about is sex-!" he throws you easily onto the mattress as he shoves your face into a pillow, cutting you off- again, straddling behind you. "dammit, shut up! you're annoying mouth needs to be quieter, god." your complaints were no muffled. "your thoughtless mind's got no right to tell me anything. got that?" he pushes your head harder onto the pillows, making sure you understand what he's saying. you shake your head in spite, wiggling your body, not wanting to be dominated by him, again.

he groans, "so damn stubborn," pulling your shorts down until its fully off, like it was second nature he does this everytime the two of you fight, already revealing your flushed pussy since he oh-so "politely" asks you to not wear any panties anymore since it's quote-on-quote lets it breathe & makes it healthier. you agree upon than request since he's ripped too many too count, he doesn't care, he doesn't contribute any money to anything you own anyway. "you better say you're sorry, or i'll force you to apologize dumbfuck." his hand releases your hair for you to respond, and snakes to your folds instead. "you're fucking sick... i'm only asking for y... you to be a ..decent human being..."

"that's not an apology." he flips you over, turning you to face him, his hands wrapping on the back of your knees, folding you in half, just to slam his already-hard dick inside, he barely gives you any prep which backfires on him aswell. your tight cunny makes him groan from the sting. "shit- you should be used to this by now, haven't i fucked this pussy enough?" you sob, how were you supposed to defend yourself now?

he starts to effortlessly roll his hips grinding his dick inside you, you can't help but make even more noises, stringing out phrases less meaningful than the last. "y-you sick fuck..hnmh..!" you weren't saying stop, which surprised him for the most part, you were just so overstimulated by the pain he was giving.

"i'm a sick fuck? i'm a sick fuck? maybe the true sick fuck is how easily you suck me in."

"or how your cunt tightens everytime i insult you."

this earned more sobs from you, and he can't help but be proud of himself. he just wants to insult you over and over again. "fucking hell. you're a dissapointment compared to the amateur girls i find on the internet." that always gets you the most, tears building up on the corners of your eyes, of course you can't compare to them.

"look. you're crying." he leans in to lick the tear running past your cheek. also effectively pulling out to slap his dick against your folds, your conflicted in whether to cry at his mean words or cry because he's teasing you. your reaction just makes him chuckle! thankfully he shoves himself back in, "just for you." you know he's only ramming his cock to hit your cervix over and over again so you'll forget about that stupid argument that you he started. "you clean my dick dry, can't you clean the place too?" oh how rewarding would it be to slap that sadistic grin off his face, but unfortunately, you showed him how much of a moaning mess you are... just for him.

and when he folds you further, your legs on either sides of your face, as he cums warm, thick ropes of his seed inside you, making your face contort into an image so lewd, with your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your tongue sticking it out, he sighs. "ah, atta' girl, that's the face i stayed for." he never compliments you so now you and him knows full well how that comment would secure your place as his "lover" cocksleeve for the rest of your life. (⁠灬⁠º⁠‿⁠º⁠灬⁠)⁠♡

guys the chokehold of the mating press on me these past few days. ALSO size difference ughhhhhhhh. i havent checked squid game tag in ahwule i hope the world needs another namgyu hatefuck💓

[oneofstarkskids]

heyyy!! i loved ur bucky ones shots and i love how ur already writing for cabnw. i was wondering if u could do a one shot about how buckys a congressmen and he is with an ex avenger reader and she doesn’t like him being a congressman but she tries to go along with it to make him happy. eventually she cracks and they argue because she thinks it’s so out of character for him and she doesn’t think she can do that kind of life (yes this is stemming from my anger of the writers making BUCKY BARNES a politician)

someone else

shut up. i feel the same way, so i have absolutely no problem writing this 😼

hope you like it!!

genre: angst/fluff

the day he got the offer, it caught you off guard.

years of running, never trusting anyone, had programmed you to assume it was a rouse.

why else would they want the person they still saw as the winter soldier in the house of representatives?

you'd think the most shocking part would be the president himself presenting the idea.

but it wasn't. no, what had you appalled was the fact that bucky agreed to it.

the same bucky barnes who was drafted into the military against his will at twenty-four years old, just a few years after his father's death.

the same bucky who had to leave his family behind to fend for themselves.

the same bucky barnes that was hunted down like a wild animal.

but of course, you didn't say that.

because he seemed happy.

"this is exciting! i'll need to put a campaign together and get enough votes, but it could work!" he said with passion.

you couldn't understand it for the life of you, but you tried to be supportive.

you helped him stay up late some nights, writing speeches and made sure his tie was straight for every meeting.

you even pushed down your protests every time he had to leave town.

and bucky appreciated it. at least you assumed he did. there wasn't much time for him to tell you between phone calls and plane tickets.

you missed him.

"hey, buck. what if...we go down to the lake today. just you and me. maybe alpine can tag along," you asked softly as you fiddled with his dog tags.

the sun had just begun to rise and bucky was already getting restless laying in bed with you.

"can't. i've got to call around, see if i can get some more references for the next conference," he said before placing a kiss to your temple and sitting up to shrug on his shirt.

the disappointment was evident in your face, "really, james?"

he arched a brow at you. you only called him james when you were serious about something.

"you know how important this is, doll," bucky said.

you scowled, "yeah! i do, what i don't understand is why."

"what do you mean?" he asked defensively.

you scoffed, "what do I mean? bucky, you're the last person i would ever have expected to enter into the realm of politics."

bucky's face fell, "are we really doing this?"

"yes. we're doing this, because you're hardly here anymore. you don't hear me. you don't have time for me. and i really tried to be supportive bucky, but for the life of me...i can't sit here and pretend that everything is fine." you ranted with a mixture of exhaustion and desperation.

bucky felt his heart squeeze in his chest. he never wanted to make you feel that way. "i know it's hard to understand..."

he didn't finish so you shook your head, "try impossible."

"you don't get it," he started again.

you were pleading with him at this point, "then help me 'get it'."

he stared at the ground, brows furrowed. "i'm not like you, doll. people don't flock to me. they walk faster when they see me in the street. they whisper to each other in dark corners."

"and maybe, if i could be something else. someone else. they wouldn't see me as the winter soldier anymore." his confession felt like a punch to the gut.

you were at a loss for words.

"maybe i could go down in history for contributing something half decent, instead of being known for the thousands of lives i destroyed." tears ran down his face involuntarily.

you quickly shuffled to the edge of the bed where he stood. you propped yourself up on your knees as you wiped his hot tears away.

"oh, buck." your heart ached for him. for the past that he couldn't seem to outrun. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in and holding him tightly against your chest.

"you have nothing to prove," you said with your hands holding his face, pulling away to look into his eyes. "you know that right?"

he gave a half-assed nod.

you gave him a stern look, "james, i mean it. you don't owe the world anything."

he buried his face into your shoulder, only crying harder.

"but if this is what you want, i can't stop you. just...promise me you won't lose yourself in it." you nearly whisper.

bucky doesn't respond, afraid his voice will break.

"because i adore the man i fell in love with. exactly the way he is."

and though he didn't say anything, the way his grip tightened around you told you everything you needed to know. he loved you too.

[fanbasetwo]

Ꮺ . , THROUGH UPS & DOWNS , L.CY !

PAIRING: bf ! anton × gf ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: you always managed to pull yourself up out of breakdowns or sadder parts of life but you never once imagined someone creating a fuss to take care of you through your downs. [REQUESTED] . . . . . . GENRE: #comfort core, fic. WORD COUNT: 1k [LIBRARY]

You and Anton have been together for years, long enough to trust him with everything—well, almost everything. Moving in together felt right at the time, but lately, you’ve been questioning whether that was a mistake. Some days are good, some are bad, but the worst ones? The ones like today? Those are the hardest because you don’t even have the energy to pretend you’re okay.

Maybe it’s the fact that no matter how many job applications you send, no one seems to want you. Maybe it’s that sinking feeling that you’re not just struggling—you’re a burden. No, scratch that. You are a burden. Full stop.

Still, you push yourself to keep going. Just one foot in front of the other. You grip the door handle, take a shaky breath, and step inside.

Anton is there, standing in the middle of the living room like he’s been waiting for you. His face lights up when he sees you, but that stupidly proud smile of his only makes everything worse. How the hell can he still look at you like that when you’re contributing nothing?

“Hey…” His voice is soft, but his brows pinch together in concern. “You look—uh, kind of out of it. You okay?”

And that’s it. That’s the last fucking straw.

Your bag slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud as you practically throw yourself at him. Your arms wrap around his torso, your face burying into his chest as the sobs hit you full force. Ugly, shaking, can’t-breathe kind of crying.

Anton doesn’t even flinch. No awkward hesitation, no stiff pat on the back like he’s comforting a coworker or some shit. His arms immediately close around you, holding you tight like he’s physically trying to keep you from falling apart.

“Hey, hey… Shh, I got you,” he soothes, rubbing slow circles into your back. “It’s okay. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

You want to believe him. You really do. But all you can focus on is how your breathing is coming in short, shaky bursts, how your fingers are gripping his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground.

What fcks you up the most, though? The fact that he doesn’t care. Not in a bad way, but in a way that makes your chest ache. You’re standing here, falling apart—messy, broken, so not okay—and yet, he’s holding you like you’re still worth something. Like he’d do this a thousand times over if it meant you didn’t have to go through it alone.

And maybe… just maybe… that’s enough for now.

“C’mere, let’s sit and talk, yeah? Nothing’s wrong, especially when I’m here.”

Anton doesn’t wait for you to agree—he just scoops you up like you weigh nothing, and you cling to him like a damn koala, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. He settles onto the couch, pulling you onto his lap, but before you can bury yourself back into his chest, he gently tilts your face up, wiping away your tears with his thumb. Not that it does much, since they just keep coming.

You sniffle, taking a shaky breath. “I can’t find a job… And I don’t want to stay financially dependent on you. I don’t want to be a burden. Everybody’s so mean. Jiah won’t even talk to me anymore because she thinks it’s embarrassing to be seen with me.” Your voice cracks, but you force the words out anyway. “Are you… Are you embarrassed of me too?”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his hands steady on your waist, his eyes soft but serious. And then, instead of answering, he leans in and kisses you. Slow, deep, like he’s trying to get you to shut up in the most effective way possible. His lips move against yours in a way that makes your heart stumble in your chest, and when he finally pulls back, you’re breathless and blinking at him like an idiot.

Anton smirks a little, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “First of all,” he starts, his voice firm but warm, “just because you aren’t getting a job right now doesn’t mean you’re dumb. It just means there aren’t enough of them. That’s not your fault. Second, you are not a burden to me. But since I know how much this is bothering you, why don’t you look for something temporary? Editing, content writing—there are tons of online jobs that could work until you figure out what you really want to do.”

He pauses, letting that sink in before he continues. “And Jiah? That’s her problem, not yours. She should be embarrassed of herself for acting like that. I’m just proud that my baby spoke up about it.”

It’s a lot. A mix of advice, comfort, and pure tonie logic, but somehow, it actually helps. You feel… lighter. Like maybe the weight on your chest isn’t crushing you as much.

And just when you think you couldn’t feel more relieved, he adds, “Besides, I’m gonna marry you anyway, whether you’re ‘successful’ or not, no matter what other people think.”

You blink at him. “Wait, what?”

Anton just grins, pressing a kiss to the top of your head like he didn’t just casually say something that could actually give you a mini heart attack. “You heard me.”

Your heart is a mess—pounding, fluttering, tripping over itself—but his hands are steady as he cups your face, wiping away the lingering tears with his thumbs. His touch is so gentle, it makes your chest ache in a different way.

“Does it feel better now?” he murmurs. “Now you know… sharing is way better than keeping it all bottled up?”

You sigh, letting your head rest against his chest, listening to the steady, calming rhythm of his heartbeat. “Yeah,” you admit, voice quiet but honest. “I think… I think I’ll share every time I feel sad from now on.”

Anton hums, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “You better,” he mutters. “Because I’ll always be here for my pretty girl.”

He tightens his arms around you, rocking you gently like it’s the easiest thing in the world to hold you together when you feel like falling apart. And for the first time in a while, you actually believe it.

join my taglist by sending an ask or commenting here <3

SENA’S NOTE : this is the second and third idea mixed together and might not have been a perfect execution of the request.. but I believe it's still better than posting nothing.. so thank you for requesting. ;0;

© 2025 all rights reserved to fanbasetwo !

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

„Should I break up or stay?“ is a heavy question to have on your mind - and unfortunately one there isn’t a golden answer to. 

Any broad generalizations can be harmful. The mindset „Walking away is cowardly, good people stay and fight for their relationship“ can contribute to people becoming trapped in deeply unhealthy or even abusive relationships. The mindset „Its never worth it to fight for a relationship, just break up“ can contribute to people never learning healthy communication skills. 

