#Swim Week Las Vegas

[celebratesocia1]

Swim Week Las Vegas: Where High Fashion Meets High Stakes

Dive into the Glamour of Swim Week Las Vegas 2024! 🌟💦✨ #SwimWeekLasVegas #FashionInVegas #ArtHeartsFashion #ResortsWorld #LasVegasEvents #SwimwearTrends #LuxuryFashion #VegasGlam #CommunityImpact #FashionFestival #HighFashionVegas

[gaygirldoodles]

In my JD era

[trans-gay-blob-of-slime]

Augh

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 4: Read Between The Lines]

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, Jace is here unfortunately.

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Boulevard Of Broken Dreams” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

It is your first week of basic training at Great Lakes on the north side of Chicago, and as you lie in the top bunk of your assigned bed you wonder what the hell you’ve done. You enlisted right out of high school, eighteen, no driver’s license, no work history, never been more than fifty miles outside of Soft Shell, Kentucky. The drill sergeants are always yelling and you’re bad at push-ups; you can’t understand the recruits from big cities like Los Angeles, Miami, Las Vegas, Detroit, Houston, and they don’t seem to get you either, and aren’t interested enough to try. Sometimes you wish you hadn’t signed that five-year contract, but where would you be if you weren’t here? Home is not words but textures, colors, fumes that still burn in your sinuses: cigarette ash on rose pink carpets, red embers glowing in the wood stove, Hamburger Helper and Mountain Dew, coffee creamer in Hungry Jack potatoes, laughter and heavy footsteps and slamming doors, scratch-off games, dogs barking, collecting coins from couch cushions for gas money, scrubbing clothes in the bathtub when the washer quits, Mama taking gulps from her favorite cup—plastic, Virginia Beach, filled with equal parts Hawaiian Punch and vodka—when she thinks no one is looking, blue shows flickering on the television, Family Feud, Maury, Good Morning America, WWE SmackDown. For as long as you can remember you’ve known you couldn’t stay. Now you’re getting out, but nothing in life is free.

You are at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, and even though it’s hotter than some noxious, volcanic hellscape—Mercury, Venus, Io—you are beginning to like it. You taste the salt of sweat when you lick your lips, sugar in the sweet tea they serve in the chow hall. There’s a magic in building something where there was only empty space before, in patching roofs and painting walls. Here being quiet and watchful is exactly what they want from you: head down, hammer striking nails, measurements and angles and long hours under the sun with no complaints. You’re not just running away anymore. You are creating something new.

You are sitting beneath swaying palm trees and a full moon on Diego Garcia, draining cans of Guinness with Rio, and he’s telling you things he shouldn’t, too personal, too honest: Sophie wants to try for a baby next time he’s home on leave, and part of him wants that too but he’s terrified. As thunder rumbles in the distance and raindrops begin to patter on the waves of the Indian Ocean, you tell Rio you think he’d be a good father. He wonders how you figure that, and you say because he’s not like any of the men from home. He gives you one of his crooked smiles—a flash of teeth, knowing dark eyes—and doesn’t ask what you mean.

But of course, when you swim up from the inky currents of sleep you are in none of these places. You are curled up on the floor of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio, cheap worn black carpet peppered with stars and swirls in neon green, pink, blue. You stretch out with a yawn. Someone has left a Lemon Tea Snapple within reach; you twist it open and guzzle it, hoping to extinguish the pounding in your skull, a rhythmic thudding of warm maroon, half Captain Morgan and half misery. The music isn’t helping. From the green Toshiba CD player, a man is singing in Spanish. Aegon and Rio are sitting at the nearest table and playing Uno.

Aegon says as he ponders his cards: “You know Enrique Iglesias, right Rio?”

“You are so racist.” Rio puts down a wild. “And the new color is red. Racist.”

“So what’s he saying?”

“Aegon, buddy, I told you, I was born here. My grandparents came over in the 60s. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“You can’t understand any of it?” Aegon is skeptical. He plays a skip, a reverse, and a seven. “My dad never taught me a word of Greek but I can recognize plenty of phrases. Vlákas means idiot. Spatáli chórou is a waste of space.”

Rio sighs, relenting. He puts down a two. “The song is called Súbeme La Radio, Turn Up The Radio For Me. Bring me the alcohol that numbs the pain… I don’t care about anything anymore…You’ve left me in the shadows…”

“Damn, now I’m sad. Draw four, bitch.”

“When the night comes and you don’t answer, I swear to you I’ll stay waiting at your door…” Rio studies his cards. “What’s the new color?”

“Green.”

“Yes!” Rio slams down a skip. “Fleeing from the past in every dawn, I can’t find any way to erase our history…”

Everyone else is awake already. As muted late-morning daylight streams in through the small tinted windows, Aemond is weaving between tables, pointedly checking on each person. He glances at you, says nothing, turns around and walks the other way.

“That’s tough,” Rio says sympathetically, popping open the tab on a can of Chef Boyardee and shoveling ravioli into his mouth with a plastic fork.

Aegon gives you a smirk. “You want to fake date now?”

“I’ll think about it.” No you won’t.

Helaena appears, a prairie girl vision in a modest blue sundress and with her hair tied back with a matching scarf. She reaches into her burlap messenger bag and offers you a choice between a ranch-flavored tuna pouch or a silvery pack of Pop-Tarts. “Strawberry,” she tells you.

“I’ll take the Pop-Tarts.”

Helaena gives them to you and then shakes a bottle of Advil. You’re so groggy it takes you a few seconds to figure out what she wants, then you obediently hold out a hand. Helaena lays two tablets in the center of your palm and moves on, soundlessly like a rabbit or a spider.

You wash the pills down with Snapple. As you nibble half-heartedly on a Pop-Tart—trying not to look at Aemond, multicolored sprinkles falling down onto the carpet—your eyes drift to the tattoo on the underside of Aegon’s forearm. It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You’ve spotted it before. Only now do you remember where you recognize the lyric from. “Is that Green Day?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says, enthused that you noticed. “Letterbomb.”

“I love that whole album.”

“Me too. I could sing it front to back if you asked me to.”

“I’m not asking.”

Aegon cackles and resumes his Uno game with Rio. Baela is wearing denim shorts and a crop top, slathering her belly with Palmer’s cocoa butter from Walmart as she chats with Rhaena and eats Teddy Grahams. Daeron is waxing the string of his compound bow. Jace is gnawing on a Twizzler as he scrutinizes Aegon’s map, annotated with Xs and circles and arrows in sparkling gel pen green.

“I’m going to be a thousand years old by the time we get there,” Jace mutters.

Aegon hits the table with his fist. The discard pile collapses and cascades, an avalanche of Uno cards. Rio, undisturbed, continues contemplating his next move. “You know what, Jace? The cities are full of zombies, the interstates are blocked by fifty-car pileups, if we bump into anyone else who’s still alive they’re just as likely to rob and murder us as want to be friends, and on top of all that I’m trying to do you the favor of preventing you from getting so irradiated you turn into Spider-Man. If you have a better route in mind, I’d love to hear it.”

“Spider-Man…? You’re such a dumbass, what are you talking about?!”

Luke says from where he stands by a window: “Aemond, someone’s outside.”

“What?” Aemond stares at him. “Zombies?”

“No. People.”

Aemond bolts to the doors, the rest of you close behind him. Rhaena turns off the CD player. You, Rio, and Aegon squeeze together to peer out of one of the windows. There are men—three of them, no, four, all appearing to be in their forties—passing by on the main road through town. They are armed with what are either AR-15s or M16s, you can’t tell which.

Rio whistles. “If you get shot by one of those, the exit wound will be the size of an orange.” Everyone looks at him. This was not an encouraging thing to say.

You elaborate: “Thirty-round magazines. Semiautomatic, assuming they’re AR-15s for civilian use. I guess they could have gotten ahold of M16s somehow. Those have a fully automatic setting.”

“So regardless, we’re out-gunned,” Jace says.

“If they know how to use them. Some men think guns are wall decorations, like deer heads or fish.”

Aegon recoils. “Fish?! What the fuck. I’m glad the colonies left.”

“Maybe they’ll keep walking,” Daeron says hopefully. One of the men stops and points at the bowling alley, saying something to his companions. They laugh and begin crossing the small parking lot. They are less than two minutes from the door. “Oh, great…”

“There’s an emergency exit in the back,” Baela says.

Aegon snorts. “Yeah, that we stacked about twenty boxes of bowling pins in front of to zombie-proof.”

“We won’t be able to get out before they hear us,” Aemond says. Then he abruptly orders: “Grab your guns, let’s go. Helaena, Baela, Rhaena, you’re staying here.” Aemond’s remaining eye—briefly, reluctantly—skates over you as Rio, Aegon, Jace, Luke, and Daeron scatter to obey him. “You too.”

“But I’m the best shot.”

“I don’t want them to know we have women with us.”

“I’m of more use to you outside.”

Aemond rips his Glock out of its holster, pointing it at the floor. His frustration is palpable, an electric shock, heat that refracts light rays until they become mirages on the horizon. “You’re going to stay here, and if a stranger comes through those doors you’re going to kill them. Okay?”

His urgency stuns you; his eye is blue-white summer storm lightning. “Okay.”

“Now get back.”

You soar to the nearest table, duck under it, reach for your Beretta M9 and double-check the clip, fully loaded. You click off the safety.

“Aemond, wait, let me go first,” Aegon is saying by the door. “I’m better at de-escalation, I’m less…uh…intimidating.”

“Less socially incompetent, you mean,” Jace quips.

“I’ll lead,” Aemond insists. “Aegon can talk. Rio, you’re up front with me.”

Rio pumps his Remington 12 gauge. “I’d be delighted.”

Jace is amused. “I’ve been demoted, huh?”

“He’s bigger,” Aemond replies simply, then opens the door and vanishes through a blinding curtain of daylight. The others follow closely; Daeron, the last one out—his compound bow in hand, the strap of his Marlin .22 slung over his shoulder—shuts the door behind him.

Very faintly, you can hear Aegon: “Hey, guys! What’s happening? How’s the apocalypse treating you…?”

Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are under the table with you. They deserve to have options. You tell them: “If you want to go hide behind the lanes or try to get out the back door, now’s your chance.”

Helaena shakes her head, clutching your t-shirt: black, Star Wars, pawed off a shelf at the Walmart. “I want to stay with you.”

“Same,” Baela says determinedly, gripping her Ruger. She barely knows how to use it, but she’ll try. Rhaena is shaking, her eyes filling up her face, small fragile bones like a bird’s.

You can’t hear voices from outside anymore, but there are no gunshots either. You keep your M9 aimed at the doors, your breathing slow and deep, your heart rate low. Your hands are steady. Your eyes hunt for the slightest movement, for the momentary shadow of someone passing by a window. Against your will, your thoughts wander to Aemond. I hope Aegon is on his left side. Aemond can’t see there.

“Rhaena, get your gun out,” Baela says sharply. “Come on. Turn the safety off. What if you were alone right now? What if we weren’t here to protect you?”