So, let’s look at some more specific situations instead: 

Your partner hits you (or physically hurts you in other ways), isolates you (for example from your friends or family), makes decisions about your life without your consent (for example about your job, finances or medical care), behaves in ways that make you feel scared or like you have to „walk on eggshells“ around them (for example getting explosively angry over small things), pressures you into sexual acts (even if it’s without physical force), or shows any other behaviors that emotionally frighten you or put you in physical danger 

These are abusive behaviors. In an abusive relationship, there’s nothing you can do to „fix it“ - working on healthy communication needs two people. A partner who is willing to frighten or hurt you will not be willing to do that work. This is not your fault. 

Leaving an abusive relationship isn’t „giving up“. Your main priority here needs to be your own safety and wellbeing. 

Your partner cheated on you, outed you against your wishes or in any other way deeply betrayed you, and you can no longer trust them. 

Healthy communication isn’t possible without a foundation of trust. If you no longer feel safe and respected, there’s no way to save the relationship. Again: this is not your fault. 

Leaving your partner isn’t „giving up“ here, either. They messed up and now have to face the natural consequences. 

You feel like you no longer have meaningful conversations, just small talk over your everyday life. 

This is a very common problem when relationships get older: the first „honeymoon phase“ where you feel obsessed with each other naturally fades (which is just biology - you wouldn’t get anything done if your brain and body stayed in that state) and the relationship starts to feel a bit more boring. 

This is, if both partners are willing, absolutely something that can be managed with communication, quality time and conscious effort. It can help to remind yourself that relationships getting older and „boring“ also comes with benefits: you know more about each other by now, which can increase feelings of comfort, security and confidence in the relationship. 

You bonded over shared circumstances or interests and those no longer exist. 

People change over time. That’s just a fact of life. The living situation, hobby, shared friend group etc. that brought you together may turn into something you outgrew and suddenly you find yourself wondering if you even have anything in common with your partner. 

This is a tricky one because it encompasses so many different scenarios but generally, this is also something where communication, quality time and conscious effort can help … if both partners are still emotionally invested. That’s the important condition here: do both of you want to make the effort? If you genuinely don’t like them anymore, that’s not something that can be fixed. If you still love them and just need to rekindle the flame, that can be worked on. 

There is someone else (and you keep it a secret because you know it would break your partners heart). 

If you are sexually and/or romantically involved with someone else (or know you will be soon, even if nothing happened yet) and you have to keep it a secret to not hurt your partner - or to name names, you’re cheating - then break up. Anything else is just unfair to your partner. Don’t be an asshole and wait until they find out. You’ll just hurt them worse that way. 

If you just have a crush on someone and you know it’s nothing serious and you will never act on it and you still love your partner deeply, this is just some fantasy thing… well, that’s trickier. People in relationships don’t suddenly turn blind: you can still find other people beautiful or even attractive. So, if this is just „I think Dua Lipa is hot and I feel guilty over that because I’m in a loving relationship and shouldn’t even look at celebrities that way“, this may actually say nothing about your relationship at all and just be a sign you have some internalized shame around sexual attraction to work on. But if it’s „Sara from Accounting is so hot, every time my girlfriend and I fight I catch myself wishing I could date Sara instead and then feel super guilty after we make up“, well, that’s probably less about internalized guilt and more about an emotional escape from the fighting, the actual problem here. Crushes and fantasies like this can be a big sign you are no longer emotionally invested in the relationship and should break up. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 11.5 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters contain mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: the events of ch 11 in jk's pov

☆word count: 1.2k

☆a/n: this one made me sad :( hope you guys like it! I've purposefully not put the full explanation bc it hits better later in the story sooo sorry about that. also just a note that depression sucks and I hope none of you guys have to deal with it and, if you do, please know that you aren't alone <3

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook is annoyed. He’s been annoyed all day, and he really just wants to go home.

To go home to you.

“What’s got you sulking?” Jimin asks, and four pairs of eyes shoot towards Jungkook.

Indeed, they are at the restaurant for lunch, Gabrielle having joined them to eat on her lunch break from her internship. 

“Nothing,” Jungkook says, grabbing his glass of water and taking a long sip.

Taehyung frowns, yet remains silent. It’s been happening a lot frequently, and Jungkook has truly, really been annoyed by it.

“Missing OC?” Jimin teases, wiggling his eyebrows and earning a punch in the shoulder by Sera.

“Shut up,” she says as Jungkook clenches his jaw.

“Will you please fucking stop with that?” Jungkook lets out, unable to keep his ire from his voice.

Jimin’s gaze widens, and then he laughs. “Why are you getting so worked up?”

“Maybe because you’ve been a little shit about this the whole week?”

“You’re aware it’s making it seem like it’s true…”

“Stop, Jimin,” Sera intervenes, her tone stern and authoritative.

The only tone Jimin ever listens to. Indeed, Jimin stops, pouting, and he mumbles an apology. Jungkook ignores it, his gaze shifting to Taehyung, and he doesn’t miss the muscle feathering under Taehyung’s skin as he clenches his jaw.

“What?” Jungkook spits, unable to help himself.

“You fucking my sister?”

Jungkook lets out a bitter laugh, his heart clenching in his chest. “Nope. You guys need to fucking leave me alone is all.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. This time, it’s Ariane’s turn to talk, and she does so with a pointed glare at Taehyung.

“I thought we said yesterday that we weren’t going to talk about her anymore.”

They did. Because scenes like this one have been happening the whole trip, and Jungkook really just wants to go home. The thought sticks around all day, up until they’ve had their shares of drink back at the Air Bnb, not feeling like going out.

Maybe Jungkook’s foul mood has been contributing to everyone’s lack of enthusiasm about going out, but he wouldn’t complain. He’d much rather stay at the Air Bnb, where he doesn’t have to avoid girls coming up to him trying to flirt.

Except Gabrielle. Though it’s not like that with Gabrielle, and he knows she’s a safe space. As much as someone can be without knowing about you - he reckons his only true safe space is you.

Perhaps that’s why he ends up sitting in his room with Gabrielle while the others chill in the living room. Partly to catch up, but also mostly to laugh at the absurdity of their parents wanting them to marry, as if they ever would.

“They’re crazy,” Gabrielle repeats for the hundredth time. “Complètement fou.”

Jungkook nods. “It’s nothing new. They’ve been like that since high school.”

Gabrielle chuckles, turning her head towards Jungkook. “Is your dad still an asshole?”

Jungkook winces, because he feels like his father has only been getting worse and worse with time, finding new ways to put Jungkook through hell all the time. Though the ignoring has been better than the fights and the constant insults he’d used to receive when he was younger, if he’s being honest.

“Yup. You really think someone like him could change for the better?”

Gabrielle slightly shakes her head. “Nah. People like our parents will die as shitty as they were the day they were born.”

Jungkook likes to think that his parents weren’t always like this. That, perhaps they were just corrupted by money growing up. But then again he can’t reconcile the image of his parents being kind to the one that he knows, that he’s known all his life.

So instead, he raises his beer. “Cheers to that.”

There’s a silence as Gabrielle drinks from the wine bottle she carried to the bedroom when they left the rest of the group back in the living room. Jungkook’s thoughts trail to you, and he wonders what you’re up to right now. You mentioned you were going out with your friends - are you already with them, or are you at home thinking about him like he’s thinking about you, too?

“What’s going on with Taehyung’s sister?” Gabrielle asks out of the blue.

Jungkook freezes like a deer in headlights. And though he wishes to say everything, to tell Gabrielle about what he feels for you, he knows he can’t. Not as long as you haven’t said it’s okay to talk about it.

And not when Gabrielle would likely tell Ariane, and Ariane would then tell Taehyung.

“Not you too,” Jungkook grumbles, and he hopes Gabrielle can’t spy the blush slowly dusting his cheeks, up to the tip of his ears.

“I’m just wondering!” Gabrielle says, and she lets out a small laugh before pushing a blonde strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve seen pictures, I feel like she would be your type.”

Jungkook makes a noncommittal sound as he shrugs his shoulders.

“So?” Gabrielle presses.

“So what?”

She rolls her eyes, laughing again. “Is something going on between you and her?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, preparing himself to lie to the one person that he’s never had to lie to before. “No.”

Gabrielle remains silent, the weight of her gaze on his profile heavy, and then she sighs. “Then, can I ask for your help?”

He stiffens. “What for?”

He knows what to expect - it’s the same as back when they were in high school, and she’d needed his help more than once then. Though he’d used not to mind, this time he hates it. So much so that he gets up, heading towards the door.

“Please,” Gabrielle says, stopping him with a hand on his wrist. “S’il-te-plait, Jungkook.”

“No,” he reaffirms, turning to face her. He thinks of you, thinks of the last time he kissed you, and wishes he was with you right now. “I can’t do this again.”

“Just this once,” she insists. “And then I will never ever ask that of you again.”

He thinks of the years. He thinks of Gabrielle defending him when his father insulted him during a dinner, or that time at the charity. He thinks about every night they’d fallen asleep in the same bed dreaming about a day where they wouldn’t have to worry about their family’s influence anymore. He’d thought she’d be okay now, independent as she was, but it seems she hasn’t escaped the pressure of her family yet, much like him.

“Gaby, I really can’t…” he trails off, scanning her features, hoping that she’ll understand, that she’ll know you are in his life and would never do something like that to you.

“Please,” Gaby says, her gaze begging.

He hates himself. He always has, more than he’d ever care to admit, but Jungkook hates himself too much for what he says next.

“Just this once.”

It’s like the universe was planning for this to happen anyway. Indeed, there’s laughter behind the door, and Gabrielle immediately grabs his face, pulling him down into a kiss. Jungkook closes his eyes, tells himself that you’ll understand, that he won’t lose you. 

When Gabrielle pulls away, looking just as uncomfortable as him, Jungkook whispers, “Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

It’s easy, after, to pretend that the tears in his eyes are caused by Gabrielle. Even as Taehyung claps him on the shoulder as if to congratulate him, Jungkook doesn’t have to hide how much he aches from the inside out.

Gabrielle leaves, and Jungkook goes to bed right away, wishing to be able to skip time until he can see you again.

Until he can prove to himself that he hasn’t lost you.

Read chapter eleven here!

☆☆☆☆☆

:((((( i hate myself for hurting the babies so much.. please come scream at me

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[andorerso]

so. as someone who's had a long-standing feud with the trope in rebelcaptain fics where Cassian is willing to just up and leave the rebellion for Jyn - because that's not who he is - I absolutely hated all of that.

let me start by reminding everyone that we're a year away from Rogue One. I know there's been some confusion whether it's two years or a year, but because of the retcon of 0 BBY, the battle of Scarif officially takes place in 1 BBY and this arc took place during 2 BBY. also the last arc takes place directly before the movie, so to me that says that all this was a year prior.

and where do we see Cassian? still not all in? wanting to leave the fight? even though he never even fully committed? I don't understand. how is this meant to be compelling? look, let's be honest, was I satisfied with his backstory and arc in season 1? not even close. but I was willing to see where this goes, think of it as an AU, enjoy it for what it is... I can't even do that anymore. I didn't think it was possible to make his character arc worse but they did.

it's downright insulting that his girlfriend has to make the choice for him to pick the rebellion. it should always have been his choice. that's literally one of the few things they had to get right. he even says it in the Eadu argument: "some of us just decided to do something about it" but yeah, except I guess he didn't! because as Bix herself puts it: "I'm choosing for the both of us. I'm choosing the rebellion." so I guess he didn't decide to do something about it, Bix decided for him (this is meant to be a Cassian post but let me also add: her contribution to the rebellion is letting Cassian go so he can be a good little soldier? groundbreaking. that's not at all insulting to her either)

so what are we meant to take away here exactly? that he only becomes a loyal soldier because he was dumped? that he literally had to be forced into this role? that the Cassian we see in Rogue One is depressed and beaten down not because of the things he's seen and done (which btw, we've yet to see him do any of the terrible things he speaks of in his speech but alas) but because his girlfriend left him? that's his breaking point? not the brutalities of war but a fucking relationship ending? is that really the narrative arc here?

what is the point of ANY of this if it was never his choice at all? if even at the very end, he's not the one actively choosing the rebellion, to stay, to be loyal, to do something, to fight? "the day I need permission to come and go, I'm gone"? that is nowhere near the dedicated rebel spy he's supposed to be who takes orders and doesn't question his superiors. it cheapens his arc in Rogue One about disobeying orders and going rogue immensely because this was clearly never a man who took orders without flinching. maybe for a year or so but honestly, that hardly counts. who cares that he goes against his orders to kill Galen and amasses an army to go on an unsanctioned mission with Jyn when he was already doing things like that not that fucking long ago? it has literally no meaning anymore. this isn't a character arc. this is character assassination.