Rhaena nods, fumbling to free her revolver from its holster. “I’m sorry…I’m trying…”

Now there is a stranger’s voice, gruff and deep. He must be just beyond the door, the farthest one to the right. There is a creak of hinges, a sliver of sunlight. “That’s just too damn bad, fellas. You got a nice little hideout here, and you’re gonna have to share it—”

The door opens. Two unfamiliar faces, too shellshocked to raise their rifles in time. You close an eye, line up your sights, fire twice, and that’s all it takes: one headshot, one in the throat, blood like a fountain, spurting scarlet ruin, thuds against the carpet strewn with neon stars, gurgling and spasms as their brains send out those final electrical impulses: danger, catastrophe, apocalypse. Rhaena is screaming. Helaena is covering her ears with both hands.

You run to the doorway; there are more booms of gunfire out in the parking lot. You cross into the late-morning light to see the other two men on the pavement: one with an arrow through the eye, the other with a gaping, hemorrhaging hole where his heart once was. Rio is admiring his work, holding his shotgun aloft. He scoops a handful of Cheddar Whales out of his shorts pocket and shovels them into his mouth.

“Goddamn, I love Remington Arms Company.”

“Oh, that was awesome,” Aegon says, wan and panting, hands on his waist. “Yeah, that was…that was…” He bends over and vomits Snapple and Cool Ranch Doritos onto the asphalt.

“Everyone okay in there?” Rio asks you.

“Yeah.” Behind you, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are stepping through the doorway. Your thoughts are whirling sickly: I killed someone. I killed someone. “They wouldn’t leave?”

“We told them the bowling alley was ours,” Aemond says, not looking at you. “We asked them very politely to keep moving. They chose to try to intimidate us into letting them stay. They weren’t good people, and these are the consequences.”

You click on the safety and re-holster your M9. You’re wearing Rio’s on your other hip. They seem to weigh so much more than they did ten minutes ago. I’m not supposed to be a killer. I’m a builder.

“Aegon, are you okay?” Daeron asks, a palm on his brother’s back.

Aegon retches again. “Shut up. You can’t even buy fireworks.”

“Zombies.” Luke is peering through his binoculars. “Not many, just two. Way up the road.”

“There will be more.” Baela’s cradling her belly; you don’t even think she’s aware of it. “They heard the gunshots, the sound carries for miles.”

“We’re leaving,” Aemond says. “Right now. Everyone get your things.”

As backpacks are hastily zipped and Daeron and Aegon stand guard in the parking lot, you kneel down beside the men you murdered and check their rifles. They are M16s, either stolen or illegally purchased: there’s a little switch by the trigger to choose between semi-automatic or the so-called machine gun mode.

“They barely had any bullets left,” you tell Rio. Just like us when we were trapped on that transmission tower.

“Yeah, same story for the other two guys. Four bullets in one magazine, a half dozen in the other. But it only takes once. We don’t have any ammo that will work with M16s, do we?”

“No, we definitely don’t.���

“Fantastic. Well, we’ll throw them in a Walmart cart and take them with us just in case.”

You’re staring down at the man you shot through the head. His eternal resting place is a puddle of blood and brains in a bowling alley in rural Ohio; surely no one deserves that. “He was a real person,” you say, dazed. “Not a zombie. Just a person.”

“Hey.” Rio grabs your shoulders and spins you towards him. From where he is helping Luke gather up the remaining food, Aemond’s head snaps up to watch. “You hurt him before he could hurt us. You did the right thing.”

“Sure.”

“I killed a dude too. I blew his heart right out of his chest. You think I’m going to hell for that?”

“No,” you admit, smiling. “And if you’d be there with me, I guess I wouldn’t mind so much.”

Rio grins, wide and toothy. “Well alright then. Let’s finish packing.”

The ten of you depart from Shenandoah, Ohio heading northwest on Route 603 just like Aegon marked on his map, Jace chauffeuring Baela in one shopping cart, Rio pushing another loaded high with food and M16s.

“It looks like rain,” Helaena says.

Everyone else peers up into a clear, cerulean sky, wondering what she means.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re a few miles north of Shiloh when the storm rolls in, cold rain and furious wind, daylight that vanishes behind dark churning thunderheads, jagged scars of lightning in an opaque sky. The road is only two lanes, surrounded by fields of wildflowers and ravaged crops and untilled earth; it would look like the patchwork of a quilt if you were gazing down from an airplane, but of course the FAA grounded all flights over a month ago when the world went mad: Revelations, Ragnarök, the fabric of the universe unweaving as death burned through families, cities, nations like a fever, like plague.

“Maybe we should cut across one of these fields,” Jace says, pointing. He is soaked with rain; it drips from his curls, runs into his eyes. Baela is in her cart again; each time she tries to get out and walk, she’s gasping and can’t keep up within half an hour. You’ve all taken turns pushing her, much to Baela’s dismay. She’d be humiliated if she wasn’t too exhausted to keep her eyes open.

“Here, let me do it,” you offer, and Jace gratefully relinquishes the cart. Baela gives you a frail wave of appreciation.

“We stay on the road,” Aemond insists, flinching as rain pelts his scarred face. “Farmhouses have driveways and mailboxes, we’ll pass one eventually. If we lose the road, we might not be able to find it again. We’ll end up wandering around in circles in the woods.”

“Just like the Blair Witch Project,” Aegon says glumly, his Sperry Bahama sneakers audibly soggy.

“There!” Luke announces, spotting something with his binoculars. “Up ahead on the left. Past the bridge.”

You can’t see what Luke does until there is an especially brilliant flash of lightning: a farmhouse, old but seemingly not derelict, and with a number of accompanying buildings, guest houses and stables and barns and towering silos.

“Home sweet home!” Rio says. “And I don’t care if I have to kill a hundred of those undead bastards to get in, it’s mine.”

“Well, hopefully not a hundred,” you reply, in better spirits now that a sanctuary has been found. Aemond keeps glancing back at you as you push Baela’s cart. If he wants to say something, he’s doing a good job of resisting the temptation. “We don’t have that much ammo.”

There is a concrete bridge over a river, probably unremarkable and only five or ten feet deep normally but now torrential with rain. Water rushes by beneath, a muddy incline on each side as the earth rises back up to meet the road. A reflective green sign proclaims that you are only two miles from Plymouth, which Aegon plans to skirt along the edges of. It’s a decent-sized town; he thinks you might be able to find a car to steal there, something with gas in the tank and keys on a hook just inside the house.

“I call the master bedroom,” Jace says craftily, rubbing his palms together. You’re near the center of the bridge now, another ten yards to go. “Nice big bed, warm cozy blankets, and I was up for half of last night keeping watch so tonight I am off duty, I am a free man, it’s going to just be me and my girl and eight glorious uninterrupted hours of sleep—”

Rhaena shrieks, and then you hear it over the noise of the storm, pounding rain and rumbling thunder: moans, growls, hisses like snakes. Not one zombie. A lot more than one. They’re crawling up from under the bridge, from the filthy quagmire at both ends. There was a hoard of them waiting, aimless, dormant, almost hibernating. But now they are awake. They are grasping for you with bony, dirt-covered claws. They are snapping with jaws that leak blood and pus and bile as their organs curdle to a putrid soup.

“Get off the bridge!” Aemond is shouting. He has his Glock in his right hand, a baseball bat in his left. He’ll shoot until he’s out of bullets, and then, and then…

Rio helps you get Baela out of the cart, then opens fire. His Remington doesn’t just pierce skulls, it vaporizes them. When he’s out of shells—there are more in his backpack, but no time to reload—he yanks the M16s out of the other Walmart cart and empties each of them, mowing down zombies as the rest of you scramble across the bridge. All around you are explosions of gunshots, thunder, lightning, zombie skulls crushed by bullets and blunt force trauma. Baela is firing her Ruger as you half-drag her, one arm hooked beneath hers and around her back. When the last M16 is empty, Rio starts clubbing zombies with the butt of it. You’ve all reached the north side of the bridge, except…

“Fuck off, you freaks!” Jace is screaming. They’ve backed him up against the guardrail, a swarm of ten or more. His Remington shotgun is out of ammo; he’s swinging it wildly, but he doesn’t even have enough room to maneuver. There are still more zombies emerging from under the bridge. You can hear them snarling and groaning. You swipe an M9 off your belt and put a bullet in the brain of a zombie as its fingers close around your ankle, then you start picking off the ones mobbing Jace. You aren’t fast enough. As they lean in to bite him, teeth gnashing at the delicious throbbing heat of his jugular, Jace throws himself over the barrier and into the surging water below.

“No!” Baela cries. She careens off the road and into the field, running parallel to the river as swiftly as she can. You are helping her, steadying her, firing at any zombies you have a clear line of sight on. The others are here too: slipping in the muck of the flooding earth, shouting for Jace. He surfaces through the frothing current, flails pitifully, disappears beneath the water again. You glimpse a white hand, a shadow of his dark hair, a kicking shoe. There are more zombies on the opposite side of the river, trailing after Jace, lurching and slobbering viscous, gory saliva. They cannot swim, but they can follow him until he washes ashore.

Jace bursts up through the waves, gasping. “Help! Aemond…Aemond, for the love of God, help me…” He blubbers and then is dragged under. Aemond and Luke are continuing frantically after him. Baela is hysterical, sobbing, trembling with adrenaline. Aegon is yowling as he swings at zombies with his bloodied golf club. Helaena is darting around almost invisibly, always cowering behind Daeron or Aegon or Rio.

You glance north towards the farmhouse, growing not closer but farther away. We can’t leave shelter. We can’t leave the road. You lock eyes with Rio. He’s thinking the same thing.

“Aemond, we have to go,” Rio says, but in the midst of the rain and the turmoil it barely registers.

“Jace, we’re coming to get you!” Aemond swears. The ground is increasingly sodden, deep, difficult to trudge through. Jace resurfaces, coughing and sputtering.

“Jace!” Aegon wails. He caves in the skull of a zombie who was once a registered nurse as Helaena crouches behind him. “Jace, I’m sorry! I’m gonna miss you, man!”

Jace splashes in the rising river, his arms flailing helplessly. He is being swept away far faster than any of you can move on foot. “Aegon, you dumb bitch!” Jace manages, then slips beneath the water and doesn’t reappear.

“Where is he?!” Baela is saying. “Aemond, where…?”

You are trying to soothe her, to bring her back to reality. She was always so pragmatic before; you have to wake her up. “Baela, listen, we can’t stay here, he would want you and the baby to be safe—”

“Aemond! Aemond, we have to go!” Rio catches him, wrenches him around, roars into his face as driving rain pummels them both: “We have to go, or we’re going to die here too!”

It hits Aemond all at once; he understands, horror and agony in his sole blue eye. “We have to go,” he agrees. And then louder, to everyone: “Get to the farmhouse!”

Baela collapses into the mud, howling, tears flooding down her face. “No, he’s still alive, he’s still alive, we can’t leave him!”

You and Rhaena are trying to haul Baela to her feet. Now Aemond is here, pulling you away from her—his fingers tight and urgent around your wrist—as he and Luke take your place. “Go,” he commands. “You run. Don’t wait for us. Rio?”

“I got her,” Rio replies, grabbing your free hand with an iron grip. Gales of wind rip at you; every millimeter of your skin is soaked with rain. As you flee across the fields towards the farmhouse, dozens of zombies pursue you. More are still staggering along the banks of the river, swept up in the hoards chasing Jace and the promise of his waterlogged corpse when it reaches its final destination. Daeron has run out of arrows and is shooting with his .22, which is very much not his preference. Aegon trips, getting covered in mud as he rolls, and Rio stops to help him. While he is distracted, you look back at Aemond. He, Luke, and Baela are moving quickly, but not quickly enough. A drove of zombies is closing in on them. You have a spare few seconds at last. You yank your backpack off, grab a box of ammo inside, and reload your M9.