[misspygmypie]

Beyond Biology

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x Noah, Lando Norris x reader, Lando Norris x Baby Maebry Words: 1701 Request: I absolutely love the meet and greet series, can you please write one like Noah felt left out and thinks Lando is not going to love him anymore because he is not his (biological) but his sister is? With a happy ending please. Sorry for my bad English I'm from Argentina Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Despite the loving environment in the Norris household there was an undercurrent of tension that Lando and Y/N had been trying to address. Over the past few weeks Noah had become increasingly withdrawn, refusing invitations to play with Lando and preferring to stay in his room over family activities. It wasn’t lost on Y/N that this change coincided with Maebry’s milestones like her first crawling and first mumbled words, moments that seemed to draw Lando’s attention.

One evening Y/N suggested it was time for the children’s bath. Lando, eager to contribute to the evening routine, volunteered to handle Maebry, knowing how much she enjoyed splashing around in the tub.

When Lando filled the bath with warm water and playful bath toys Noah wandered into the bathroom, hoping to join in. He had been excited to help with Maebry’s bath, thinking it might be a fun way to spend time with Lando.

However, when Noah entered the room, he saw Lando completely absorbed in the task of making his daughter giggle. The young man was making silly faces, floating bath toys in front of her and engaging in playful water splashes that elicited adorable squeals from the baby. Noah watched quietly from the doorway, his enthusiasm waning as he felt like an outsider to this moment.

When Noah slowly approached asking if he could help with anything, Lando just smiled. “Just a few more minutes, Noah. I’m almost done here with Maebry. How about you go pick out a bedtime story for us to read later?”

Noah, feeling disappointed, nodded silently and retreated to the living room. The attention Lando gave to Maebry during bath time seemed to highlight Noah’s sense of being left out.

One morning a few days later when they all gathered for breakfast Lando couldn’t help but notice Noah’s distant demeanor. The boy barely ate any of his cereal, his usual cheerfulness absent. Lando tried to engage him.

“Hey, Noah,” Lando said, slightly concerned, “How about we build something with the Legos later? Maybe a new spaceship or a cool castle?”

Noah shrugged, not meeting Lando’s eyes. “Maybe,” he mumbled, his tone flat.

Y/N, who had been quietly observing, decided it was time for a deeper conversation. After breakfast she took Noah by the hand and led him to a cozy corner of the living room where a soft blanket was draped over a bean bag. She sat down and patted the spot next to her.

“Noah, can we have a chat?” she asked softly.

Noah hesitated, looking slightly uneasy. “Okay,” he said, finally sitting beside his mother.

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart heavy with concern. “I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit quiet and distant lately. You haven’t been as excited to spend time with Lando or join in with the family activities. Is there something on your mind?”

Noah stared at his fidgeting fingers, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I feel like dad loves Maebry more than me. She’s his real daughter and I’m not. Maybe that’s why he’s been spending more time with her.”

Y/N’s heart sank at her son’s words. She took his hand in hers trying to be reassuring. “Noah, love isn’t about who’s biologically related to whom. It’s about the connection we build, the care we give and the moments we share together.”

Noah kept looking at the floor, the doubt still evident in his eyes. “But lately, it feels like dad has been so focused on Maebry, playing with her, taking care of her and I’ve been left out. I don’t know if he still wants to spend time with me.”

Y/N sighed, understanding the weight of Noah’s feelings. “Sometimes, when a new baby comes into the family, it’s easy to feel like the older child is left out. But that’s not because you’re loved any less. Dad’s attention on Maebry right now is because she needs a lot of care as a baby but that doesn’t mean he loves you any less.”

“So, you’re saying it’s just because Maebry is a baby?” Noah asked quietly, his eyes welling up with tears. 

“Exactly,” Y/N nodded, brushing a tear from Noah’s cheek. “It’s not about how much love there is, it’s about how we balance our time and attention and sometimes we need to make an extra effort to show that love to everyone in different ways.”

“But what if Lando doesn’t really want to play with me anymore?” the boy asked, still a bit sad.

Y/N squeezed his hand gently. “Lando loves you deeply, Noah. Just because he has to care for Maebry doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about you. It’s important for us to talk about our feelings and not let misunderstandings grow. If you ever feel left out, you need to tell us. We want to make sure you always feel loved and included.”

Noah looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Do you think we could talk to dad about this?”

“Of course,” Y/N smiled softly, relieved that Noah was open to communicating. “It’s important that you share your thoughts with him.”

After sharing a long - and much needed - hug Y/N led Noah back out to the balcony where Lando was setting up a huge pile of Legos. Lando looked up, his face lighting up with a smile. 

Noah still looked a bit unsure but Y/N gently nudged him forward. “Why don’t you talk to Dad for a moment before you start?”

Lando noticed the serious undertone in his wife’s voice. “What’s up, buddy?” he asked gently and guided Noah to the seating area while Y/N went back inside to entertain her daughter with a snack and a book. 

Noah fidgeted with the hem of his shirt before speaking. “I was talking to Mom, and… I’m worried that maybe you don’t love me as much as Maebry because she’s your real daughter and I’m not.”

Lando’s heart ached hearing those words. For a second he wasn’t sure how to respond, he never thought Noah would even think of such a possibility. He gently placed a hand on Noah’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Noah, I want you to know something very important. Being a parent isn’t just about biology, it’s about how we love and care for each other.”

Noah nodded, his eyes still unsure.

Lando took a deep breath. “When I married your mom and adopted you I made a choice. I chose to be your dad. I chose to love you, protect you and be there for you and that choice is something I will never, ever regret. You mean the world to me, just like Maebry does.”

Noah’s eyes widened and he looked down at the floor, his emotions swirling. “But sometimes it feels like Maebry gets more attention.”

Lando placed a comforting hand on Noah’s back. “Maebry is younger and she needs a lot of care right now. But that doesn’t mean you’re any less important, it just means we have to balance our attention. I promise you, I love you and your sister both so very much and that love grows bigger every day.”

“Really?” Noah’s lip quivered and he looked up at his dad with a hopeful smile. 

Lando smiled gently at the boy, trying to put as much love into it as possible. “Really.”

Noah’s worry began to fade as he listened to Lando’s words. He threw his arms around his dad in a tight hug, feeling the reassurance he so desperately needed.

“Thanks, Dad,” Noah whispered, his voice muffled against Lando’s shoulder.

Lando hugged him back, his heart swelling. “Anytime, buddy. Whenever you need to talk or if you’re ever unsure, remember that you’re my first child, Noah, and that means you hold a special place in my heart. Every moment we spend together is precious to me. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

A few days later Y/N was out with some of her girlfriends, leaving Lando in charge of bedtime for Noah and Maebry. Lando decided to make it special by setting up a cozy spot in the living room with pillows and blankets, preparing for an evening of storytelling.

He began by reading to Maebry, choosing a vibrant picture book full of colorful illustrations. Lando’s animated voice and playful expressions made Maebry giggle and reach for the pictures. Noah, holding his favorite bedtime story, watched from the edge of the blanket fort, feeling increasingly left out as Lando’s attention again was entirely on Maebry.

After finishing with Maebry, he gently lifted her from the blankets and placed her in her crib. He then turned to Noah with a warm smile. “How about we turn your favorite story into a special adventure tonight?”

Noah looked up, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean, Dad?”

Lando’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “We’ll use the blanket fort as our magic castle. I’ll be the storyteller and you’ll help me make the adventure come alive. What do you think?”

Noah’s face brightened, his sadness fading. “That sounds fun!”

Lando helped Noah into the blanket fort, arranging the pillows and turning on a small flashlight to create some extra magic. He began reading Noah’s favorite story about a brave knight and a dragon. He asked Noah to help with sound effects like the dragon’s roar and the knight’s sword clashing.

The longer they read, the more of Noah’s initial shyness melted away. He joined in, making the story come to life together with his dad. At the end of the story, Lando wrapped up with a triumphant finale where the knight saved the kingdom. He looked at Noah and said, “You were an amazing knight tonight.”

“Thanks, Dad. I had a lot of fun!” Noah smiled brightly at his father who pulled him into a tight hug.

“I love you, Noah and even though Maebry needs extra care right now, that doesn’t change how important you are to me. We’ll always have these special moments.”

With their special bedtime adventure complete, Lando helped Noah get tucked into bed, promising more adventures in the future and Noah drifted off to sleep feeling loved and cherished.

________

AN: First of all Anon, your English is amazing!!! Sending so much love to Argentina. I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice @barcelonaloverf1life @poppyflower-22 @itsjustfranzi @vickykazuya @sltwins

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 9: Some Days He Feels Like Dying]

A/N: Below are your guesses...let's see how you did!!! 🥰😘

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Extraordinary Girl” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.3k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

Let’s go back to the beginning of the end of the world.

On the big-screen tv in the Liberty Center at Saratoga Springs, Wolf Blitzer is saying: “We are receiving confirmation of additional outbreaks of the so-called Florida Fever, the first cases of which here in the U.S. were reported in Miami a little over one week ago. Concern is now growing nationally, especially as the modes of transmission, symptoms, and treatment options remain unclear. Let’s go across the country to Natasha Chen for the latest information. Natasha?”

“Hi, Wolf. I’m here outside the UC San Diego Medical Center where early this morning, two individuals suspected to be suffering from the illness were admitted. I’ve been informed by hospital staff that both patients are currently in stable condition, but there is still so much confusion and conflicting information regarding this ‘Florida Fever,’ and of course that uncertainty is leading to fear, rumors, and honestly a bit of hysteria. Even how to refer to the sickness is controversial, with no official name having been decided upon by scientists. Cases in Australia are known as Ragepox, the U.K. has dubbed it the 21st Century Sweat after a mysterious disease from the 1500s, and Russia is calling it the Ukrainian Flu while Ukraine has opted for the Russian Red Rot, inspired by the skin lesions that some patients experience.”

“Can you tell us what we do know, Natasha? Are doctors classifying this illness as a virus, or as a bacterial infection more akin to tuberculosis or meningitis?”

“At this time, what I’m hearing is that doctors are fairly certain it’s a virus, as patients do not seem to respond to antibiotics when they’ve been explored as a potential treatment. But there’s truly very little information at this early stage, and I think we’re all being reminded of those first days of the Covid-19 pandemic, when no one really knew how to best to avoid contracting the virus or what the long-term effects would be both nationally and globally.”

“There are absolutely some similarities, Natasha, which I’m sure is contributing to the unease surrounding the situation. What precautions are doctors currently recommending?”

“Wolf, doctors are urging the public not to panic, and to exercise common sense measures like avoiding crowded spaces, sanitizing surfaces, and staying home if they’re feeling unwell. Suspected cases of the illness should be reported to primary physicians or local hospitals. Typical symptoms appear to include headaches, fever, gastrointestinal upset, skin discoloration and blistering, and unusual bleeding, as well as behavioral changes, particularly disorientation, aggression, and even violence in some patients…”

“That ain’t what it is,” Rio says. He jabs his index finger at the tv from where he sits on the couch beside you. “Snowflake wasn’t sick, he was dead. He was motherfucking dead, flatline, code blue, crossed the rainbow bridge, he was gone. He was dead and then he woke back up, and he wasn’t a person anymore. He was…something else.”

“Dumbass, people don’t come back from the dead,” Mike says from the ping pong table. People are milling around pretending to play pool, darts, chess, poker, Monopoly, Uno, Parcheesi, but really you’re all here for the same reason. You want to know what’s happening.

Rio turns to you. “Wasn’t Snowflake dead?”

“He definitely seemed dead,” you reply, knees tucked to your chest and still watching the tv. Wolf Blitzer’s voice is calm, but his pale blue eyes have a manic sort of light to them, too large and too rattled.

“Man, fuck Florida,” says Desmond, a utilitiesman born and raised Trenton, New Jersey. “Nothing but psychos and alligators. Saw them off of Georgia and just let them float away.”

“What was that?” Tyler replies combatively. He’s from a trailer park in Tallahassee.

“Ty, why do you care? You’d be fine. You’re already up here. You can stay.”

“They’re lying,” Rio mutters, meaning Wolf and Natasha on CNN. “When the corpsmen called the hospital, they said to be prepared to restrain Snowflake and that he might try to bite us. Why aren’t they warning people about that?!”

Kayleigh, a steelworker from Oklahoma City, looses a frenetic sort of laugh. “Because there’s no non-panic-inducing way to say: Hey, go buy some duct tape and bungee cords to tie up your loved ones, because they might try to fucking eat you.”

Rio doesn’t frown often, but he is now; he slips his phone out of the pocket of his camo pants and types out a WhatsApp message to Sophie. You only know her from photos and quick hellos via video chat, a sweet diminutive woman with white-blonde hair and blue eyes that seem to fill up half her face, as fragile as Rio is overwhelming. She likes baking and romance novels and elephants; whenever Rio finds elephant-themed souveners, he ships them home to Oregon for her, refrigerator magnets and wallets and scarves and snow globes. Sophie wears a lot of long flowing skirts and hand-knit sweaters, and offers strange suggestions when she and Rio discuss baby names: Sage, Fox, Laurel, Coral, Juniper, Karma, Rune, Otter. Otter?! Rio had exclaimed. Babe, if you name our kid Otter, even I’M gonna have to bully them.

“I’m telling Sophie to stay with my parents,” Rio says to you. “They’ve gotten super weird with all the off-the-grid stuff, but they have years’ worth of supplies and grow most of their own food now, and they’re thirty miles from the nearest town. And no one knows how to defend themselves like doomsday preppers.”

“Good idea,” you reply, watching the tv. Now Wolf Blitzer is talking about tornadoes in the Midwest, and you could almost believe the world is normal again.

A few days later all major social media platforms begin censoring content related to the so-called Florida Fever, and then the internet goes down completely, and then the power turns off and on and off again, and finally quits like a car driven to its last mile. The combat units are moved out of Saratoga Springs—never to be heard from again—and the construction projects paused indefinitely, and one of the master-at-arms that Rio is friends with (Rio has a lot of friends, surely you aren’t so remarkable) relays information that he shouldn’t: tales of planned missions, impossible plagues, overrun cities, innumerable deserters in every branch of the U.S. military.

“Hey,” Rio whispers, shaking you awake one night, moonlight streaming through the windows and the pops of distant gunfire you aren’t supposed to ask about. “If I leave, will you come with me?”

It’s a big commitment; it could be a lifetime. You fear he might just be trying not to hurt your feelings. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Rio says. “I’m not leaving without you. Are you going to Oregon by choice, or should I tie you up and throw you in the back of the Humvee?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a young one, maybe a teenager, little buds for horns and only weighing a few hundred pounds. This is good; if it was any heavier, Cregan and Rio wouldn’t be able to drag it back to the ranch. You’re still in Red Desert, Wyoming, and the bison are grazing just off I-80, an asphalt artery that cuts through an endless steppe of sand-colored rocks and tall grass. They gaze lazily in your direction with bulbous dark eyes, perpetually chewing, not terribly intelligent. The Colt pistols of the men who found you at the RV had been loaded with 9mm bullets, the same caliber your Berettas take; there weren’t many, but enough to fill both of your clips, something that feels like winning the lottery. You are lying on the rocky, dusty soil and lining up the shot. If you miss, the herd will scatter, and you’ll watch dinner vanish beneath a blue sky—pale like Aemond’s eye, a weak shallow blue—and rough white scars of cirrostratus clouds.

“Feels kind of wrong to kill a baby,” you murmur. Daeron, Luke, Baela, Helaena, and Ice are back at the house. Aemond, Rio, Cregan, Rhaena, and Aegon are here on the ground with you; Aegon insisted upon being brought along, and Rio agreed to carry him. Aegon had never seen American bison outside of the Oregon Trail computer game, those pixelated brown blobs migrating across the screen no more material than unicorns or faeries or basilisks.

“If the baby didn’t want to get killed, it shouldn’t be made of steak,” Aegon points out. He’s on a lot of Vicodin, the only narcotic Aemond could find back in Ogallala, Nebraska.

“No pressure, Chips,” Rio says, chewing on a long blade of little bluestem grass. “If you miss we’re just going to have to eat each other like the Donner Party.”

Aegon wrinkles his nose in confusion. “The what?”

“She won’t miss,” Aemond says, and Rio snickers to himself and gives you a quick wink that no one else notices.

“I don’t think one 9mm bullet will do it,” Cregan mutters. “Cows got thick skulls, I figure bison are the same way. You’ll have to hit it a few times, and before it can take off and disappear on us.”

Aemond casts him a patronizing glance. “And you’ve killed a lot of cows?”

“Oh yeah. Worked in a slaughterhouse for a while before I got hired by the power company. Hated it, went home and could still smell the blood and brains on myself no matter how many times I showered. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

Aemond looks like he regrets asking. Rhaena frowns worriedly at the bison. “Will they charge if someone shoots at them?”

Cregan shrugs. “Probably not.”

“Probably?!”

You squeeze the trigger five times in quick succession, hit the calf thrice, tiny puffs of scarlet mist that spring from its woolly head. It flops over as the rest of the herd jolts into a gallop, kicking up dust and fleeing across the steppe.

“Yes!” Rio booms as everyone applauds. “We’re in business! We’re having ribeyes tonight! Cregan, my good sir, I take mine medium rare.”

“You’re getting well done,” Aemond tells him. “Everyone is. Just in case the bison has parasites.”

Rio groans. “You’re ruining my life, man.” Then he and Cregan trot over to grab the baby bison, each of them taking one of its back hooves.

“So,” Aegon says dreamily. “Now that Rio is preoccupied, who would like to assist me in returning my disgusting, debilitated body to the ranch? Anyone? Anyone?”

Rhaena turns to you. “When we have more bullets, could you give me shooting lessons?”

“Sure,” you reply, a bit startled. “Really? You’re interested?”

“Well…” Rhaena hesitates. “Baela’s always been the brave one. At home, at school, when we were shopping, even when restaurants would mess up my order, Baela would do the talking and make sure I was alright…and I would literally hide behind her waiting for her to solve all my problems. And now…with the baby, with Jace…it’s been really different being the one to help her for a change, and I don’t think I’m very good at it yet. But Baela deserves to have people to lean on, just like I’ve always had her. And…when I stabbed that guy in the RV…I kind of liked it.” She titters nervously when she sees the shock on your face. “No, not like that! Not the killing part, or the gushing blood, that was all super gross. But the fact that I helped protect Baela and Luke? The fact that I wasn’t useless in that situation? That was a good feeling. Baela is clever, and she’s courageous and caring and funny, and she’s always been better than me at everything, and I never minded because she…she was like my own personal superhero, you know? But now I feel like I need to start learning how to do things myself so I can help her. Even if Baela is still better at everything, and probably always will be.”

Aegon grins toothily and pushes his neon green plastic sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “I know how you feel. It’s pretty impossible to look heroic next to Aemond.”

“Stop,” Aemond says, but he’s smiling, and a bloom of bashful pink blood appears in his cheeks.

“You already took over the driving,” you tell Rhaena encouragingly. “That was a big help.”

“Yeah,” Rhaena replies, a bit pensive. “Let’s hope I can keep that going.” Between the gas Aemond found in Ogallala and what was siphoned from the would-be attackers’ GMC Yukon, you got enough fuel in the Tahoe to take it halfway across Wyoming; but now the gauge is not just at but venturing below the E, and it can’t have more than five or ten miles left. That might not even get you to the next ranch, let alone a proper town. You need a working vehicle. There are nearly a thousand miles between here and Odessa, Oregon.

Aegon is pawing at Aemond like a cat. “Come on, hero. Help me up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is why we’re friends,” Rio tells you as he shovels forkfuls of bison steak into his mouth, juice dribbling down his chin. Cregan gutted the bison and butchered it, then you helped him cook the steaks—not very uniform in size and shape, yet no one is complaining—on a pan heated in the woodstove. You fed the fire with books you found in the house, mostly religious in nature. “You convince me not to commit suicide when we’re stranded on a transmission tower, you share your Cheddar Whales, you’re good at shooting things…”

“How did you two become friends?” Baela asks. You are all arranged around the dining room table; there are just enough chairs for everyone. Ice lies beneath it mauling on bison bones that Cregan set aside for her. The room is illuminated by flashlights. Baela looks great: in good spirits, glowing, alert, wearing a loose cotton dress that Helaena found in an upstairs closet for her. Baela napped most of the day, something she rarely allows herself to indulge in, and the benefits are evident.

Rio says nonchalantly: “I talked to everybody and she barely talked at all. So of course I had to investigate and figure out what that was about. Turns out she’s kind of cool. You know the Wheel of Fortune game at arcades where there’s like a hundred little lights in a circle you have to press the button when the one that says Spin Zone lights up? She’s a freak, she can hit it almost every time. Can’t sink a basketball or sing karaoke to save her life, but you know, we all have flaws.”

Aegon looks up from his map, which he is scrutinizing as he eats his bison steak. “Do you realize that if we could just stop at gas stations like back when everything was normal, we’d be in Odessa or the Bay Area in fifteen hours? Literally less than one day. Fucking unreal. And yet here we are trapped in yee-haw country, freaky giant animals, no civilization but Jesus billboards everywhere, hell on earth.” He holds up a palm. “No offense, Cregan. You’re okay.”

Cregan smiles mildly. “None taken, Fried Foot. You know you’re a little well done yourself these days.”

“That’s ableist,” Aegon replies.

“We’ll find gas tomorrow,” Aemond says. He sounds confident because he has to; he’s not allowed to panic, to give up. He’s seated at the head of the table like a patriarch. His steak is the smallest and the most ragged. He wouldn’t accept any of the others.

You ask Baela: “Have you decided what to name the baby?”

“Kind of.” She rests both hands on her belly, a globe like a full moon. Helaena glances over at Baela, frowning and preoccupied. “If it’s a boy, I’m going to name it after Jace. We had already picked out Theodore…and Teddy for short, isn’t that cute? But now…I’d want him to have that connection to his father. The baby won’t have any pictures of him, or videos, or memories, or papers he wrote in school, or ties or rings or cufflinks, or…anything. But he could have Jace’s name.”

The rest of you nod, eyes downcast and feeling terribly sorry for her. “I really like that idea,” Luke says quietly.

Now Baela is thinking, her gaze traveling around the room as she chews on a cube of streak. “I’m not sure what I’d call a girl. Maybe something naturey like Violet, Rosemary, Ivy, Indigo, Fern…”

“You should name it Otter,” you say, and you and Rio erupt into raucous laughter. Aemond smiles as he watches you.

Baela is grinning uncertainly, trying not to be insensitive. Perhaps people named their kids stuff like Otter where you came from. “Um, sorry, what?!”

“That was one of the baby names on Sophie’s list,” Rio clarifies. “I vetoed it. Or at least…I think she agreed to cross it off…? Oh my God, imagine I finally get to Odessa only to find out my firstborn child has been named Otter.”

“You’d have to turn right back around,” you say. “Total abandonment would be the only honorable choice. We’d have to start over someplace else. I’ve heard Texas is nice.”

Aegon snorts. “You can’t live in Texas. They don’t even have legal weed there.”

Rhaena squints at him. “I don’t really think that’s a concern anymore, Aegon.”

Aegon smacks his forehead theatrically. “Oh no, I forgot about the apocalypse again!”

“So Cregan,” Baela says. “You were planning to vote for Trump.”

Everyone at the table groans. “No politics,” Aemond says.

“They’re all dead now, so it doesn’t matter,” Rhaena adds. “Biden, Kamala, that insane Kennedy brain worm dude, Trump…”

Aegon says: “If I was a zombie, I wouldn’t eat Trump.”

“I just found that interesting,” Baela continues, looking at Cregan like she’s expecting him to explain himself. Rhaena and Luke exchange a nervous glance. Daeron reaches under the table to pet Ice; you can hear her tail thumping cheerfully against the hardwood floor.

“I was a Trump voter, yeah,” Cregan replies between bites of steak. Aemond is studying him uneasily, but Cregan’s baritone voice is calm. “That doesn’t mean I approved of a lot of the things he did and said. I’m not a monster, I don’t believe in mocking people or all that January 6th stuff. But he was good for the economy. Back when Trump was president, groceries were more affordable, and houses were cheaper, and more companies were hiring. If I had tried to move out of my parents’ place in 2023 instead of 2019, there’s no way I could have done it. And I really needed to get out of there. A lot of people feel that they don’t have the luxury of voting for the nicest candidate, or the candidate they agree with on social issues. Something abstract like climate change isn’t even on the radar. They have to vote for their basic necessities.”

You and Rio understand what he means, you’ve both met plenty of people with the same perspective; everybody else seems shellshocked.

“But I don’t want y’all to think that I’m…” Cregan looks around the table, his eyes catching—interestingly—on Helaena, who observes him with a fully present attentiveness that you’ve learned is rare for her. “You know, like a sexist or a racist or that I hate foreigners or anything. Because I’ve never felt that way, and now I’m very happy to have found you guys, and I respect the hell out of you. And I want to be allowed to stay.”

“You can stay, Cregan,” Helaena reassures him.

“Yeah,” Rio says. “Especially since we’d probably starve without you.”

Cregan beams, clearly grateful, and there are chuckles and the tension breaks; and Baela is placidly skating her palm over the arc of her belly, and now that you’ve eaten all you can, Rio is spearing the remaining chunks of your steak with his fork and gobbling them down. He doesn’t ask before he does this; he knows you don’t mind. You’ve never understood why he’s given you so much over the past nearly five years. You are eternally offering him atonement.