“Chips?!” Rio calls over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

He knows you well enough to listen. The world goes quiet as your finger settles on the trigger. There’s a rhythm one slips into, an impassionate lethal efficiency. It’s easier to keep going than to stop and have to find it again. You fire over and over, dropping eight zombies. You sheath your M9 and whip Rio’s out of your other holster, the sights finding grotesque decaying faces illuminated by lightning. You pull the trigger: blood, bones, brains, corpses jerking and convulsing as they fall harmlessly to the mud. Aemond is here; when did he get here?

“I told you to run!” he’s shouting through the storm, furious. He’s shoving you towards the farmhouse. You resist him.

“Let me kill as many as I can—”

“Go! Now!” Aemond orders over the clashing thunder, and then sprints with you all the way to the front porch to make sure you listen. Everyone else is already there. Helaena has fetched a spare key from under the doormat and is turning it in the lock.

Daeron observes her anxiously. “We don’t know if it’s safe in there, Helaena.”

“Not in,” she says, insistent. “Through.” Through this building, and maybe through the next one too. The average zombie is not terribly clever. If they lose sight of you, without the benefit of the momentum of a hoard they are lost. Helaena opens the door. The living rush inside, and she locks it behind you. As you are bursting out the back door, you can hear zombies pounding their rotting palms against the front one. You soar through a stable full of dead horses and donkeys, leaving the doors open; this should keep the zombies distracted if they make it this far. Then you race to the farthest guest house. Luke, swiveling with his binoculars, spies no zombies approaching as you steal inside. There is no spare key this time; Rio punches out a first-floor window for you to climb through. Once everyone is inside, he and Aegon move a bookshelf to cover the opening.

You all stand in the living room, gasping and shivering, dripping rain down onto the rug and the hardwood floor. The air is dusty but clean of any trace of vile, swampy decay. Outside, thunder booms and lightning flashes bright enough to illuminate the lightless house. The sky is so dark it might as well be nightfall. Baela sinks to her knees, clamping both hands over her mouth so she won’t sob loudly enough for a zombie to hear. Rhaena and Luke are beside her, both weeping quiet rivulets of tears, trying to comfort her in whispers. Helaena is rummaging around searching for candles; she has already taken a lighter out of her soaked burlap messenger bag.

“Daeron, bro, come over here,” Aegon chokes out. He embraces Daeron, clutches him tightly and desperately, doesn’t let go. Rio is reloading his Remington 12 gauge.

Jace is dead. Jace is dead.

Aemond says to you, his voice low but seething: “What the fuck was that?”

You blink the raindrops out of your eyes as you stare at him, bewildered. “You needed help.”

“I told you to run.”

“I’m an asset, I have skills that can keep you alive, why am I here if I’m not going to be useful—?”

“You’re not in the fucking Navy anymore!” he hisses. “When I tell you to run, you run, you don’t stop, you don’t look back, because I can’t worry about you and take care of everyone else.”

“Nobody asked you to worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Aemond,” Aegon pleads, waving him over. Aegon’s plump sunburned cheeks are glistening with rain and tears. “Man, it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters now. Please come here.”

“I’m going to clear the house,” Aemond says instead.

Rio raises an eyebrow at you—this is one fucked up guy, Chips—and then pumps his shotgun. “Me too.” He sweeps with Aemond through the main floor and then vanishes up the staircase.

Helaena is lightning candles she found in the kitchen and arranging them around the living room. Daeron starts gathering food from the pantry. Rhaena and Baela are murmuring to each other softly, mournfully. It doesn’t feel like something you should intrude on. Luke is peeking out of a window with his binoculars, vigilant for threats. Aegon sniffles, wanders over to you with large, sad, shimmering eyes, pats your shoulder awkwardly.

“Hey, Chocolate Chip. You doing okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

“Yeah. Me either.” Then he flops down on the hideous burnt orange couch and lies there motionless until Daeron brings him a can of Dr. Pepper. Aegon pops the tab, slurps up foam, and then begins singing to himself very quietly, a song so old you can remember your grandfather saying it was one of his favorites as a boy: A Tombstone Every Mile.

When Rio comes back downstairs—heavy footsteps, he can’t help that—you meet him at the bottom of the steps. “The house is good,” Rio says. “And Aemond’s in the big bedroom on the right if you’d like to go up there and talk to him.”

“I don’t think he wants to see me right now.”

“I could not disagree more,” Rio says with a miserable, exhausted smile. Then he goes to the couch to check on Aegon.

You pick up one of the flickering candles, white and scentless, and ascend the staircase. You find Aemond in the master bedroom, the same accommodations that Jace laid claim to when he was still alive. He is sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at the wall, at nothing. Tentatively, you sit down beside him, placing the candle on the nightstand.

“Aemond…what happened to Jace…it wasn’t your fault.”

“Criston said I was in charge, that’s the very last thing he told me. They might be the last words I ever hear from him, and I just…” His voice breaks; he wipes the rain and tears from his face with open palms. “I really wanted to get everyone home.”

“I’m so sorry about what I said at the bowling alley,” you confess, like it’s a dire secret. “I don’t want to fight with you, Aemond, I…I want to help you. I can see what you’ve done for everyone here, me and Rio included, and I believe in you. I want to be a part of this.”

He nods, an acceptance of peace, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Can we start over? I’ll never bring it up again, okay? I wasn’t trying to guilt you or upset you or anything. I should have just dropped it. I overreacted. And I understand why being with someone like me maybe wouldn’t be…super appealing.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

Aemond wrings his hands, shakes his head, at last turns to you, golden candlelight reflected in his eye, his scar cloaked in shadows. His words are hushed, clandestine, soft powerless surrender. “I’m already so afraid of losing you.”

He cares, he hopes, he wants me too? “I’m here right now, Aemond. I don’t know what else I can say. I’d promise you more if I could.”

He reaches out to touch you, to ghost his thumb across your cheekbone, wet with rain. Then he kisses you, so gently you cannot help but imagine the wispy borders of calm white summer clouds, the rustle of leaves as wind blows down the Appalachian Mountains. You don’t have to ask him what he’s thinking, what it feels like. You can read it in the startled, firelit wonder on his face.

You taste like the beginning of something, here at the end of the world.

[amymbona]

I was thinking about being Patrick’s childhood friend and accidentally marrying him at Las Vegas. You’ve been in love with him for years and he with you, but neither of you know that the other is in love with each other. The marriage is completely legit and it’s weird, but it is so much work and money to get a divorce. You’re both close anyway and there are some benefits to staying married, so might as well right? Patrick agrees and you both go with it. The fact that you’re both secretly in love with each other has nothing to do with that decision of course…

Just all the domestic bliss of living with someone you’ve loved for ages but are unable to properly say it. Slowly coming to realize both of you are in love wirh each other and that this is the happiest mistake of your life.

(very vague ik but just some thoughts)

Ughhh imagine going on a lovey dovey honeymoon because both of you feel like two weeks spend tanning at the beach and drinking cocktails are more than needed. If Patrick is still playing tennis, he's like semi-famous, so the two of you might meet a guy or two who excitedly take selfie with him and then swiftly tweet how the Zweig guy is married!

The way the two of you act is a mix of friendly and romantic, cause nothing changed, but actually everything has changed. You know what I mean? It's no secret the two of you are touchy, giggly and all that jazz, like you've been best friends since you've learned how to speak! You genuinely don't mind if Patrick sees your boob when the top of your bikini slips while the two of you are swimming the sea; he literally held your hair and rubbed your back when you first got drunk, and changed a pad for you once as well. There's no hint of embarrassment or fear between the two of you.

However, for some reason, Patrick can't keep his eyes off of you. He's looking at you in such a different - lustful - way, but not in the sense that he'd bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you. God, you're glowing, you're like an angel, like a goddamn diamond that shines brighter than the cheap gold ring he put on your finger (he needs to buy you a prettier one). He longs to see you in pretty dresses, to lay in bed with you while you're reading your favourite book, to twirl your hair around his finger, to kiss your pink lips. But do you feel the same way about him?

And, oh, you do. You fucking do, and it drives you crazy. If only Patrick knew how much you wish you were one of the girls that are mentioned in articles about him, how much you wish that the two of you could go out in public and people would speculate it you're just a family friend or something more. And now you might have it, but is it really what you dreamed about?

It's like a fever dream to you actually, like a beautiful dream that you will wake up from once you make it back to the USA, slipping into consciousness and forced to part ways. What if the excitement will wear of? What if Patrick will realise that this situation offers no benefits at all and decides to go through the awful process of a divorce.

Patrick manages to convince you otherwise, especially when he scoops you into his arms while you're walking along the beach and threatens to drop you into the water, when he buys you your favourite flavour of ice cream and wipes a drop of it from your chin. The more Patrick does, the more you find yourself falling in love with him, which can't be good at all. But in the end, these are just the feelings that you've managed to repress for years, and maybe now, you'll be finally allowed to let them flow freely, considering you're officially Mrs Zweig.

[mammonscheeks]

demon brothers + dateables as destinations in the human world

✎ a/n: these are my opinions! i'm south and west asian, so i am most knowlegeable about those countries, please correct me if i've said anything incorrect!

LUCIFER

new york city, usa. he likes the cold, industrial corporate feel of nyc. it helps him avoid his feelings.

anywhere in germany. he likes their no-nonsense culture and unspoken social rules.

MAMMON

las vegas, nevada, usa. he always begs mc to take him there. the flashy lights and casinos are right up his alley.

dubai, uae. he loves the luxurious feel of it, and how its the center of celebrity gatherings, vacations, and parties.

LEVIATHAN

tokyo, japan (especially the akihabara/electronic district). he's always updated on pop culture and the newest technology/games.

seychelles island, africa. he likes swimming, but not socializing on the beach. that's why he likes isolated islands.

SATAN

london, england. he's interested in their medival history and seeing the places that inspired novels like harry potter and the sherlock holmes franchise.

cat island in japan, or any mediterranean country where cats freely roam.

ASMODEUS

paris, france. he'd love paris fashion week. he also just seems french to me, idk.

seoul, south korea. he'd adore seoul's culture, everything from the modern sappy kdramas to traditional dresses, like hanbok. he would bring an empty suitcase to stuff it with beauty products.

BEELZEBUB

mumbai, india. this metropolitan city in india offers so many different kinds of food. he would love to eat his way through the city, if not the entire country.

every city in mexico. he'd try the regional cuisine, but also hang out at the beach with his brothers and mc (so cute).

BELPHEGOR

cairo, egypt. he was once fascinated with humans, and often watched them build civilizations from heaven when he was an angel. he would enjoy the historical wonders of egypt.

reykjavic, iceland. idk why he just gives me iceland vibes. life there can be slow and cold, and it often gets less light than other countries.