Suddenly, Baela asks you: “What would you name a baby girl?”

You have to think about this before you answer. “Well, if you’re looking for something related to plants…I had a friend when I was growing up named Briar, and I always thought that was pretty.”

“Briar,” Baela echoes, intrigued.

“It means bramble, like a thorny shrub where blackberries grow. I remember her telling me that her mama wanted it to be a reminder that people go through rough patches and that life gets hard sometimes, but you have to keep going, and eventually you’ll find your way out.”

“Briar,” Baela repeats. “Yeah, that’s kind of neat. I’ll add it to the list!”

“And you’d have the same first initial,” Rhaena says. “Baela and Briar. Isn’t that adorable?”

Baela smiles. “And a few Rs thrown in there too. For Rhaena.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Hey Honey Bun, if you had to name your kid after a plant, what would you name it?”

Aegon says without hesitation: “Marijuana.”

Now it’s an hour later, and Aemond is examining Aegon’s burned leg on the living room floor, Helaena holding a flashlight and you and Rio standing by for moral support. Underneath the bandages is a wasteland of red, weeping flesh…and yet there are spots where the skin seems to be hardening into white islands of scar tissue. Rhaena and Luke are keeping watch by the windows, Baela is passed out in one of the bedrooms, Cregan is showing Daeron how to put his wavy blonde hair up in a man bun.

Aemond points to a blackish patch on the top of Aegon’s foot, only a few inches from his ankle. “I have to debride this part here,” he says like an apology.

Aegon is afraid to ask. “What does debride mean?”

“It means I have to cut it out.”

“Cut it?!”

“It’s getting infected. I have to remove it or it will spread to the rest of the foot and you could get sepsis. I might even have to amputate the whole leg.”

“Okay, cut the dead stuff off,” Aegon swiftly agrees.

Aemond doesn’t have any more injectable morphine. He gives Aegon as much Vicodin as he dares and then begins working, carving away layers of dark disease with his scalpel and scrubbing the area with disinfectant. Aegon clutches your hand, squeezing so hard it feels like your bones might crunch, shrapnel-like splinters of marrow-stained organic glass beneath your skin. Rio has Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman—once owned by Ava—and takes one earbud while giving Aegon the other. They sing along to Sean Paul songs together, laughing as tears stream down Aegon’s sunburned cheeks:

“Well, woman, the way the time cold, I wanna be keepin’ you warm

I got the right temperature fi shelter you from the storm

Oh Lord, gal, I got the right tactics to turn you on

And girl, I wanna be the papa, you can be the mom…”

Now you’re curled up in bed, your arms crossed over your belly as you struggle to fall asleep. Aemond comes to bed late now; each night he waits until Baela is sleeping and then teaches Rhaena about childbirth and recovery: what to expect, what could go wrong. She is a good student, borrowing Helaena’s spider notebook to take notes and asking detailed questions. She wants to know everything she can so she can help when Baela goes into labor.

At last, the bedroom door opens. Out in the living room you can hear Rio asking: “Do you have Wagon Wheel? I love that song.”

Aegon scoffs. “No, of course I don’t have Wagon Wheel. Shut up and listen to your Enrique Iglesias.”

“You are so racist, man…”

Aemond sees that you’re in agony, rummages around in his medical kit, and gives you an oval-shaped white pill to wash down with the can of orange Sunkist on the nightstand; Helaena found a case of it in the pantry. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“I didn’t want to take any Vicodin from Aegon or Baela. They’ll need it more than me.”

“Your pain is as real as anyone else’s.” Aemond’s weight shifts the mattress as he crawls into bed beside you, his arm settling protectively around your waist, his hand covering yours where it rests on your lower belly. “If the Tahoe runs out of gas, will you be okay to walk tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry about me. I had three periods during basic training, I honestly thought I might die. After that I can power through just about anything.”

“I’ve noticed.” You feel the soft smile on Aemond’s lips as he kisses your temple. “Do you want quiet, or do you want to talk?”

“Talking would be a nice distraction.”

Aemond wastes no time. “Do you like kids?”

“Well, since birth control doesn’t exist anymore, I’d hope everybody does.”

Again, he is smiling; you can hear it in his voice. “Okay, but do you intend to have your own?”

“Yeah, I always envisioned myself having kids. I wanted a normal family and figured I’d have to make one myself, DIY it, you know? I don’t think the plan has changed. Gotta repopulate the earth somehow.”

“I wouldn’t try to sway your decision one way or the other. It’s a burden you should only have to endure if you actively choose it. But if you want to have children one day, I’d help you.”

You giggle in the dim orange glow of a single flashlight. “How self-sacrificial.”

“No,” Aemond says, laughing. “Not like, the making them. I mean, I’d help with that too, that aspect would be fun. But I was talking about the delivery, and recovery, and taking care of a newborn. I don’t know everything, but I know a lot. I could help you get through it. So that’s an option I want you to be aware of, if…you know.” Now he pauses. “If you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if you should,” Aemond murmurs; or at least that’s what you think he says as you lose consciousness, plummeting into sleep as if falling from a great height.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe runs out of gas just east of Tipton—not a city, not a town, just a collection of service roads linking sprawling ranches to I-80, the only continuous route across southern Wyoming—and Rhaena guides the SUV as it coasts to a halt on the shoulder of the highway. You hike about a mile to the nearest ranch house: Luke carrying the siphoning hose and empty gas can in case you can find fuel, Rio carrying Aegon on his back, Baela walking slowly and with great effort, Ice panting as she lopes across the dusty earth. You can’t spot any cattle or horses behind the endless strings of barbed wire fencing. Perhaps they are in a different pasture, or escaped or were stolen, or died of thirst without being tended to, or were consumed by a wandering hoard of zombies, never sleeping and always hungry. The house at the end of the dirt driveway is modest, old, and painted white. The front door is open; the screen door bangs in the wind.

“Rock Springs is the next real town,” Aegon says when Rio drops him to the ground, reading his map.

“And how far is that?” Rio asks.

Aegon deflates. “About fifty miles.”

“Great,” Rhaena says. “What’s the plan, to fly there?”

“Yeah, start flapping your wings, little bird. You’re light enough, you can make it.”

“No car in the driveway,” you tell Aemond. “Nobody home, maybe?”

He’s scrutinizing the house, his blue eye narrow. “Maybe.”

A thought occurs to Aegon. “Do you think ranchers have golf clubs?” he asks hopefully.

“No,” Aemond snaps. Rio is now on the front porch and pounding the butt of his unloaded Remington shotgun against the doorframe to see if anyone appears. Daeron is nocking one of his makeshift arrows as he trots around the perimeter with his compound bow.

Luke, peering through his binoculars, points to a large cylindrical aluminum structure about a hundred yards from the house, by a small red barn. “What’s that thing?”

“It’s a grain bin,” Cregan says. “Full of feed for cattle.” Ice whimpers at his feet, and he twirls his axe in his large, calloused hands. “Are we clearing the house or not? Something’s in there.”

“We are,” Aemond answers tonelessly. “Luke, Rhaena, stay out here with Aegon and watch for trouble. Daeron, you too.”

“Got it.”

“Baela—”

“Can I go inside?” she asks. “Please, Aemond. I’m so sick of sitting around feeling useless and exhausted. I want to help. I want to do something, I’m going insane.”

“Fine,” Aemond agrees. “It should be an easy one.”

It is easy, but it’s not pleasant. The house smells like dark, sickening decay. In the living room are the skeletal remains of two bodies, both children judging by the size; the maroon-stained bones are notched with indents from gnashing teeth. Cregan shadows Helaena as she searches through closets and drawers. She takes no clothing—it would have absorbed the stench of death—but fills her burlap messenger bag with matches, lighters, batteries, pills. She gives you a bottle of Advil before you can ask her for it.

“Thanks,” you say, a bit startled, as you tuck it away in your backpack.

It is not until Ice leads you to the final room, the bedroom at the rear of the house, that you hear the familiar, blood-chilling hissing and moaning of a zombie. It is in the closet, and emerges one limb at a time: one arm and then another, one leg long like a spider’s, streaked with a thick soup of rotting organs that spills from a gaping hole in her belly like the mouth of a mineshaft. Something has happened to its other leg; it is missing, and the corpse that was once a thirties-something woman—a soccer mom, perhaps, with a minivan and propensity to make meatloaf and fish sticks—drags itself across the fawn-colored carpet towards you, slow and pathetic. Ice growls and barks. Rio raises his Remington.

“Wait,” Baela says. Her hammer is in her right hand. “Can I do it?”

“Of course, be my guest,” Rio says; though you can tell he’s slightly disappointed. He loves clubbing things.

Baela approaches the yowling zombie—jaws snapping, claws swiping—and grimaces down at it, this one of millions of monsters that ended the world, that killed Jace and stole all the rest of her life from her too, all those normal things she was supposed to have, all those strings of fate that the plague cut through like a razor and sent floating aimlessly out into the void of the universe. Then with a scream, Baela swings her hammer and a catastrophic impact crater appears in the side of the zombie’s skull, and it crumples to the floor, its mindless brains spilling out onto the carpet.

“Nothing good?” Aegon asks when you reappear in the driveway, popping a Vicodin into his mouth.

“No,” Aemond replies grimly. “No gas, no bullets, no food, nothing to drink.”

“I knew it would be lean pickings once we got out here,” Cregan says, and Aemond looks like he could kill him.

“Well, fortunately, Luke might have some good news for us,” Aegon says with a grin.

Aemond perks up. “Really? What?”

“I saw a truck out there,” Luke says, using his binoculars to gesture to the grain bin. “It’s parked between the barn and the grain thing, I can just see the very front of it sticking out. And if there’s a truck, there might be gas.”

Aemond ruffles Luke’s fluffy dark hair. “Good job, kid.” And Luke lights up like how cities used to look at night, back when the power was on: Washington D.C., Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae. Rio stoops down so Aegon can hop on his back, and all of you trek together across the field.

“Nothing,” Cregan announces as he squeezes the little pump on the siphoning hose after opening the gas cap of the ancient Chevy Silverado and threading the hose inside. “Not a drop.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Aegon sighs from where he’s slumped on the ground. His eyes are glazed; he’s pretty stoned. He gazes pitifully up at you; you pat his shoulder sympathetically. You and Rio have already checked the barn, dilapidated but perfectly devoid of zombies. The roof has caved in; one of the two front doors are missing. “What now?!”

“We can go back to the interstate and walk until we find the next ranch,” you say, looking absentmindedly at the grain bin. It’s much larger up close, and rusty in spots. A ladder runs up one side to allow access to the roof. Ice isn’t whining or nudging anyone’s hands, but she’s sniffing the air as if she’s detected something interesting, unfamiliar.

“Yeah,” Luke replies miserably. “We can walk another five or ten miles and then maybe find a safe place to spend the night.”

Rhaena shades her eyes as she peers up at the sky. “It’s past noon already. Maybe we should just stay here.”

Rio barks out a sardonic laugh. “In a house with no supplies and that reeks of dead people?”

“Cregan, go kill us something to eat,” Aegon commands.

He chuckles in his deep, gruff voice. “It’s Miss Chips who is good at the killing, I’m just the authority on butchering at the moment.”

Aemond is watching Ice, his forehead furrowed. “What’s she doing?”

Cregan whistles. “Hey, princess, you okay?” Ice ignores him, still sniffing, her grey ears straight up in the air. Then it appears from behind the barn: a tiny brown creature, a baby bear.

“Aww, it’s so fuzzy!” Aegon squeals, stretching his arm out to pet it. Rio yanks him away; everyone else is backing up towards the grain bin. A second bear cub has now arrived, padding clumsily along, large cartoonish eyes and a little pink tongue poking out from its muzzle.

“Don’t touch them!” Aemond shouts to everyone. “Get away from them! If there are cubs, there’s probably—”

And around the barn comes the mother, a grizzly bear of 400 pounds. She bares her teeth and snarls, saliva dripping in long gluey strings. Ice is barking viciously; Aegon is shrieking and scrambling onto Rio’s back.

“Baela!” Aemond says because she’s closest to him, urging her towards the ladder of the grain bin. She gets the idea and begins climbing. Then Aemond reaches for you. “Come on, you next!”

“Rhaena, go,” you say instead, and she clambers up the ladder after Baela. Cregan is brandishing his axe; Rio has his Remington in his hands, Aegon still clinging to his back like a baby opossum to its mother. Now Helaena is climbing up the ladder, and Daeron nocks an arrow. You whip one of your M9s out of its holster, aim for the bear’s head, and pull the trigger.

Your bullet hits its skull, Daeron’s arrow pierces its chest; and the mother bear does not die but roars and rises up onto her back feet—taller than Rio, taller than Cregan—and then drops back down and charges towards you and the grain bin. Cregan blocks the way, swinging his axe. The bear reluctantly pauses, testing him with swipes of her claws that he evades. Rio is just a few steps behind Cregan, waving his Remington around hostilely. Aegon is screaming and holding on for dear life.

“Don’t shoot!” Cregan yells. “9mm isn’t big enough, you’ll just make her more angry!”

Aemond finally gets a grip on your wrist and drags you to the ladder. You obey and climb until your feet are several rungs off the ground, then you turn to see what’s going on below. Aemond, Luke, and Daeron are at the bottom of the ladder, their backs to you. Cregan is still wielding his axe.

“Fuck off, Mama Bear!” he bellows, standing as tall as possible and swinging his axe above his head. Rio follows Cregan’s lead and holds his Remington aloft. Ice is barking; the baby bears are fleeing in terror. Aegon is sobbing hysterically and saying he’s going to die. “You don’t want us and we don’t want you! Go on! Go get your babies! I’ll put this blade right between your eyes if you don’t change your stupid mind right quick!”

The bear pounds the earth with her front feet and growls, a beastly subterranean rumble, but she seems to be losing her nerve. The rungs of the ladder creak and groan; you see rust like blood-hued moss around the bolts.

“Get out of here!” Cregan shouts. “Go, you hairy old bitch! Go back to your babies!”

The bear glances back to see her cubs vanish behind the barn. Her mouth is open and panting, spittle gleaming on her pointed teeth; her black eyes are uncertain. As you hold onto the ladder with one hand, you have your M9 aimed at the bear’s left eye, just in case. Aemond is watching Cregan; on his scarred face a sharp severity, fascination and resentment and fear.

“Go on,” Cregan says firmly. “Leave us alone. You belong in the mountains, not down here. Go eat something that’s already dead, a nice easy dinner. You don’t want us. We’ll fight you.”

The grizzly bear shakes her head—flopping ears, shaggy fur filthy with dust and pieces of grass—and whirls, lumbering off to find her cubs. When she rounds the barn, Cregan waits a few long, tense, silent minutes and then turns to the grain bin.

“Alright y’all, we oughta hurry up and leave. I don’t think she’ll come back, but she might.”

From the top of the ladder, approximately forty feet off the ground, Baela begins to laugh. “Did that really just happen?! That was insane! Cregan, buddy, you can vote for whoever you want to. You and I are cool forever.”

He smiles up at her, wincing in the bright afternoon light. “I’m very glad to hear it, ma’am.”

Rio sets Aegon down on the ground and stretches his back; it must be hurting him. Aemond is taking your hand and helping you off the ladder, and you are reminded of the transmission tower where he found you in Catawissa, Pennsylvania, one of those middle-of-nowhere places like Tipton, Wyoming. As Helaena climbs down, you go to Rio and—with as much force as you can manage—knead the small of his back with the heel of your hand like you know helps him.

“You okay?”

He sighs loudly, relieved. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Oh, wow, that’s good. Harder…oh yeah…”

There is a snapping sound, metal squealing as it breaks, and by the time you turn to look she’s already falling: her cotton dress billowing around her, her arms wheeling helplessly. It happens too quickly for her to scream—for her to understand what is going on and what it means—but there is a stunned gasp and then she hits the ground, and you hear a muffled crunch of bone—skull?? spine??—and she is completely, unnaturally still as she lies on her back, no pain, no words, nothing.

“Baela!” Rhaena shrieks, and she rushes down the ladder and runs to her sister. You are all gathering around Baela, petrified to move her—to make it worse—but pleading for her to wake up, examining her with terrified eyes. Baela’s own eyes, dark and glassy and serene, are open only a sliver like obsidian crescent moons. Aemond is asking Helaena for a flashlight and then prying them wide, checking Baela’s pupils.

“There’s no reflex,” he says numbly.

“What does that mean?!” Rhaena cries. “Aemond? Aemond?!”

“She’s…she’s…” He’s in denial; he’s in shock. He’s feeling for a pulse on her carotid, he’s digging his fingernails into her forearm to try to get her to respond to pain.

“Aemond?” you say softly.

“She’s gone,” he tells you, like he doesn’t believe it, like he’s waiting to wake up.

“The baby,” Rhaena says. “Try to save the baby.” And then, when Aemond doesn’t immediately understand, she grabs his backpack and begins ripping it off so he can get the medical kit inside. “The baby, Aemond!”

Now he knows what he has to do. He pulls the scalpel out of his kit as Rhaena moves Baela’s sundress to expose her belly. She was wearing biker shorts beneath, lavender, cute, something you might have picked out in a store. In less than a minute they will be soaked with blood. Cregan leads Daeron away, and he’s telling him that they need to keep watch in case the grizzly bear returns, but you think it is an act of mercy more than anything else. Ice goes with them. Helaena, her face pale and grave, is shining the flashlight on Baela’s belly, just beneath her navel.

“Aegon?” Aemond says.

“What? What do you need?”

“I need people to help hold open the incision once I make it. I have to be able to see the amniotic sac so I can cut the membrane without harming the baby.”

“I get it, I’m here, I’ll help.”

Aemond presses the blade of the scalpel to Baela’s skin and draws a semicircle from the top of one hip to the other. There is blood, but it is slow-moving and thick and dark; it is the blood of a dead woman, not a living one. Immediately, Aegon hooks his fingers under layers of fat, skin, and muscle, and opens the wound as much as he can. You and Rio reach in too, and you do this without thinking, without allowing yourself to feel the horror of it until the work is done.

“I can’t see,” Aemond is murmuring. Rhaena gets another flashlight and helps Helaena illuminate the area. Luke is on his knees with both hands clamped over his mouth, his eyes glistening with dread and disbelief. Aemond is slicing, pausing to probe around with his fingers, cutting again. Then his arm plunges into Baela’s abdomen up to his elbow and, with some difficulty, pulls out the gore-covered baby by its feet, a girl, large and limp and silent.

Rhaena sobs, equal parts grief and joy, a smile appearing on her face. “Is she okay? Aemond? Is she…why isn’t she crying? Aemond?!”

Rio yanks off his shirt and uses it to wipe blood and gelatinous clumps away from the baby’s eyes, mouth, and nostrils. Then Aemond takes the shirt and wraps the baby in it, warming her, rubbing her lifeless little limbs. When she does not stir, Aemond lays her on the earth and begins CPR: compressions with two fingers on her tiny heart, two breaths down the airway she’s never used. There are no sounds except his efforts. There is no crying when the baby wakes, because she never does.

Enough, you are thinking, as if from very far away: an island in the Indian Ocean, the Appalachian mountains in eastern Kentucky. Enough, enough, enough.

Aemond stops trying to revive the baby. He picks her up and holds her against him, and no one says anything. There is only the barrenness of the Wyoming steppe, an anemic blue sky, tall dry grass that bows in the breeze, black vultures that are landing atop the barn and the grain bin.

Aegon jolts out of his paralysis and reaches for his brother with bloodied hands. “Aemond, hey, Aemond, listen to me, it wasn’t your fault. Okay? Are you listening? Aemond, man, you did everything you could. You gave them a chance. You didn’t give up.”

But Aemond doesn’t respond; he only kneels there beside Baela’s butchered body, her dead baby girl in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Alys?” he calls, seeing that she never came back to bed. He is lying on his stomach, tangled in red sheets damp with sweat. It’s hot, too hot, and there is no humming of the air conditioning. When Aemond picks up his iPhone from the nightstand, it’s still plugged in but only at 87% battery. The power must have gone out.

He gets up, rubs the damp skin by his temple—headache, dehydration—and lifts open the nearest window. It’s odd: there is shouting, distant and indistinct, like the sound of a carnival or a concert. There are car alarms too, and sirens, and horns blaring, all too far away for him to see. It must be because of the power outage, traffic signals thrown into chaos, neighbors relaying the latest information back and forth. That’s the only logical explanation.

“Alys?” Aemond says again, groggy but with increasing curiosity, concern, guilt.

She started to feel sick last night, a pulsing in her skull and chills and powerful nausea. The possibility of it being the so-called Florida Fever barely registered in his mind. Alys gets migraines, and tofu is a migraine trigger, and he took her to a Thai restaurant (maybe he should have known better) and the curry Alys ordered ended up having tofu in it, and by the time she paid the check (as Alys always did) she was swallowing an Imitrex from the box in her snakeskin purse. She said she was going to lie down in the guest bedroom for a while so she wouldn’t wake him if she spent the next few hours dashing to and from the bathroom, a likely outcome, and if he was honest with himself about it, Aemond would admit he was relieved.

He shuffles to the bedroom door—black boxers, bare feet, century-old hardwood floors—and opens it. Now he can hear thudding, like someone tenderizing meat with a mallet. “Alys? Baby, you feeling okay?” There is no answer, only that rhythmic hammering. He realizes that it is coming from the guest bedroom, a door at the end of a long hallway still fuzzy through his half-awake eyes.

It had never felt right, but it had felt good: good in the body when she touched him, good in the soul when she told him he did something right. But lately—especially here, in the vast creaking historic house she shares with her husband and her children, who are presently sailing in Cape Cod—Aemond cannot shake the feeling that this entanglement is a surrender rather than an aspiration, something he fell into and now rests at the bottom of like a swimming pool or the sea, the cold weight of it threatening to pour into his lungs and drown him.

“Alys?” Aemond says, now with profound and inexplicable dread. Outside an ambulance or police car zooms by, sirens blaring. The pounding on the door of the guest bedroom grows faster.

I want to go home, Aemond thinks suddenly. At home, in the Federal-style townhouse his parents rented for him (Criston picked it out, a safe and quiet neighborhood in Beacon Hill, and Viserys paid), Daeron is visiting from California and watching golf tournaments with Aegon on the living room couch, pretending to be interested when Aegon describes the different types of clubs. Helaena, pursuing an Entomology PhD, is researching the Mediterranean mantis, clicking around on her MacBook Pro from the garden in the backyard. Jace and Luke live there too, and so Baela and Rhaena have all but officially moved in, keeping their apartment in Seaport only to have somewhere to retreat to when the Targaryen chaos becomes too much…and so the baby can have its own room. Baela bought a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, a dresser, and about a million unisex onesies, mostly space-themed. Baela is studying Aeronautics and Astronautics, after all. Maybe one day she’ll work for NASA and fly rockets to the moon.

The door is rattling on its hinges. Aemond’s hand closes around the knob. On the other side is something terrible, and he knows this. But he cannot just leave her. Aemond is not someone who abandons people; he is not someone who turns away from responsibilities.

He opens the door of the guest bedroom, and immediately she is staggering towards him, limp dripping hair and naked like she was interrupted mid-shower: blood bubbling from her gaping mouth and the whites of teeth peeking through the crimson, necrotic skin hanging in strips from her fingers, eyes misty like steam on a mirror.

“Alys, stop! Alys! What’s wrong with you?!”

She’s alive but she’s dead. She’s yowling and clawing at him, but her flesh is the rotting swampland of a corpse. He’s pushing her away; his palms sink into her, places he once noticed and then fantasized about and then at last—euphorically, ashamedly—touched, held, borrowed but never kept. She’s trying to bite him. She’s trying to kill him. None of this is possible, and yet it’s true.

Aemond flings her away, and the woman who was once Alys stumbles backwards and down the staircase, sick wet thumps all the way to the ground floor, bones splitting through dissolving grey skin, organs sloshing around until they spill out. He can hear her still hissing, flailing, trying to get up again.

Without thinking—slipping seamlessly into what he learned during his psych rotation is called automatic action—Aemond races down the steps and grabs her by the skull, cracks it against the antique hardwood floor she once extoled the value of as he fucked her on it: shipped east from Oregon and laid in 1912, the year the Titanic sank. When she lurches up to try to bite him, he slams her head against the floor again and again until she is still.

Then Aemond kneels there alone for a long time, sirens shrieking outside, far-off strangers screaming for help, putrid black blood clotting on his hands.

[immodestly-marina]

Paparazzi!Series *ੈ✩‧₊˚ (Part two: Real Good, We’re Dancin’ In The Studio!)

Summary: You go to a frat party and spot “Tom”, but he doesn’t know you’re the one watching him and contributing to his tuition payments, shhh!

A/n: I was gonna write about the private session between Sam and the reader, but I felt really creepy when I was writing it LMAO. It was just coming out insanely awkward, but I’ll try writing it again as a bonus chapter or something.

Anyway, I’m gonna make a masterlist for the series and link it here as soon as I can :p

Warnings: Smut, one night stand, rushed sex, oral (f + m receiving), interrupted sex :/

It was a few weeks after your first private session with Tom– who was actually Sam– and once you’d started, you found yourself unable to stop. You’d never spent so much money on another person all at once, so much that you began to wonder if this was an unhealthy obsession (It was).

Now, here you are at a loud, sweaty frat party, talking to some random blonde guy who can’t seem to hold his liquor.