DIAVOLO

transylvania, romania. he loves its breathtaking castles and culture, and is intrigued with all the pop culture references of vampires.

petra, jordan. this is a significant place in abrahamic religions, known for being haunted by demons, or jinn. diavolo would be fascinated by this history, whether its actually haunted or not. i know he'd eat up those scary ghost tours (insert fic about that here) and even probably try and scare a few tourist groups, despite barbatos advising him against it.

BARBATOS

istanbul, turkiye. istanbul has well-maintained structures from the byzantine empire, the ottoman empire, and even "newer and hip" neighborhoods. barbatos, being able to see the past and future, would appreciate the blend of it all here, like he's walking through time.

kathmandu, nepal. he'd enjoy the peace of monasteries and mountains, which are as old as the earth itself.

SIMEON

tuscany, italy. he'd enjoy the vast fields, heavenly sunsets, small towns and historic churches. he would find tuscany a peaceful place to write, but appreciates the community feel of small italian towns. would definitely be so friendly he'd get invited to eat dinner at a random family's house.

thessaloniki, greece. he would absolutely love seeing all the greek orthodox churches there, with their blue and white colors and dome roofs. he is just amused to see the religious structures humans have created. he'd also probably be interested in greek mythology, even though he's an angel.

LUKE

cape town, south africa. he would be so excited to see penguins at the beach and would enjoy the burst of color south africa offers. he'd also enjoy the modern bakeries and desserts in south africa.

lyon, france. the country is known for desserts. luke would probably take a baking class there to learn how to bake more things.

SOLOMON

salem, or just any small town in massachusetts. as a sorcerer, he's intrigued with their history of "witch hunting" and the paranormal.

lalibela, ethiopia. being old, he's intrigued with how ancient cities like lalibela have changed since biblical times. he also probably enjoys learning about different cultural practices and what they have in common with his sorcery. he also wants to learn how to cook more dishes from different countries, but fails miserably

[fantasticarcadefan]

The Stream

Part 0:The Crash

Warning:Talks about the Natlan drama,references to recent plague outbreaks, other games mentioned

It was a quiet night today, with it raining outside, and you taking refuge in your home. Your parents were on vacation, celebrating their 25th anniversary in Las Vegas for two weeks, leaving you in charge of the house, due to you being the sole occupant of your home.

Currently, you are playing Genshin Impact, having just beaten Divine Consort Radahnn in Elden Ring and needed to make sure that you didn't lose all the runes that you gained. It was sad to lose Sir Ansbach there, with him seeing you as an equal in a land where most saw you as either a lesser being, due to your status as tarnished, or prey in the eyes of the many monsters that inhabit both the lands between and the land of shadows. You couldn't help but wonder what life was like before the game, with all the monsters and beasts that lived in the lands between, especially during the shattering, where the children of the goddess Markia all fought each other for the great runes, fragments of the Elden Ring, which governed the lands between and setting up the rules of nature there.

With the release of Natlan here, you decided to go ahead and travel across Teyvat for one last time before heading off to the nation forged for war. Starting with the plains of Mondstadt, to wandering the streets of Liyue, swimming across Inazuma's islands, traversing Sumeru's forests, and hazing under Fontaine's peninsula, Teyvat was a beautiful place. One where you, like so many other players, wished that you could see with your own eyes. But alas, you couldn't, for no matter how much you could wish for it, the lands of Teyvat were kept behind the eyes of screens, preventing you from traveling there. But as you traveled across Teyvat, you couldn't help but notice new, unseen events occurring.

All across Teyvat, festivals were occurring everywhere there was a population, revolving around a "creator" of Teyvat and their "imminent descent".

In Mondstadt, the festival of freedom was being prepared, where songs were sung of how the creator gave Barbatos the strength and knowledge to help lead the revolution against the tyrant God during the Archon war, and help design the teachings of freedom for the rebels and their descendents to learn. The people of Mondstadt honor the knowledge with them helping remind their children the meaning of freedom and how they should keep it alive so their kids can have the gift their creator blessed them with..

In Liyue,the festival of the trade was occurring, which revolved around tales of the "deal of deals", where Morax made a deal with this creator, where in exchange for the knowledge to form contracts and make divine beings for his nation to be safe in the form of the Yakusha and the Adepti. he had to listen to the advice given to him by the creator, The people of Liyue honor this deal by offering deals that benefit the buyer in the long term, while having a system of favors established for when this festival is done.

In Inazuma, the nation completely changed, with it becoming a merge between Japanese culture, and something unknown with the only point of info there being based on a general history note on the corner of a planner found in Inazuma City talking about the event. "The new decor and style, now found across Inazuma, is based on a combination of Inazuman and Telaki culture, the same culture that the great creator wrote about in their scripts and desires for Teyvat, granting us the power to help make their desired eternity." EI approved the change, with her reasoning being "The creator has means to help carry their will. When I was made aware of my transgressions against the concept of eternity, I knew I had to change my ways to show eternity in the creators image", based on her new voice line regarding the festival. The culture itself bore striking similarities to the nation you were making for you and your friends

In Sumeru, the festival of knowledge was occurring, where the Akademia was retelling the tales of the various scholars that had made great achievements in progress over the years,some of which had been blessed by the creator, leading to great discoveries that helped revolutionize the world of Teyvat into the world that they know it as today. Some of the other activities there involved an open house day at the Akedamida, where parents could visit their kids to see life on the campus, as well an engineering competition between the students, with the winner being granted a position at the Research Institute of Fontaine. Nahida was seen there with Scaramouche, trying to get him to be more social and comfortable with the others there. She seems to be enjoying herself there, happy to be celebrating with her people.

In Fontaine, the festival of justice has retellings of the old myths performed at the Opera Epiclese, mainly those on how the creator set the ideals of the world all day. Outside, some of the other activities there was a fireworks show at midnight, a demonstration of all the recent technological developments across the Nation's institutes, and a new short single player game mode similar to Among Us was established, partially funded by Spina Di Rosula, and helped constructed by the prisoners at the Fortress of Meropride.

With the sudden insertion of a creator for Teyvat, players have begun to draw theories on them, what they're like, and questioning Mihoyo for allowing self-inserts into the game, altering the currently established lore. However, Mihoyo denies purposely inserting a creator into the game, and is conducting an internal investigation to identify how something this big went under their radar with how big it is, with this affecting all of the versions of the game.

Yet, a small percentage of people are questioning if the game is sentient, for modders have been unable to change games files, with attempts to access them failing and being met with the phrase "No false god shall change the design set by our creator", leading to theories that this is some kind of virus, meant to attack Mihoyo for their current Natlan designs and whitewashing.

But you put those thoughts aside, thinking about how chaotic things have been this decade. From Covid at the start of the decade, to a disease called Monkeypox spreading now, this decade went off the rails. But for now, it is not about real life, for it is time for gaming, an escape from reality, you could relax in a world where you are someone else that could make direct changes to another world.

As you begin to travel to Natlan from the outskirts of Sumeru, you find the game starting to look more realistic, with the graphics improving significantly while maintaining the style often found in Mihoyo's games. The land looked amazingly beautiful and lifelike. Yet, something felt odd. It felt familiar, despite you never seeing this land before. Your gut told you to stop playing and turn off the game, oddly, but you decided to ignore it, thinking it was nothing that would put you in danger, but you built up your guard in game in case of an ambush by monsters.

As you kept traveling in the game, being wary of monsters, you felt odd. You felt tired, yet you'd only woken up 6 hours ago. You assumed that it was just boredom and tiredness and kept walking in the game slaying monsters you came across and activating way points. Despite all this, the tiredness didn't go away. Instead, it grew, with sleep becoming heavier and heavier, before you couldn't keep your eyes open. 'Is this what those with Saint Trina feel?' you wondered, falling into a slumber. As you fell asleep, you weren't sure if you heard the traveller, Aether, tell you something, but it was just a murmur to you, as you fell asleep, unprepared for what's to come.

As you fell asleep, Genshin Impact went down for everyone, with them not being able to join on any mode. The developers were unprepared for this, for they haven't released any patches for the game, and believe this to be a cyber attack on their servers, yet only Genshin seems to be the only game down as of now, and no contact has been made with any groups claiming ownership for it.

Across video streaming platforms, Genshin Streamers and Voice Actors alike are talking about the shut down, with streams ranging from theories about its origins, purpose, and those responsible occurring, with lore streams from what has been found in the new update being talked about as well. As the streams about Genshin rage, a new stream emerges. Simply dubbed "The Hunt", there's no account on each of them, with it only showing a timer on it.

Stream will start in 1:08:00:00

1:07:59:59

1:07:59:58

1:07:59:57

1:07:59:56

------------------------------------------------------------

Greetings Readers this idea was given to me by @valeriele3, and I Hope you enjoyed it.

Once more, if you have any recommendations on how to improve my writing, please send it in by an ask me.

See you in the next story!

[ab4eva]

‘Just Like A Woman’ part 2

Summary: A Las Vegas showgirl falls in love with a heartbroken Elvis Presley. He is unwilling (or unable) to love her back.

Warnings: nsfw 18+ only, angst, intoxication, gaslighting, asshole Elvis, orgasm denial, hair pulling, knee-riding, handjob (m. receiving), Priscilla doesn’t exist in this timeline, not proofread.

Author’s note: A big thank you to the anon that sent me a message last week saying you needed more Tomorrow and Just Like A Woman, I wouldn’t have gotten this out today if not for you! As always, thanks to my bestie wives Birdy, Marina and Ally, for the love, support, guidance and laughs.

Word count: 2,757

Part 1

-

“Someone’s feelin’ a little tipsy, hmm darlin’?” he murmurs. You blink your eyes open and Elvis swims into view above you. Your breath catches in your throat and your face flushes with heat. You haven’t been this close to him in months and despite your drunken state, the joy and pain that pierces your heart at the sight of him, the sound of his voice only for you, has you blinking back tears and closing your eyes again quickly so he can’t see them. He doesn’t like it when you cry, it makes him madder than a hornet, and you’ve no wish to make him angry tonight. Tonight you just want to float away, let him make you feel like only he can. Worshipped. Adored. Wanted, if not exactly cherished. You relax into his touch as he runs his fingers through your hair languidly, enjoying the moment for what it is, a manifestation of his need for you, even if it is purely physical. You still have a certain amount of hold over him and you indulge the tiny flicker of possessive hope that sparks inside your chest.

“Alex told me you had a few too many drinks tonight…is that true, honey?” He suddenly grips your chin in his hand with a gentle force and pulls your head back, abruptly forcing you to look up at him once again. It isn’t mean, but it isn’t nice, either. He’s big on keeping up appearances, especially now that people know who you are. Hell, the press caught you in their crosshairs earlier this year and had a field day. “The King of Rock and Roll tarts it up with Vegas showgirl…but can you blame him?” It was unfair and nasty, the things they said about you in the article. But to Elvis, the only thing that had mattered was how he was portrayed. Ever since then you had to be on your best behavior, look absolutely perfect whenever you went out (with or without him), always be polite, well-spoken and well-dressed. Your mouth is suddenly filled with cotton and your heart speeds up as you try and fail to focus your eyes on his face. But the alcohol gets the better of you, the room spinning wildly out of control and you shut them again, unable to keep them open.