“I can’t hear you!” You shout over the music. This guy has been awkwardly hitting on you for twenty minutes and you’re well past being bored. Thankfully, you spot Jessica gracefully pushing her way over to come to your rescue.

“Sorry, ‘scuse me, I need to steal this girl from you, really quick..”

Jess takes you by the shoulders to guide you towards the mini bar in the kitchen (if you can even call it that). There’s a bottle of Sourpuss across the marble island calling your name, but it’s surrounded by a pack of sweaty guys, and you’re just a tad too far to reach it. Even when you’re leaning as far as you can with one leg in the air, it’s still just a fingertip way.. until Sam nudges it closer with two of his fingers, smiling at your efforts.

You follow the hand upwards until you can make out whose face it is, and sure as shit, it’s Tom_2005.

“Oh- fuck!” You gasp when the realisation hits, and he furrows his brows in your direction. He mouths a ‘you okay?’ with a thumb up, and you just blink at him for a second.

Your private session was mostly one sided-- as in, your camera was off, but you’d enabled your mic to interact with him more-- so, he had no way of recognizing you here, the only way to do so would be to overanalyze your voice, had you verbally responded.

He tilted his head a little, and that prompted you to nod yours, before giving him a mouthed ‘thank you’.

You turned around and made your way back to the crowd of drunken college kids, mentally kicking yourself for being so awkward. You were about ready to leave anyway, the smell of sweaty bodies and weed clouding your senses, along with the god awful music they had going. It wasn’t long before you passed the bottle to a random stranger, now uninterested in the overly tart drink as you started for the nearest door.

A big hand on your shoulder stopped you from moving past people, and you turned around expecting a punchable face, but it was just Sam.. or, Tom..?

When he was met with your scowl he put his hands up in defense, “Sorry, not trying to make a move.. truce?" Your face softened and you giggled, shaking your head. “No, I’m sorry, it’s really hectic in here-”

Sam chuckled too. “Tell me about it!” He shouted over the music, “Where’s your bottle of booze infused red-40?” Sam moved closer to hear you better, “I wasn’t feeling it! I’m not really feeling any of this, anymore!”

He shook his head in agreement. Sam leaned in closer to your ear, “Kinda trashy, huh?” You nodded with a laugh, “Normally I love trashy.”

You both paused to try to take in the environment, before Sam leaned in to talk to you again. “Wanna dance?” He projected his voice a little louder. You weighed your options, leave and have an early-ish night, or stay and dance with the guy you masturbated with the other night?

“What the hell, sure!”

He grinned and nodded, sheepishly moving behind you and pulling the hair from your face back behind your ears. His knuckles brushed against your cheeks, and followed a path from your jaw, to your neck, to your shoulders, leaving them there while you began to sway a little. You felt his breath fan over your ear, sending a little chill through your spine.

“C’mon, s’that all you got?”

You playfully rolled your eyes and turned around to face him, tossing your arms around his neck and pulling yourself closer to him. He nodded at that, “yeah, ‘atta girl!”

Sam’s hands moved down to rest on your waist to pull himself even closer, his hips grinding against your own. You turned around and pushed your hips back a little, swivelling them against him, earning a deep groan in your ear. Sam moved your hair away from your shoulder to give himself access to your neck, leaning in to brush his lips against your skin. With a sigh you melted into him more, your hands moving behind you to card your fingers through his hair.

Sam softly grunted against your neck before tilting his head up to meet your ear, “Is it too early to ask you to come with me upstairs?”

You didn’t even need to answer, taking his hand from your hip and maneuvering your way through the groups of people with his hand in yours. You didn’t even reach the top of the staircase before Sam’s lips were on your neck again, trailing sloppy, open mouthed kisses over as much skin as he could cover.

You both stumble your way through the first bedroom door still attacking each other’s lips, and as soon as the door was closed, Sam had you pushed up against it in a heartbeat. His hands easily surrounded your whole head as he kissed you, while yours made quick work at unbuckling his belt and tugging up his shirt. He pulled apart from you to help pull it over his head, before pushing his jeans down, the sound of his belt clunking against the floor ringing in your ears.

As soon as they were down, so were you, your hands tugging his boxers down to free his already leaking dick from the restricting material. You immediately leaned forward to kitten lick the precum from his tip, with your hand coming up to gently stroke what you knew you wouldn't be able to fit in your mouth.

Sam hissed at the contact, his hands carefully pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail. Once you’d gotten used to his size you took him in farther, which was no problem as Sam lazily thrust his hips forward to meet your pace.

“Fuck.. yeah, that’s it.. ” He tipped his head back, letting out soft grunts each time you took him all the way in. You met his eyes when he looked down, his lips forming a smirk at the sight of you practically melting in front of him. How could you not? You’re sucking off your favourite pornstar for Christ’s sake.

He stopped your head from taking him even deeper, gently pulling out of your mouth to get you on your feet again. Sam helped you up, before practically throwing you on the bed.

He was on you again in seconds, sloppily kissing your neck as his hand traveled down to run along the inside of your thigh. You groaned into his ear when you felt his hand palm you through your underwear, before running his fingers over the increasingly wet material.

Sam stopped mouthing at your neck to drag his tongue from there to your mouth, both of your lips clashing against each other in what has to be the messiest kiss since the season one finale of Gilmore Girls (lookitup).

“So fucking wet..” He murmurs against your lips, his fingers moving to pull your underwear to the side before stopping dead in his tracks and pulling his head back from yours.

“This s'okay.. right?”

You let out a small laugh at his slurred consent check and nodded, then Sam went back to kiss you again, his fingers now lightly brushing over your cunt. You whine and buck your hips against his hand only to get a soft chuckle in return. His fingers dip down to tease your entrance, collecting the drooling arousal on his fingertips before pushing two in at once.

When you arched into his touch, Sam tilted his head down to nip at your neck. After each drag of his teeth he’d leave a gentle kiss to warm over the lingering marks on your skin.

He kissed down your body while working his fingers against your core, keeping his pace slow as he got you worked up. When his face was level to your abdomen, he looked up at you through lazy eyelids, before running his tongue down from your navel to your clit.

“Tom-”

Sam’s tongue froze against you for a second before tilting his head up to face you with furrowed eyebrows.

“..what'd you say?”

You blinked in confusion, “Tom.. that’s your name, right..?” Sam slowly shook his head, “no.. my name’s Sam.”

Fuck. You sat up on your elbows and swallowed thickly. “oh..”

“Why’d you think to say that name..?”

He had to have known. Just say ‘I thought I heard someone call you that’ or ‘you look like a tom!’

“I don’t… know?”

Sam tilted his head as he tried to piece together how you made the connection between him and “Tom”. He went back to all of the private sessions he’d had over the last few weeks, and then it hit him. You were the girl with the pretty moans and the busted webcam.

He let out something between a scoff and a lighthearted laugh, “I thought your voice sounded familiar!”

✧.* Taglist ➣ @shypilled @s7nburn @starzify @insensiblelimerence @jaredpadonlyyyy @kiapepper Lemme know if you wanna be added! :3

[pinkseas]

(bighugemassive isat spoilers vvv)

thinking about loop in the sif is out au has me experiencing a very special kind of agony

just. just. siffrin, alone!! looping completely alone, none of their party members, not a soul in all of dormont, no star under the favor tree. only them, for years-decades-thousands of loops, until they finally, finally give up. until they can't do it anymore. and then waking up. in a world where their entire party is stuck in that time loop EXCEPT for them.

having to watch themselves over, and over, and over again, messing up and being utterly useless and holding every single one of the others back. the only idiot who doesnt remember. loop, working with a party that is no longer theirs to save a version of themselves who has never known a day of real hardship or suffering. a stupid, aimless traveler trapping each and every one of them here, loop included, who doesnt even have the decency to know theyre doing it! funny how there are two of them, now, and yet BOTH of them have completely and utterly failed their entire party in such drastically unique and awful ways. forcing them to relive this for eternity.

at least none of loop's party remembered. at least loop was useful in that they could take away the other's pain, shoulder it all on their own. siffrin can't even do that. all they're doing is hurting everyone more. and they don't know.

they're the reason, they're the key, it's their fault everyone is suffering and they dont even know!!!! useless. worse than useless. if only one of these loops they would just stay dead. it'd be better for everyone, that way, for their party and loop and even themselves. loop knows how it feels. loop understands. yeah the others have each other and loop had no one but at least loop is capable of helping the others now!!! at least loop can remember!!! siffrin doesnt deserve this he doesnt deserve the love and care and affection (affection he doesnt even RECOGNIZE, doesnt appreciate or cherish, takes for granted over and over and over again) he doesnt deserve to wake every day in blissful ignorance of the way hes ruined everything and everyone around him!!!!!!

loop who knows it all and who gets to watch the entire party except for siffrin work together and support each other. gets to see just how much better off they are without sif in the way. loop isnt even siffrin, anymore. theyre Good now theyre Useful now they Understand now. siffrin doesnt and never will. watching the careful, quiet way siffrin falls further and further behind. another timeline and still completely alone. thats just what the universe wants from them, loop thinks. for every siffrin out there to suffer.

and ohhhh if/when they break the loops depending on how that goes... siffrin who did nothing to contribute who did nothing to deserve this who shouldnt even EXIST being handed victory and unconditional love on a silver fucking platter and loop who just has to watch............

[dimalry]

My SJM- based opinions that nobody asked for, but I‘m sharing anyway.

I made a lot of critical points that may trigger some people…

- Manorian sucks. They had potential until they became canon, and SJM turned Dorian into another shadow daddy. Dorian dominating Manon is a joke—it's just ridiculous. Also, Dorian should be shorter than Manon.

- Dorian and Sorscha are cute together. RIP, though...

- Chaol is one of the best male characters in the SJM universe.

- Chaolryne is the healthiest and one of the best ships in all of her book series.

- Sam’s death WRECKED me.

- Kaltain deserved better.

- I think I like Rowan with long hair better.

- The Assassin’s Blade and ToD are severely underrated. KoA wasn’t that great.

- I hate the spy theory with a burning passion for both Elain and Gwyn, especially Elain. Maybe it’s because I have other plans for them, but I just don’t see either of them as spies. Let’s be honest here—the only reason most people support the spy theory is because of Azriel, not because they genuinely think Elain and Gwyn are suited for the job.

- Azriel is far from being the best spymaster. I’d say he’s very bad at his job, and Rhys makes it worse. 😭🙏

- The High Lady title is overrated. The position of a ruler isn’t some internship that any 14-year-old can apply for. → Nesta or Elain as High Lady of Dusk? Elain as High Lady of Day or Spring? Gwyn as High Lady of Summer? Emerie as High Lady of Dawn? The only female characters I want to see rule are Viviane and Cresseida. Headcanons are cool and fun, but some of y’all treat them like facts.

- I’m not a big fan of High Lady Feyre anymore. I see her as more of a neutral party than a ruler of a specific court—or better said, a city.

- I love the Inner Circle, but I’d hate to be their friend, and I don’t think they’d enjoy being my friends either. I’d rather hang out with the Valkyries and Elain.

- I love the Valkyries, but I’m just annoyed that Nesta was given a sword and armor like most of SJM’s female characters. I fear that Elain might be the next target and I hate it.

- Nesta made the right decision in choosing her safety and comfort (sitting on that rock instead of training) over Cassian’s already-bad reputation. It wasn’t one of her prideful moments like people think so.

- Amren should’ve stayed dead. She contributes nothing to the story after ACOWAR. All she does is b*tch, whine, and moan.

- Vamren doesn’t really make sense. Amren doesn’t strike me as straight or as someone who would even pursues a relationship. It seems like Varian was just thrown at her.

- Justice for Jurian!

- Rhys does NOT need to be superior in every way. It’s okay for him to lack power in certain areas and actually be flawed. I came to that conclusion when I worked on Rhys’s character for my storytelling—it makes him a more compelling character. Tamlin also doesn’t need to suck in every way possible.

- I’m fairly confident that Gwynriel and Elucien are endgame, but I don’t care enough to try to convince people of it, nor will I be upset if they’re not endgame. SJM builds up great potential and then wastes it, so I’m not sure if an announced endgame is a good thing. You either write a good story or don’t bother at all. I won’t accept mediocrity anymore.

- Case in point: ACOSF Nessian sucked. Their love story consists of repeated sex and unnecessary arguments—bleh. Potential wasted.

- I feel nothing for Sarion or Elriel (though there’s one thing I don’t like about them, which is thankfully still just a headcanon), Emorie… and probably more ships that I can’t think of rn. I don’t like nor dislike them—they’re just there.

- I love Helion x LoA’s tragic love story, but I don’t want them together. At least, not so soon after Beron’s death. His existence isn’t the only obstacle between them. There are a lot of unresolved feelings, resentment, and trauma built up over the years. It’s really not that easy.