“Answer me honey,” he demands in a quiet voice through gritted teeth, shaking your chin a little. Your brows furrow together as a pounding ache in your head echoes the one in your chest. Your hand reaches up to grasp his arm that connects him to you, tugging a little on his sleeve, desperate for him to let you go. His hold on your chin is just a little too tight, his ringed fingers biting into the soft flesh of your jaw. Instead of letting go, his grip tightens ever so slightly, and you’re sure there will be half-moon crescents left behind on your skin by his perfectly manicured fingernails.

“Elvis…can you…please.” You manage to choke out through the vise-like hold he has on your mouth, trying to shake your head, straining against him, pulling harder on his arm. He chuckles darkly and releases you with a final squeeze that has you rubbing your jaw and gasping a little. The room dances around you and you close your eyes again, unable to follow his movements as he paces back and forth like a tiger in a jungle, regal and smoothly hypnotic, full of pent up rage bubbling just beneath the surface. This is bad. You haven’t seen him this worked up since just after you met him, when you slowly and painstakingly pieced his shattered heart back together again.

“Goddamnit, kitten!” he roars suddenly, startling you out of your stupor, your eyes flying open at the sound, your heart pounding uncontrollably again. “Did you make a fool of yourself out there? At my show?!” He points a finger toward the door before slapping a hand forcefully against his chest. “Did you make a fool outta me?!”

He stops in front of you, jewel-littered chest heaving, delicate hands balled into fists at his side. Some survival instinct inside your rib cage is screaming at you to flee, now, run far away. You can feel your legs itching to sprint, your fight or flight mode kicking into high gear. But. God help you, in this moment, you shouldn’t be as attracted to him as you are. The way the light gleams off the gold chains resting in the thicket of his chest hair, a slight sheen of sweat bathing him in an ethereal glow. His midnight hair mussed, plush mouth parted in something resembling a sneer, perfect white teeth that all at once look as if they could devour you whole. His eyes travel the length of you, assessing, taking in your long, bare limbs, firm and toned, a dancer’s body. The ample swell of your full breasts barely contained by the slip of silk covering your chest, the curves of your face cherubic and womanly in the same turn.

Slowly, his lithe body slowly bends to hover over you as he brings a knee up to rest on the couch between your bare thighs, his arms bracketing either side of you, pinning you to the couch. You can see the strain of his cock forming an outline against his tight pants, and you lick your lips as you feel arousal flood your folds. You offer a silent thanks to the universe that you chose this sliver of a silk dress tonight. It barely covers your soaked panties at this point. Your breathing grows shallow at the sheer closeness of him, your nose picking up the heady scent of his musk and sweat mixed with something spicy. It threatens to overwhelm your senses in your current state and has your heartbeat kicking up a notch. He smirks as his knee slides forward an inch, two inches, ever so slowly, until it meets your clothed pussy. Your sharp gasp at the contact makes his smirk deepen and he shifts his leg just a little, sending shockwaves through your body. Your head falls back on the couch and one of his hands fists in your hair, tangling his fingers in the long, silky stands.

He begins his leisurely assault on your body, the grind of his hips in perfect rhythm with the tugging of your hair, your scalp and pussy tingling pleasantly. You spread your legs wider to give him better access as your hands reach up to clutch at his narrow waist. He stops abruptly, arching away from you without breaking contact.

“Ah, ah, ah…you don’t get to touch me yet, baby. Been a bad little girl, and bad girls don’t get what they want,” he murmurs lowly, his voice dripping with honey so thick it’s like he can barely get the words out. You’re too far gone to care at this point, the alcohol and endorphins racing through your body, the thrill of being close to him again, of him touching you after so long an absence. You settle for grabbing fistfuls of the fluffy pillows decorating the couch as he finally begins to move once more, his icy eyes boring holes into yours, pink mouth parted invitingly. Anger sears through you in an instant at the fact you can’t kiss him there. You want nothing more than to crush your lips to his in this moment, to feel his tongue gliding against yours, exchanging breaths like your lives depended on it. But a particularly severe jolt against your swollen clit has you forgetting everything but the here and now, your eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. You can feel the tidal wave building, so close to crashing over you and pulling you under, you’ll be gone in a matter of seconds. You wantonly grind down on Elvis’s knee, needing more friction and a throaty moan escapes your lips. You hear a low growl as he pulls your hair hard, once, and a sharp pain shoots from your head to your toes, before he’s letting go completely, stepping away from you so quickly your mind can’t keep up with the sudden change. Your hips are still bucking up, seeking contact where there isn’t any.

Your eyes fly open, your body trembling with unshed release, your breath stolen by the orgasm that had been so near, your hands still gripping the pillows. He’s angry again, that burning fire inside barely contained, the telltale jiggle of his leg giving him away. Tears threaten to spill down your cheeks but you blink them away, they’ll only make him madder.

“You know how I-I-I feel about drinkin’. A-a-and losin’ control. Did you even stop to think for one goddamn minute about how that might look? About how that m-m-might make me look?”

You’re frozen where you sit, flushed, needy and exposed, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you. Anything to get away from his burning anger towards you. Confusion worms it’s way into your hazy brain. You should have been more careful. What if someone had seen you. Did you make a fool of yourself? You don’t remember doing anything more than having a good time, enjoying the show. You had sat in your booth and sung along a little, but that was it. You hadn’t gotten up and danced, or rushed the stage or screamed. You hadn’t acted like all of his other fans. You had behaved yourself. Hadn’t you? Your mind is fuzzy and his fury threatens to engulf the both of you…can’t be sure now.

His eyes are twin blue flames that blaze with anger and something else…something deeper that you can’t quite put your finger on in your hazy state. You reach out a hand to him, wanting even now to comfort him, he looks so much like a scared little boy that your heart can’t help but break a tiny bit. You swallow and struggle to stand from where you’ve melted into the soft couch, thinking if you can get a handle on the situation everything will be ok. He watches you with a look of disdain on his face, derision written like bitter words across his beautiful features before he turns and stalks to the window, brooding over the glittering blanket of stars that is Las Vegas stretched out below. He leaves you to help yourself up, swaying a little when you finally stand, gripping the edge of the couch to keep from falling.

“Elvis, please…I’m sorry. I didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. I was a good girl, I swear it.” You wince at the desperation in your voice, unable to keep yourself from begging for his forgiveness. You don’t even know what it is you need forgiveness for, but you must have done something awful to cause such a reaction in him. You’re unsteady on your feet but will yourself forward, thinking if you could just touch him, just soothe him a little like you did all that time ago, he would soften and turn into your embrace as he once did. You would never admit this to anyone, can hardly admit it to yourself, but you miss the Elvis you first met, the shell of a man who went through the motions of life with a cracked facade and broken heart. He was angry, yes, but also lost and broken. You remember nights in his bed, holding him close to your chest as he cried bitter tears, his body wracked with sobs. All you could do then was hold him, but it was enough. It had been enough. If he would only let you hold him again things might be different.

Tentatively you reach a shaking hand out and it hovers over his back, afraid to make contact, afraid that he’ll shake it off, or worse, turn and snatch your delicate wrist in his burning grasp. You gently ease your palm into the hollow of his shoulder blades, so light is your touch at first he isn’t sure it’s actually there. But then his head droops and his shoulders relax, a deep sigh emanating from within him. You press your hand a little firmer, rubbing his back soothingly. You feel him shudder and wonder when was the last time that someone touched him so gently, with only the intent to give and not receive. If only he would open his heart to you, you could give him so much, love him so well. You swallow the tears in your throat, those won’t do at the moment, and shake your head to clear your thoughts. Your hand moves up to the nape of his neck, kneading as you go, releasing the tension he always holds there. Your fingers slip into his hair, stroking and scratching, as you feel his head tip back and grow heavy in your hand. You step closer, the heat radiating off of him making you shiver in the air-conditioned room, the alcohol starting to wear off a tiny bit. You snake an arm around his waist and pull him flat against your chest. He resists at first, stiffening in your arms, before softening once again, slumping against you.

You lay your head on his back and sigh, finally feeling a sense of peace at being back where you belong. Next to him. You pull him closer, placing a hand over his heart, pressing the whole of yourself against him as he turns his head to look at you over his shoulder, his breath coming in shallow exhalations. You feel his heart speed up under your palm and yours matches his rhythm. His hand covers the one of yours around his waist and slowly guides it down, down, inching towards that part of him that is needy and begging to be set free. It feels as if you both stop breathing when your entwined hands reach the hard, twitching length of him. Your fingers close over his concealed cock and he groans, unable to keep from thrusting a little in desperation. In the mirrored reflection of the window before you your eyes meet his, an unspoken plea falling silent and heavy. You know what he needs, know how he likes to be touched and handled.

You fumble with his belt buckle briefly before it falls to the floor with thud, followed by the sound of a zipper and the rustle of fabric. Reaching into his jumpsuit your cool hand meets hot, hard velvet, throbbing and heavy as you pull him out. You smear the generous amount of precum leaking from his tip onto the rest of his straining cock as you close your fist around him, moving your hand slowly. Teasingly at first you twist and squeeze lightly, running your thumb over the tip of his sensitive head, until you feel his hips start to thrust into your hand. Your hand squeezes his slippery member more tightly, dragging up and down with a satisfying squelch as his broad chest starts to heave through his open jumpsuit. One of his hands tangles in your hair while the other one finds your ass cheek and grabs hold, crushing it in his grip. He’s beautiful in the reflection of the window, his lidded eyes blinking slowly, mouth parted in ecstasy, his head falling back onto your shoulder as you cradle him in your arms.

“Oh goddamn,” he breathes raggedly. “Just like that, baby, right there.” It isn’t long before he stiffens and spasms in your arms, hot spurts of pearlescent come covering your hand. You hold him closely, your arm around his chest tightening to keep him upright as he reaches out a hand to the window to keep from falling. You’re both out of breath as you release his softening cock to fetch a towel from the bathroom. You drop to your knees before him, gently cleaning away the sticky mess, mindful of his sensitivity. He cups your face tenderly, tilting it up, his thumb making small circles on your cheek as his lips lift in a crooked half-smile.

“Sober up.” The words drop from his mouth like a stone into your heart. His hand falls from your cheek as he turns away, adjusting himself as he heads for the door. You can’t hide the look of devastation on your face as the door swings shut with a soft click behind him, on your knees with the lights of Las Vegas mocking you brilliantly from below.

-

Tags - not all of them work, so sorry. Let me know if you want to be added or removed! @jelliedonut @butlersxbirdy @precious-little-scoundrel @elvisabutler @eliseinmemphis @powerofelvis @missmaywemeetagain @godlypresley @be-my-ally @richardslady121 @prompted-wordsmith @dkayfixates @from-memphis-with-love @whositmcwhatsit @butler-trouble @artlover8992 @headfullofpresley @ohjustpeachy1 @literally-just-elvis-fics @dhimpson1

[vintagelasvegas]

Binion residence, 2040 W Bonanza Rd, 1961. Steve Coker family collection.

The Binions bought the home in '47; Benny and Teddy Jane Binion lived here until the 70s. Jack Binion told the Houston Chronicle in '89: "Everything's in there like they'd gone on a trip, but they just never came back." The upper floor was damaged by fire in 5/90. The house has been vacant and boarded since the 90s. It is owned by Becky Binion Behnen.

Asked about the family home in a panel at the Mob Museum in 2024, Jack Binion said, “I haven’t been by. My sister Becky owns the house. It caught fire, it’s unlivable.”

A nearby Pioneer Trail marker says: “Originally built in '42 by service station owner C.A. Morehouse, the home was one of the largest in Las Vegas with three bedrooms, several baths, a large basement, guesthouse and swimming pool. In '46 the home was sold [to Joseph Hooghe] and converted into a "dude ranch" where those seeking a quickie divorce could establish their six-week residency requirements. Benny Binion, a boisterous Texas gambler with a great love for quarter horses, purchased the home in '47. He and his wife, Teddy Jane, raised their family and kept horses here, close to Binion's Horseshoe Club located on Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas.”

“Fire strikes house owned by Binion.” Review-Journal, 5/17/90; G. Leong. “Behnen ‘sentimental’ about Binion house.” Las Vegas Sun, 11/6/2001; D. Swanson. Blood aces: the wild ride of Benny Binion, the gangster who created Vegas poker. Viking, 2014; Sons of the Pioneers: Remembering Las Vegas Legends. The Mob Museum, 5/21/2024.

[likeapriceless-wine]

Vegas Escapades

Okay this is kinda long 💀 I didn't mean for that to happen but I got carried away. Anyways tw for homophobia and abusive parents and some religious themes

And absolutely zero proofreading

@cabin-12-resident-daddy-issues

Las Vegas, 1989

Vacations for C.J's family were usually beach vacations to neighboring states, but this year was different. This year's annual vacation was Las Vegas

It was more than obvious to any passerby that this family wasn't from around here, nor had they ever been anywhere like it

The two teenage boys, aged 14 and 16, and their ten year old sister were in awe

Mississippi accents ran thick as the kids pointed out everything that interested them whilst they and their parents walked along the streets of Las Vegas

"Junie, look it" C.J's older brother Devon said to the little girl that was riding around on his back

"I see!" she giggled

Their father laughed at the three of them as they smiled and gazed at all the tall buildings and lights

Their mother tried to enjoy it with her children and husband, but kept muttering something about how sinful all this was

"Lorna, darlin, you can take em all to church when we get back home, but they earned this, remember? All three of em are making straight a's, even C.J"

"Heyyy!" C.J complained, turning to face his parents "Devon and Junie would struggle too if they were dyslexic"

"Maybe you're dyslex-lick because your eyes are purple" Junie giggled

"Nuh uh" C.J huffed

"Junie, leave Coop alone, he's sensitive" Devon laughed

"You guys suck"

"Cooper Jones, watch that mouth!" His mother scolded

Their father chuckled and patted his wife's shoulder

"I tell you what, how about I take the kids out this evening and you can relax in the hotel for a bit?"

"Would you?" She sighed almost dreamily

"Of course, dear" He smiled

And he did

That evening rolled around, and they'd all had some time to relax in the hotel room before he had to play herd the three chaos children

"Kids, shoes on, we're going out"

"Where to?" Devon questioned, sitting backwards in a chair where he'd been talking to his brother about something

"Mini golf, sound good?"

Gods, that man and his golf

The eldest and youngest both seemed excited and got up to put their shoes on. But C.J had a hopeful, almost mischievous little grin on his face. The 'trying to convince his parents of something' grin

He looked exactly like his father when he made that face. Not the man in the room with him, not his brother and sister's father, his father

But the only one in the room who knew that was his mother, and that little grin sent shivers up her spine

"Can I stay? I promised a boy in one of the other rooms I'd meet him at the pool at 7"

"Yeah, sure thing Coop. That's a new record time for you making a friend on vacation, aint it?" His father laughed

C.J found someone to talk to everywhere he went. He found someone his age to hang out with at some point during every vacation, and he spent hours a week on the phone that hung in their kitchen at home, talking to people from school and his baseball team

"I think so" he chuckled, grabbing his swim trunks out of the suitcase as his siblings made their way to the door with their father

They bade their mother goodbye, as did their father, and C.J's brother ruffled his hair on the way out

"Don't drown" he said with a smug grin

"Yeah yeah, don't let Junie decapitate you with a golf club"

C.J ran off to the bathroom to change into his swim trunks as his father and siblings left

He came back out ready to go, stopping to kiss his mother on the cheek as she sat down with a book

"See ya mama!"

"Don't forget sunscreen" she said as she sat back, crossing one leg over the other and straightening the skirt of her dress

C.J backtracked to grab the sunscreen before running out and shutting the door behind him

An hour passed, and Lorna was still by herself in the hotel room. She was a good ways into her book, and frankly she was bored

The alone time was nice, but so was the weather outside, and she could see the pool when she pulled back the curtain on the window

Her son was standing by some blonde boy who seemed to be his age, though slightly taller. She chuckled as she saw his hands flying around in excited gestures, seemingly giving this poor boy an earful of some story

She picked up her book and a towel, knowing her son well enough to know he'd forgotten one, and headed out of the hotel room, her heels clicking down the hall until she reached the elevator that would take her to the ground floor

Heels clicked out of the elevator and to the door that lead outside to the pool. She nodded courteously to an employee she passed as she raised her free hand to push open the door

"Cooper, you forgot your– COOPER JONES CRAWFORD!"

This was it, her worst nightmare. Her son was kissing a boy. There had always been something off about that boy, but by god she didn't think it was this!

C.J went pale and the boy he was with shoved him away and made a run for it, leaving him all alone to deal with his mother

"Cooper if you aren't out of that damn pool by the time I count to three I swear on all that is holy you will wish I never brought you into this world!"

"Mama–!" He said in a small, panicked voice

"ONE!" She barked out, putting her hands on her hips

If C.J wasn't sopping wet from the pool she would've seen him start to sweat as he scrambled to get out of the pool, nervously clasping his hands as he walked to his mother, those purple eyes of his filled with tears

She threw the towel at him and grabbed him by the ear, dragging him back to the hotel room. Her book layed forgotten on one of the lounge chairs by the pool

She practically shoved him into the still empty hotel room

"Go change and dry yourself off then march your ass right back in here to me, understood?"

C.J whimpered a "yes ma'am" and threw the towel over his shoulder, making quick work of grabbing the nearest pair of his clothes and rushing off to the bathroom

He came back in a dry shirt and shorts with his hair still wet, and his face wet with steaks of tears

The first thing his mother did was slap him across the face, leaving a large read mark on his cheek

"I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, but it will not continue under my roof, do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am" he whimpered

"No, I don't think you do. This will not continue under my goddamn roof. Sinners are not welcome in my house, boy"

"I know, mama, I'm sorry"

"Get out, Cooper" she hissed

"...what?"

"You heard me. Get the hell out and don't you ever cone back, you aren't my damn son"

C.J looked at her with eyes filled with tears and horror

"Mama you don't mean that–!"

"I know exactly what the hell I mean, boy. Leave before I make you"

C.J had seen his mother angry, but never this angry

He grabbed his jacket and backpack in a panic and ran, putting them on and darting down the stairs and out of the hotel, onto streets he barely knew

He ran in whatever direction looked safe until he found some place to sit down. He sat on some bench a few blocks from the hotel as sobs started to wrack his chest

He didn't even have shoes on. He'd just run down a Vegas in captain america socks. He was pretty sure he'd shoved a pair of flip flops into his backpack at some point, but he didn't care about that right now

He just cried and cried for hours, until it got dark

He decided he'd look for some place to crash, or at least stay safe for the night

This certainly didn't feel like a vacation anymore

[alarrytale]

“Women aren't allowed into the pond enclosure any other day of the year except Christmas Day.”

It’s true that mixed pond is supposed to be closed until early spring and women were allowed to swim in men’s pond on Xmas day in about 8:30 - 10:30 (or 11:30?) but c’mon, H and his stunt girl aren’t normal visitors and so they could make an exception for them like they close whole golf course just for H or restaurant for one day and so this photo could been taken a week in advance and posted just now to look like they are spendind Xmas together. And even if there was no exception for them and they went there in supposed day and opening hours, drive from North London to Holmes Chapel//Doncaster is about 3 hours so work in the morning/beforenoon and rest of the day with family/Louis.

There was a video from Lottie from restaurant where in the background there was someone who sounded just like H and even his name had been said like 2 times. We have no photo evidence of Louis except the glimpse of his body in another Lottie’s video. We have no photo evidence of H either except that one photo that supposed to be from Xmas day. So they both could be together for weeks because even we know H was in Rome/Civita/Italy - Louis was mia (altho the was a rumour someone saw him in Rome). And Louis was in Las Vegas while H was mia (but again another rumour that someone saw him at The Spere). Few days for stunting vs rest of the month together. As you wrote, they must got used to it because it’s been over 10 years by now and so they surely know how to balance this and celebrate together before/after the actual day (L’s birthday//Xmas). They can be together again just now as I’m writing this.

Like for me I’m bit fascinated how the stunt girl suddenly give up on her friends and family just to stunt with him in London to feed the narrative but also I’m not suprised, H needs to show up from time to time to remind his fans/gp that he still exists and so that’s why this stunt is going for him - she gets her promo because she’s “HS’ girlfriend” and he causes “drama” on the internet with minimum efford.

Hi, anon!

Thanks for the timeline. I was going to answer that last ask with "you're forgetting it's Harry Styles we're dealing with. Harry can make anything happen if he wants to. Rules doesn’t apply to him", but i really don't care enough to debate the opening times of a pond lol.

Yeah, there's been plenty of time to be together over the last few months. More than they've had in past years. If H spends an hour swimming with TR, he's still got 23 hours of the day to spend with L. H and L are both known for travelling hours just to spend a couple of hours together too. They make it work and so far it's been low effort, high reward for both of their stunts this Christmas. It could be worse and we've had worse in years past.

[ask-james-madison-stuff]

After the events with Dolley a few weeks passed

Caroline and James were at a convince store

James:

-I forgot something in the car I’ll be back soon ok honey?

Caroline:

You got it dad!

James smiled as he left Caroline stayed waiting for her dad until she noticed Josephine and Diane inside the convince store together. They didn’t see Caroline

Diane:

-So how was the meeting your mom had with your dead beat

Josephine:

-I dunno and I don’t care

*Josephine said siping some cold drink*

Diane:

-Uh huh well there has to be something in your past that’s must be interesting

Josephine:

-……

Diane:

-I understand if you don’t want to speak about but just know I’m always here for you babe

Josephine sighed:

- I've been through ten high schools

They start to get blurry

No point planting roots

'Cause you're gone in a hurry

My mom keeps two suitcases packed in the den

So it's only a matter of when

I don't learn the names

Don't bother with faces

All I can trust is this concrete oasis

Seems every time I'm about to despair

There's a convince store right there

Each store is the same

From Las Vegas to Boston

Linoleum aisles that I love to get lost in

I pray at my altar of slush

Yeah, I live for that sweet frozen rush

Freeze your brain

Suck on that straw

Get lost in the pain

Happiness comes

When everything numbs

Who needs cocaine?

Freeze your brain

Freeze your brain

…… Care for a hit?

Diane:

-Does your

Does your mommy know you eat all that crap?