- Neither SJM nor the fans are aware of how long 500+ years truly is.

- Sarah’s right—Ruhn and Lidia’s wedding was corny and unnecessary.

- I loved Ruhnlidia in HOSAB. They were kind of boring in HOFAS. Then I realized that I just love DayNight more than Ruhnlidia.

- The only girl I like to see Tharion with is Hypaxia. I think their banter is cute. I know she’s a lesbian, but based on how boring SJM writes her queer ships, Hypaxia x Celestina was only bound to be unremarkable.

- Tharion was intriguing until he got his own POV. I really don’t want to feel the same about Azriel when his book comes out.

- Hunt deserves better, but he needs to give up that foot fetish.

- The only interesting bonus chapter that came with HOSAF was the Ember x Randall chapter. To be honest, a lot of bonus chapters SJM writes are so unnecessary and boring.

- The crossover should’ve never happened. It feels like a corny Marvel dream SJM had. The only good thing that came out of it was Ember being a mother hen to Nesta.

- I really don’t care about Bryce’s friendship with Nesta and Azriel.

- I’m not a fan of the headcanon that Bryce and the Valkyries would be friends, even though it makes sense.

- Bryciel gives me the ick. I saw a post that mentioned how it would be a one-night stand followed by no contact afterward, and I couldn’t agree more. I feel like they’d get annoyed with each other pretty fast. I’m sorry to anyone who ships it, but their personalities don’t mesh well...

- The torture Ruhn, Hunt, and Baxian suffered under those weirdo angels wasn’t even that bad. I shouldn’t have had high expectations.

- Baxian is a good boy, but I don’t like his mate.

- Cormac is cool. Rip.

- HOFAS was bad. I enjoyed it at first, especially the whole deal with the Viper Queen, but I got bored over time, and I couldn’t keep up with the plots anymore. HOEAB is the best book in the series. HOSAB was fine.

- All villains (except Maeve and Arobynn) are so cartoonish and corny.

I have more opinions, but that’s enough for today. I just wanted to share some of my thoughts on these books (and some theories/headcanons), and I’d love to hear your opinions!

I’ve also made the decision that I won’t read another SJM book ever again after ACOTAR ends. Until then, I’ll support my local library or download the upcoming ACOTAR books in PDF instead of giving her my money. That’s how you actually separate the art from the artist, rather than just saying it. 🥰

[defuckingthrone-dot-com]

A Dirty Wedding Affair 🌴🌅

Summary: Just a quick little blurb about having a One Night Stand with Noah 

Pairing: Noah x Reader

TW: Sex p in v, oral sex.

A/N: Ever since i saw this picture i thought of this scenario. I talked to @concretejunglefm about it she actually contributed to some of the ideas here. also, title by her! Any way enjoy! xx.

Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

I really don't know how I got involved in this situation, I was always careful with things like this. Actually when I think about it, it wasn't really my style to do this type of thing. But here I was hiding behind a damn palm tree decoration on a small reception of this Hotel. I was trying to not get noticed by the guy whose bed I left this morning before he actually woke up. The walk of shame back to my room felt a little too real, and I guess I wasn't hiding hard enough because from the corner of my eyes I saw him walk up with a big smirk on his face.

“Are you really trying to hide behind that flimsy excuse of a palm tree?” he asked with a little bit of laughter in his tone.

“Who me? No, No why would i??” i said a bit too rushed

“Maybe because you sneaked out this morning” I wasn't expecting for him to call me out like that but he was right, i felt embarrassed and i didnt want him to see me. 

“yeah um i'm sorry?” i didn't know if apologizing would make the situation better but i tried anyway, 

His gaze lingered a little too long before he left a subtle laugh “Yeah it's good I ran into you, you forgot this Pixie..”i didn't have time to dwell on the fact he called me Pixie just like he moaned last nice with a few other choice of words because he was already pulling out the same lace pair of panties i was wearing  when i entered his room last night from his front pocket.. “Didn't want you to lose them so I kept them safe.” 

All the blood in me crept onto my cheeks and I can confidently say that I wasn't blushing anymore, I was bleeding red. I realized what was happening and in one quick move I snatched the panties from his hand. 

You're probably wondering how I got here? Well, I'll have to relieve the last 72 hrs for you to understand, so here i go!

It all started when I arrived here, this wasn't a vacation per say but I did plan on having the most fun I could before I had to go back to boring reality back home. My best friend from childhood was getting married this weekend. She had chosen to get married at the beach, which was great for me. I loved the tropical weather and I could enjoy a bit more tanning. 

The first time I saw him I was laid in a lounge chair by the pool. I was grabbing the the book i was reading in one hand and a glass of lemonade on the other, i saw walk in front of me and walk around the edge of said pool to reach the other side, he was with what assume to be his friends, i vaguely remember thinking how i did have Maid of Honor duties to fulfill but not until later that night so stayed a little too long in my spot.

I saw how his colorful tattoos shined under the water with the sun hitting them. he had a little bun of hair on the top of his, and he seem to be just about the tallest man i ever seen, The most gorgeous brown that have ever crossed paths with me, 

He seemed like a lot of fun, and started from my seat. I was wearing sunglasses and half of them covered my face. I thought I was being cautious and not obvious but when he turned to look my way an almost hazy took over me.

Luckily he wasn't looking at me, he was looking at one of his friends that was passing by me going towards him.

I didn't want to seem like a creep so I decided to just get up and go back into my room. I would be lying if I thought he was very attractive but way out of my league but I probably would never see him again so why even bother thinking such a thing. 

The second encounter was by the bar just down the street of the hotel. I probably shouldn't have drank anything before the wedding but I fear I was more nervous than the actual bride. I wanted to take a shot or two before I had to be back to get ready. i sat at one end of the bar when i saw him reaching the other end, he sat down and other his drink,

He was alone this time, i tried not look his way as the bartender put my vodka soda in front of me and maybe i was being paranoid but i could sense his eyes on me, I pulled out my cell phone from my phone and decided to scroll just so i could have something to do and not look dumb. After about of 10 minutes i decided it was time to go i paid for my drinks at headed, 

Once again this was the last time i would probably see him but was i so wrong, 

The wedding had started and everything was going to plan. The music started playing and as the maid of honor I made my way down the aisle to stand by the sidelines. As my best friend walked down the most beautiful princess and the emotions started to come afloat I saw him once again. He was sitting in the 3rd row of chairs. 

My eyes grew wide, I didn't know why I felt the tension, I haven't even crossed words with him once so it was a bit dumb for me to feel this way. I couldn't run so I was just still until the ceremony had ended, But i could tell even by the side of my eye that at that point he was looking at me with a small smile. 

After the beautiful ceremony and my sweat induced head we moved to where the location for the party would be.

I was having such a good time, I mingled amongst the guests, everything was going perfect and I couldn't be more happy for my best friend Bailey. I didn't want my social battery to run out and as the liquid in my glass, I made my way down to the bar. I ordered a vodka soda and as I reached for it and turned around I nearly fell on my ass, I bumped into someone and it almost made my drink spill on my dress. I didn't pay attention to who was standing in front of me as I was trying to clean with my hands the small droplets that did manage to land on my dress.

“If i didn't know any better i would think you are stalking me” i heard a  voice.

“what..? i don't even know who..” as i looked up to meet his eyes i saw who exactly it was “are…” my voice started to windle down.

“3 times in the span of 48 hours seems like a very unlikely crazy coincidence” 

“i don't know what you mean” i tried to stay confidently 

“3 times, darling, 1. by the pool, 2. at the bar down the street this morning and 3. this wedding” he must sense the sheer panic and embarrassment in my eyes “you know i'm just kidding right?” he let out a soft laugh. 

“...yeah, yeah of course!” I said with a shaky laugh.

“if were going to keep running into each other it's best i introduce my self, Im Noah”

“im y/n”

“pretty name for a pretty girl”

“Uh thanks” I didn't know where to look. I was a bit shocked to actually be talking to him.

“So Maid of honor huh?” he asked intrigues.

“Yeah me and the bride we go way back, weve been bestfriends for years” i said preparing to ask him a question, “and you? Who do you know from here?” 

“The groom, we have worked together a few times” he replied back.

“So you're in the music industry, do you like sound tech or something?” i asked 

He stared at me as if i was saying something so out of the box “Not exactly, i'm in a band, and the groom has helped me and band out a lot”

“Ah that makes sense”

We decided to move our conversation over to the table where the rest of his band mates were seated. it scared me a bit how natural the conversation flowed. I was having a really good time with him and the night was almost coming to an end.

By this time both the bride and groom had already left and retreated back to their room, the only people left were the waiter cleaning up the mess and Noah and I. 

“So do you maybe want to go back to my room and chill for a bit..i mean if you would like of course” he asked with a hopeful glint in his eyes,

I hesitated for a bit, but after a moment I thought nothing wrong could go bad. 

“yeah sure that sounds great” 

We walked down the long hallways of the hotel to catch the elevator, we both knew there was a sexual tension between us and as soon as the doors closed to start ascending the correct floor, his lips were on mine. A sweet slow passionate kiss, where his tongue andmine where dancing in unison

The elevator door couldn't open fast enough, and a brief second we were already outside his door. He struggled to get his key card out of his pocket and as soon as the door he led me over to his bed. He laid me down while he balanced his wight on top of mine 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked 

All i could do was nod, I was too far in and too intrigued on his bedroom skills to say no.

He took over my mouth once more, another kiss, this one more chaotic and wild then the last. He started to slowly pull down the straps of my dress while I in a frantic motion fought to get his pants unbuttoned. 

Clothes started to fly around the room, my dress flew on the floor while my lace panties and bra ended on the side table. His button down shirt somehow made its way on top of the lamp that was sitting on the table in front of the bed, his pants and belt landing with a loud thud on the floor.

And just like that we were both naked. lost in the heat of the moment, Once his lips left mine, he started to leave a trail of tiny kisses from my jawline, down my neck, through the valley of my breast. He made a little pit stop at my navel to situate himself between my legs. Once he did so he picked right up where he left off. 

He overlooked my core to also kiss the inner part of my thighs. I was already high due to his touch. He locked down at my core and looked like the most starved man on earth about to eat a full course meal. 

“Pretty pink pussy darling, and you're already so wet” he said as he licked his lips “may i?” 

Once again all I could do was nod. He dove in and once his tongue made contact with my click and a sweet little moan escaped from my mouth. He lapped a few more times at my pussy before he detached  and sent me into oblivion with his fingers. One finger in, slowly taking it in and out, two fingers in, he started to increase the pace of what he was doing. 

He reached just the right spot a few more times of thrusting in and out. 

“ Noah oh god i'm gonna…” I said in almost a whisper.

“No no no Pixie you're not gonna cum until I tell you to, understood?’ 

“yees”

In one swift motion he turned me around, I was now on all four and waiting for his next move. I heard the sound of a condom wrapper opening. and from what i could tell he rolled it on this cock with ease. 

“hold on tight darling” 

All I could grab was the pillow beside. He did not give me any sort of warning in a matter of seconds he was inside of me. Thrusting in full force. All I could think of unironically was the song Closer by Nine Inch Nails in my head; because what the song was describing was what Noag was doing to me. Fucking me like an animal.

Fast paced, hazy eyes and the smell of raw contact. He slowed down only to catch his breath.

“ah ah Noah..” the moans were escaping my mouth, unable to control them. “It feels so good.”

:”Pixie you're so tight.. So fitting… sooo” Once final thrust in and we were both seeing stars. 

He collapsed on top of me while we both tried to catch our breaths. It was the most exhilarating and mind blowing orgasm that i have had. 

We took a small 15 minute break to hydrate and decompose before we were at it again. By the 3rd round i was so exhausted in the best way possible that i knew come the morning it would hurt to move. The ache of my muscles started to set in and as we laid there naked and vulnerable, My eyes started to close slowly and I succumbed to sleep , no longer fighting it.

By the time I had woken up the sun had already risen, I took notice of my surroundings, slowly taking my gaze through the room until they landed on the spot on the bed next me. 

There he laid asleep covered with a simple white sheet from his waist down, His tattoos brighter than i've seen them the last 3 days. Panic set in my gut, when I looked at my own body, I was completely naked. I scrambled to get off the bed and look for my clothes. I found my dress and my bra but nowhere insight into where my panties would be. I didn't want to wait around for Noah to wait up and kick me out of his room, so I put on what I did find and took my heels in my hand and slowly and quietly made my way to my room. 

Now fast forward to this afternoon where I was face to face again with him. 

“thanks for keeping them… safe.. you know?” i sad blushing and putting them in my purse

“No problem darling, i have a feeling this won't be the last time we run into each other” he said walking away only to turn around in a moment and wink at me. 

I couldn't help but let out a little laugh because I too believed this wasn't going to be the last time we would cross paths..