Josephine:

-Nope she is too busy with work to even notice. When my dad abandoned mom I lived quite lonely

I learned to cook pasta I learned to pay rent

Learned the world doesn't owe you a cent

You're planning your future, My dear Diane,

But the sky's gonna hurt when it falls

So you'd better start building some walls

Freeze your brain

Swim in the ice

Get lost in the pain

Shut your eyes tight

'Til you vanish from sight

Let nothing remain

Freeze your brain

Shatter your skull

Fight pain with more pain

Forget who you are

Unburden your load

Forget in six weeks

You'll be back on the road

When the voice in your head

Says you're better off dead

Don't open a vein

Just freeze your brain

Freeze your brain

Go on and freeze your brain

*Diane put her hand on Josephine*

Josephine:

-Wanna try it?

Josephine said giving her slushie to Diane

But they didn’t knew Caroline was listening that whole time

"Alright I'm back-you alright hun?"

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Begin Again: Chapter Four | Spencer Reid

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

Chapter Four: Swimming Pool Kisses

<< Chapter Three

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC!Charlotte Morris

Warnings: talk about murder, kissing, making out

Author's note: I don't know if I like it, but hey, it's here. Based off things that have actually happened to me.

Words: 2.6K

“I-It… I dated him, right after high school,” Charlotte started, her eyes nervously flitting towards Spencer. “I-It was just a couple of months and I didn’t see him after that. I-I–” she stuttered and stumbled, barely making proper sentences. 

“Charlotte–” Morgan cut her off, which was when she realized every single one of them was staring at her. 

“What?” she asked, chuckling nervously. 

Hotch’s brows raised. “Name, please, Charlotte.” 

Charlotte’s eyes flitted towards Spencer and back to the big boss, nervous to tell them. Nervous to tell him. “Uhm, Bradley Logan…” she mumbled, fidgeting with her Las Vegas bracelet, her eyes focused on the charms. 

“You dated Bradley Logan?!” Spencer asked in disbelief as her eyes slowly moved up to his face. “You actually dated the guy that used to bully me in High School?” 

She felt tears prick in her eyes. “Yeah, it was dumb. I-I was dumb. We had just graduated and it was summer and it was hot and I was experimenting and one night, at a party, Brad was there and one thing led to another and we hooked up. We kept hooking up and nights together turned into days together, right up until the summer was over and I moved to New York to study but then my scholarship fell through and I had to fend for myself, having me end up in Hartford, Connecticut, working as a maid in a hotel and–” She stopped herself when everyone was staring at her with that look in their eyes that told her she had lost them. “Thing is, when I broke up with him – I-I didn’t really? I just packed up and left, and I suppose he’s still a bit… bitter about that?” 

“A bit bitter?” Emily scoffed. 

During her rambling, Penelope had been typing away on her computer. It took a few seconds before Hotch turned to the blonde and with one simple, “Garcia?”, it got the technical analyst started on her tangent. 

“Bradley Logan, born and raised in Las Vegas. Has some DUI’s on his name as well as one count of domestic violence. According to his socials, he has been dating around and let me tell you, if you put these lovely ladies in front of you, Charlotte, you’d think you’re looking in a mirror,” Penelope looked over at the hotel’s manager. “His last girlfriend – excuse me, fiancée – broke it off just a few weeks ago. They were set to marry but then she cheated on him and that whole thing went bust.” 

“That could be the stressor,” Rossi pointed out. 

Hotch nodded his head. “His fiancée, she was a blonde with green eyes, too, I guess?” 

“Ding! Ding! Ding!” Penelope imitated a bell. “All of his girlfriends were perfect copy-pastes of our lovely Charlotte. Guess someone has a type.” 

JJ chuckled. “Or a weird obsession.” 

“How long were they together?” Derek asked his coworker. 

“Three years,” she replied. 

The young man nodded his head. “So, he gets cheated on, gets reminded of his sordid breakup with Charlotte and wants to take revenge for being the first woman breaking his heart by killing people in her place of work,” he theorized before nudging Spencer. “What are you thinking, Genius?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Sounds good,” Spencer replied absentmindedly. When he looked up at the blonde next to him. “I can’t believe you dated Bradley Logan…” he mumbled, shaking his head. 

“Yeah,” Charlotte sighed. “I wasn’t – I wasn’t right in the head back then.” 

“He does fit the profile,” Emily muttered, breaking up the conversation between the old pals. 

Looking back up at the technical analyst, Hotch nodded. “Where is he now, Garcia?” 

Before she could answer, the curly-headed Latina burst into the meeting room, completely out of breath and her face white as a ghost. The scene caused Charlotte to perk up, worry seeping within her. 

“Val? What’s wrong?” she asked. 

“It’s Room 304… There’s someone in there…” The words came out into a whisper, but it was loud enough for everyone to hear and exchange worried glances. 

The team quickly slid their chairs back and got themselves ready, donning their bulletproof vests. Charlotte was frozen, staring at them in pure horror. She didn’t know what to do. Everyone was moving, all of them in a rush. For once, she actually felt the way her parents took her for; useless. 

Everything went by in a flash. One second, they were in the meeting room, and the next the team burst into Room 304 and apprehending Bradley Logan. The look he gave her when Spencer pushed him through the lobby with his hands cuffed behind his back sent shivers down her spine. She hadn’t seen Brad in fifteen years and suddenly he was murdering guys to get her attention. 

Her eyes didn’t stay on her ex too long as they drifted to the man walking behind him. If she thought he was attractive before, his attractiveness had doubled by the way he moved and held Bradley in place to escort him out. 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” she muttered under her breath. 

“I know,” Val sighed. “And I’m not even attracted to men.” 

Charlotte chuckled before heading out the door and meeting the BAU team outside. They had just put Bradley into the cop car, ready to jet off to jail. Smiling half-heartedly, Charlotte joined by Emily’s side. 

“I wanted to say thank you for dealing with this so swiftly,” she started with a sigh. “Why don’t you stay another night and allow me to make you guys a good meal… To thank you…” 

A smile landed on Hotch’s lips, a rarity for him, she had noticed, before he nodded his head. “Yeah, that sounds nice, actually,” he said. “Thank you, Charlotte.” 

“Cool. I’ll see you guys tonight in the ballroom at seven.” She snapped her fingers, almost doing finger guns, but stopping herself just in time so as to not embarrass herself. 

The team nodded their heads, all of them smiling thankfully as they watched her walk back inside. Charlotte felt a little weird after everything had gone down. On one hand, she felt as though she needed to stay strong so she could open the hotel again as soon as possible while on the other hand, she wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. 

“Hey,” the familiar voice of Spencer Reid caught her attention. Charlotte turned around to face him. “You all right?” 

She offered him a tearful smile. “I-I’m fine, Spencer. Thanks.” 

Before she could turn away from him, he grabbed her shaking hands and held them. Simple as that. He just held her hands to stop them from shaking and it almost felt as though he was holding her together. 

“It’s perfectly normal — and even healthy — to start shaking or trembling immediately following a traumatic event,” he muttered. “It’s how the body releases or discharges the extra defensive energy that gets “stuck” in the body during a traumatic event.”

Furrowing her brows, Charlotte looked up at Spencer. “Why are you citing facts to me?” she chuckled. 

Spencer opened his mouth, but closed it again when he didn’t find the right words. It resulted in a few weird sounds coming out before actual words tumbled out. “I-It’s something that I do. People-Some people find it incredibly annoying, so I’m sorry to–” 

“No, it’s fine. I like that.” 

A smile befell his lips as he looked into her green eyes. His thumb grazed the little Las Vegas charms on her bracelet. He gazed down to the piece of jewelry and turned her wrist upwards and played around with the little charm of the Las Vegas skyline. 

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Just something to remind me of where I’m from,” she replied with a shrug and shook her hands out of his grip. “I have to go and clean up the meeting room, so I-I’ll see you tonight at dinner, yeah?” 

As Charlotte stepped away from him, Spencer simultaneously took a step, too. “I’ll come and help.” 

There wasn’t much Charlotte could do but let him help her. At first, they moved around the meeting room in silence. They slinked around each other, apologies flying through the air as they nearly bumped into each other. It wasn’t until a few minutes in that Charlotte broke the silence. 

“I read your dissertation, you know,” she told him, which caught his attention. A chuckle rolled off her lips when she noticed his surprised expression. “I read everything you wrote or were mentioned in. Reading about what you had been up to kept me a little connected to Las Vegas while I wasn’t doing too good.” 

Spencer tried to bite back his smile. “Oh,” he said, a weird sense of pride bubbling up inside of him. 

He didn’t quite know what to say to that. His brilliant brain short-circuited. All this time, while he was obsessing about her and remembering her almost daily, she was thinking about him all the same. 

“Yeah,” she whispered, almost cursing at herself for getting so open and vulnerable with him. There was so much more she wanted to tell him, but she didn’t know how or if it was even the right thing to say. All she knew was that she felt at ease with him. She felt stronger, more confident, just like she did that day when she stood up for him. “Well, anyway. I’m gonna go chain Thomas to the kitchen tiles so he can make us the best dinner of all time,” she then said and walked out of the meeting room, leaving Spencer alone. 

For a while, he just stood there and watched the doorway she had disappeared from. His heart was full and happy, even after what had transpired with his high school bully and his high school crush. She was being honest and open with him, something he never thought could even happen. 

“Welcome to your very own, super-mega-deluxe Hartford Hotel dinner,” Charlotte announced ceremonially as she opened the double doors to the ballroom. Together with Thomas, Yanisha and Valencia, she had decked out the space with one big round table in the middle, set with their finest dishes and lit by every single candle the hotel owned. 

“Courtesy of Tommy, Nisha, Val and Lottie,” Val added with a smirk. 

All of them had dressed up, too. They had turned their thank-you-supper into a fancy dress meal, which Charlotte absolutely loved. She loved how they had put in the effort, no matter how little sleep they had gotten over the past few days. 

“This is amazing, Lottie,” Penelope gasped, too occupied by the sight in front of her, she didn’t even notice the nickname had slipped out. Charlotte had noticed and she felt a little flutter in her stomach. 

“Let’s start with a toast,” she then said as they took a seat and reached for the glass of champagne Yanisha had filled up for all of them. “To the best BAU team to ever exist and to catching yet another bad guy.” 

“And to Charlotte and her team,” Hotch quickly added, raising his glass, too. “For hosting us during the case and for hosting us tonight.” 

A chorus of “cheers” echoed through the ballroom, the starting signal for their delicious meal, prepared by the best chef in all of Hartford. He had made two different dishes, one vegetarian, one with meat. Just to be sure and so people could choose which one they wanted. 

It turned out to be the best way to finish up a case. With conversation flowing as smoothly as the wine. By the time they’d had their dessert, everyone was already pretty drunk and the volume of the music had been turned all the way up. 

At one point, Penelope, Val and Charlotte had gotten up on the small stage at the back of the room with Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood blaring through the speakers, the girls singing along loudly and rather off-key. 

It made for great entertainment, though. 

“D’you know what would be great right  now?” Val sighed and Charlotte knew immediately what she was going to say. “A dip in the pool.” 

Charlotte pressed her lips together to keep herself from smiling. This had happened before. More than once. She almost said no to her best friend until JJ and Emily agreed to the Latina’s sentiment. 

“Oh my God,” JJ all but groaned. “That would be so good!” 

Rolling her eyes, Charlotte moved to the bar and reached for the key she had left behind. “Fine – follow me!” she said overly excited and guided the overly excited and confused agents down to the basement where the hotel’s spa was located. 

“Holy shit,” Emily chuckled as she took in the sight before her. 

The blue light of the swimming pool reflected on the ceiling in rippling waves. There were a couple of saunas, a jacuzzi and some deckchairs around for the ultimate relaxation of the guests. Charlotte was pretty proud of the spa. It was something you didn’t find very often in the hotels in Hartford. 

“I didn’t bring my bathing suit, though,” JJ told them. 

Chuckling, Charlotte untied the knot in her wrap-dress and let the fabric fall off her shoulders, leaving her in her underwear. Valencia, Yanisha and Thomas were stripping too, something they had done many a time before. “Neither do we. Come on, it’s fine! We’ve done this so many times before.” 

As Charlotte went to get the towels and bathrobes for everyone in her underwear, she didn’t catch Spencer’s baffled expression. It was only when she returned and found everyone in their underwear jumping in the swimming pool but him that she let out a chuckle. 

“Close your mouth, genius. You’ll catch a fly.” She patted his cheek with her free hand before dropping the towels on one of the lounging chairs. Once she had both hands free, she turned towards him and loosened his tie. “Come on,” she whispered. “Join in on the fun.” 

It didn’t take a lot of convincing for Spencer to join all of them in the pool. At first, the group participated in their usual pool games, like taking turns in Morgan’s or Thomas’ neck to push one another off or a competition to see who could hold a handstand the longest. A heap of teenagers in adult bodies. 

But then the group started to divide. Some of them went into the jacuzzi, others decided to try the saunas. Only Spencer and Charlotte stuck to a corner of the pool, wrapped up in pleasant conversation about Las Vegas and their life. 

“I used to have the biggest crush on you after you saved me,” Spencer admitted sheepishly. 

Charlotte let out a charmed laugh at the confession. “You did?” She ran her fingers through his wet hair, pushing it out of his face. The movement and the closeness of the woman caused Spencer to falter. 

His hazel eyes flicked from her green orbs to her pink lips and back. “Yeah. I think I still do, actually.” It came out in a mumble as though his lips couldn’t handle anything more. 

“Good,” Charlotte whispered, her eyes falling back to his lips whilst hers curled up into a smirk. 

“Yeah?”

“Very good, even.” 

And without any warning, Charlotte diminished the distance between them and kissed him. Startled, Spencer quickly recomposed himself and placed his hands on the sides of her face, holding her in place or needing something to hold onto for his own sanity. He was quick to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue across her lips. 

All of it felt so right. 

This was where they were supposed to be. 

Everything taglist: @calamitykaty @n0wornever @wanniiieeee @unnowhatthisistbh

Criminal Minds Taglist: 

@boimlers-gonna-boim @samsbirks @tinaasthings @dysphoricsanity @love4lando @elenamoncada-ibarra @r-3dlips @magstheslayer @astess @sylvcaplath @tillypettitt @mordechaisworld @ssameadows @spikedhe4rt @spencers-bookworm @littlemissaddict @kirbybean

[boredwritergirl]

Day 20 - Jackpot

Jackpot

‘Gotta win big, gotta win big, gotta win big.’ Jasmine thought to herself as the wheel on the roulette table spun.

Her forehead was sweating profusely, creating a noticeable sheen that reflected off her caramel skin and leaving stains on her cheap, checkerboard leisure suit. The gold finish on her cheap, fake jewelry was smudging against her wrists and phalanges. Jasmine pulled on her collar, her heart racing as her eyes refused to leave the rapid spin of the roulette ball.

She had spent all day gambling at every joint in vegas. She played blackjack, Texas hold’em, slot machines, darts, anything it took to get all that money. She needed the money badly. She wasn’t in debt, but the woman she loved was. Jasmine had a big crush on this Mormon girl, she had come into town and lost all of her savings. Vegas is a city of sink or swim and she sank.

When the mob got a hold of Jane, the Mormon girl, they weren't too pleased that she didn’t have the money. So, they gave her two options; either go on a permanent scuba trip to lake mead, or get all dolled up and escort some “esteemed guests” to their hotel rooms. Jane chose the latter.

Jasmine had seen Jane the previous week, all naive and wide eyed and ready to take on the world. Just one glance at how Jane looked this morning was all Jasmine needed to get the full story. She saw Jane’s thousand eye stare and immediately realized what had happened and knew she just had to save her.

That’s why she spent all day doing this, why she’s taking a big bet at the roulette table to double-or-nothing her earnings.That’s why she needs to win big.

As the ever spinning ball of the roulette table finally came to a close, it landed on red 23, Jasmine’s number. 

Jasmine screeched in celebration at her win, practically jumping in the air as she dramatically swung her fist in the air. “OH HELL YEAH!” she roared, the jitters of watching the ball all this time finally leaving her system.

She cashed in all of her chips, her high stakes winnings coming in a silver briefcase as courtesy of the casino.

She saw the mob boss, Don Dom Gallo, over by the poker table. Jasmine fiercely gripped the silver handle, her legs stomping across the busy room of waiters, dealers and either excited or stressed gamblers. 

Don Dom Gallo was a highly respected man in the Las Vegas strip. Perhaps more feared than respected, but he wasn’t the kind of guy that people felt safe getting near. Yet Jasmine stormed right up to him and shoved the briefcase into his chest.

Jasmine let out a big huff and puff as she stared daggers at the mobster. “I got the money. You better let her go, now!”

“Hey Hey, what’s the big idea over here?” Gallo asked, his sarcastic tone and beady eyes made it clear, he wanted to know who this woman thought she was to do that to him. He wore a tight black suit and slicked back hair, looking like a real jackass, but it never mattered what he looked like, because he had the money to do something about it if someone said something he didn’t like.

“You know what the big idea is. We spoke about this this morning. I want to buy Jane’s contract.” She said with a stern tone.

“Forget it, she’s not for sale.” He said, trying to brush her off.

“Fucking excuse me!” Jasmine barked. 

“I said, she’s not for sale.” Gallo repeated. “I changed my mind. It happens sometimes.”

“I am not leaving here without her.”

Gallo rolled his eyes and shrugged, “Fine…” He then snapped his fingers and Jane quickly arrived. The girl who looked rather plain last week was now in a sparkly black dress with a thick coat of makeup plastered all over her face. 

“Yes?” Jane asked.

Gallo pointed over to Jasmine, “She’s your boss now. Go with her and make sure she gets home safe.”

Jane looked at Jasmine and then looked back to the Dom, before finally grabbing Jasmine’s hand, running out the casino doors and jumping into her convertible together.

As Jasmine drove and drove outside the city limits, she had a big smile on her face, happy to have beaten the mob.

But Jane looked uncomfortable, telling her, “Hey, park the car. My kidneys feel like they’re about to explode.”

Jasmine noded, parking her car at the side of the road, surrounded by miles and miles of dirt in all directions. 

As Jane walked behind a rock and kneeled to do her business, she took out a tiny pistol that was hidden between her breasts and shot Jasmine right in the throat.

Unable to speak, Jasmine held her hand against her neck, trying to keep the blood from pouring out of her.

Jane walked closer, pointing the gun at the gambler. “I don’t know what sort of perverted sex fantasies you had in that twisted mind of yours, but there’s no way I’d go over to be your slave or lover or whatever the hell you expected. You’re a stranger, a nobody! At least with The Don, I have somebody looking out for me. I get to move up in the world, not live in lord knows what hell hole with a loser like you.”

The ungrateful brat kicked sand into Jasmine’s eyes as she watched the gamble slowly die from internal bleeding.

[mods2nv]

Bikini Model Swimsuit Show from Las Vegas Swim Week

[heathermasonnum1fan]

Songs of the Week (4)

1. Hooker with a Penis (TOOL)

I know I already talked about Aenema on here (please don’t come for me I don’t know how to type out the AE character), but I really rediscovered it recently. In my opinion, this is TOOL’s best album, and Hooker with a Penis is definitely a highlight for me. I don’t even feel like I have to say that musically it’s amazing, mostly because I don’t think I’ve come across a single bad TOOL song, but I’ll mention it anyway because the chorus is absolutely stellar. What really drew me to this song, however, were the lyrics. Definitely some of their best work.

2. 4th of July (Soundgarden)

I don’t know what it is about this song but I’ve been listening to it nonstop for the past week. And by nonstop I mean at least 4 times a day. I’ve never been a big fan of Soundgarden and Superunknown was the only album of theirs I was actually familiar with (because of Black Hole Sun and Spoonman only to be honest), and I never thought I’d ever be this into any of their stuff, but this song did a complete 180 for me. I don’t know what it is about it that makes it so addictive, but it literally takes me to another dimension. I don’t know how to describe what I feel every time I listen to 4th of July, but I HIGHLY recommend it.

3. Сука Любовь (Antoha MC)

I don’t usually recommend Russian music on here because this obviously isn’t a Russian-speaking blog, but I’ll be making an exception for this one. The beat is absolutely heavenly, the vocals are a perfect fit, and the flow of this song is just insane overall. And yes, I know it’s a cover, but I would much rather listen to this version because the original, while not necessarily bad, is a kind of a confusing mix between reggae and 90s Russian pop (at least that’s how I would put it). You don’t need to know the language to enjoy this song, it’s absolutely magical either way.

4. Roads (Portishead)

I don’t think I’ve spoken about my love for Portishead on here yet, so I feel like Roads will be a great place to start. I’m going to be honest and admit that Dummy is the only record of theirs that I actively listen to but I feel like that’s enough because there’s nothing wrong with liking an artist’s most popular album because most of the time, it’s also their best one. Roads is beautiful all around, as is the entirety of Dummy, and as lately I’m increasingly drawn to calmer music, this is currently a perfect fit for me.

5. Heaven or Las Vegas (Cocteau Twins)

I don’t think I’ve spoken about Cocteau Twins yet either, so here’s Heaven or Las Vegas. Personally, I believe it’s the best song off the album, but to each their own. It’s such a summer song for me, and I listen to it whenever I want to be taken back to less stressful times. It’s so kind and weightless, I absolutely love it. I wish I could go into the technicalities of what makes this song as glowing as it is, but I’m not really a musician so I’ll just settle for saying that it overwhelms you in the best way possible; it feels like everything is happening all at once but it just makes the soul feel so light.

6. Reptilia (The Strokes)

Some will say the production sucks but I say it’s a creative decision. The mixing just adds to the ambience, which is amazing, so let it be. I like The Strokes quite a lot, but this song is just something else, it’s just so raw. I’ve already said that what I value most in music is genuineness, and Reptilia is nothing if not genuine. You can say that it’s simple musically, but in this case I, quite frankly, don’t care. The chorus is out of this world and the vocals in it are so beautifully fitting it makes me want to cry. This song also has one of my all time favourite lines on it (“the room is one fire as she’s fixing her hair”) so I will not be taking any criticism.

7. Aenema (TOOL)

I’m closing this week off with the best song off of Aenema. It’s just great, I don’t know what else to say. The repetition of “learn to swim,” the drumming, the flow from section to section, the palpable frustration, the tension buildup throughout the song, the vocal work, god it’s all just perfect. Songs that are this well-balanced and flow this organically are very hard to come by, and I’m endlessly happy I had the opportunity to come by it and the album altogether. This is one of those songs that is literally life-changing, crush-your-soul-and-take-you-to-another-dimension kind of deal. Absolute standout of this week.