#all of this and we didn’t even get any fucking thunder out of the deal

[mushroomofficial]

where the hell is that post that’s like “fuck barometric pressure”

[etheraltides]

Shelter in the Storm

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summarize: Rafe is acting weird during the storm and you’re about to find out why

Warning(s): mention of gun, protective Rafe.

A/N: feedback always make me happier, love y’all – also tysm for all the love in my fics

The storm outside was relentless, sheets of rain hammering against the windows. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low growl that felt too close, too ominous. Rafe stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the faint glow of the firelight. His jaw was tense, his hands flexing open and shut at his sides.

You had packed a bag and driven to Rafe's earlier today when you received a warning in your phone about the upcoming storm, not wanting to risk staying at yours to see the damage - your small house in the Cut had barely survived in the last one and neither you nor Rafe wanted to risk it. Not when his place was as much as yours as his.

You watched him from the couch, bundled up in an oversized sweater, your book abandoned beside you. He hadn’t spoken much since the phone call earlier, but his restlessness told you everything. Something was wrong.

“Rafe.” you said softly, pulling his attention away from the storm.

He turned, his blue eyes darker than usual, stormier. He didn’t respond, just studied you for a moment like he was trying to memorize every detail. It wasn’t unusual for him to brood, but tonight, something felt different. He never got that weird over business that went wrong.

“You’ve been pacing for twenty minutes, quiet ever since I've arrived. What’s going on, baby?” you asked, your voice laced with concern.

Rafe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

You frowned, sitting up straighter. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

“It’s not shutting you out, alright? ” he snapped, then immediately softened his tone as he noticed you flinch, his chest tightening with guilty. “It’s keeping you safe.”

“From what?”

His eyes flicked away, unable to hold your gaze. His silence was answer enough.

“Rafe…” You stood, crossing the room to stand in front of him. Your hand rested lightly on his clothed chest. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He hesitated, torn between wanting to protect you and needing to tell someone. He didn't like to keep things from you. Finally, he sighed. “You remember Morroco?”

Your brow furrowed. “The trip? Of course.”

He had called you to meet him by the beach, kissing you goodbye as he said he had an important last meeting to close a massive deal and that it'd probably take him a few weeks before he was back.

“It wasn't just a trip.” he said bitterly. “It’s a mess. A deal went sideways, I went after Groff to get my money back and then... Then there was this blue crown treasure hunt with those... pogues. We crossed some people." His jaw clenched. “Now they’re coming for me.”

Your blood ran cold as you tried to process everything. Not even paying a big attention to the fact that Rafe had lied to you. “They?”

“Mercenaries” he admitted, the word dripping with disdain. “Hired guns who don’t care about anything but the paycheck and that fucking crown that slipped away from our fingers."

Fear pricked at the edges of your mind, you could hear your heartbeats in your ears. Mercenaries. “And you think they’ll come here, after you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I’m not taking any chances.”

You stepped closer, your hands gripping his arms. “Rafe, we should call someone - Shoupe, the poli—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply. “The cops won’t do anything. I’ll handle it, okay? I can take care of my own shit."

“You can’t handle this alone, Rafe. We're talking about mercenaries and not a cougar whose money went sideways in a deal!” you argued, your voice rising slightly.

“I’m not letting you get involved,” he said firmly, his hands resting on your shoulders. His touch was warm, grounding.

“I’m already involved,” you countered, your voice softening. “I care about you, Rafe. That means I’m in this with you, whether you like it or not.”

His expression cracked, the tough exterior slipping to reveal the vulnerability underneath. “You don’t get it,” he whispered, his hands sliding down your arms. “You’re the only thing I’ve got that’s good. If something happens to you because of me—” He broke off, shaking his head.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” you said, stepping even closer. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. “You’re here. You’ll keep me safe.”

He stared at you, his breath hitching slightly. “You have too much faith in me,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“I have the right amount,” you whispered back.

For a moment, the tension hung heavy between you, the storm outside roaring as if reflecting the chaos inside him. Then, before you could say anything else, Rafe’s hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“You’re so damn stubborn,” he muttered, a small, almost pained smile tugging at his lips.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were swallowed as his lips met yours. The kiss was desperate, almost frantic, like he needed to remind himself you were here, with him, safe. His hands slid into your hair, holding you to him as if letting go wasn’t an option.

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. The warmth of his body, the way he kissed you — it all felt like a promise, and a plea rolled into one.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy. “I’m not letting them get near you,” he vowed, his voice raw.

“They won’t,” you assured him, nodding as your hands smoothed over his chest.

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hands skimming down your sides. When he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around your waist, you felt the full weight of his fear and his determination.

“I should send you away,” he muttered against your hair, his lips brushing your temple. “Somewhere safe. Away from Outer Banks."

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. “No. I’m staying right here. With you.”

Rafe stared at you, his jaw tightening. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” you said with a small smile, not wanting him to know how terrified you actually were. “But so are you. We’re a good match, remember?"

Despite himself, he chuckled, his grip on you tightening. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” you teased.

He didn’t answer; he just pressed another kiss on your forehead before pulling you into his chest. His hand smoothed over your back, lingering there as if the simple act could protect you from the world.

After the conversation, the weight of the threat hanging over him, Rafe couldn’t let you out of his sight. He needed to feel you close, needed to know you were safe in a way that words couldn’t assure him - and it didn't help that you decided to organize everything that was out of place, moving between the rooms without saying anything. He knew you were stressed. You always clean whenever anxiety hits you.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low as his arms slid around your waist.

You blinked up at him, confused. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your cheeks flushed. “I can walk, Rafe.”

“Not tonight,” he said, shaking his head. “Let me do this.”

Before you could protest, Rafe bent down and swept you into his arms as if you weighed nothing. You let out a soft yelp of surprise, your arms instinctively looping around his neck.

“Rafe—”

“Shh,” he murmured, glancing down at you with a small, almost teasing smirk. “Just let me take care of you for once, okay?”

You pressed your lips together, your cheeks warming at the way he held you so effortlessly, his grip steady and secure. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a calming rhythm that contrasted with the chaos of the storm outside.

The walk to the bedroom was silent, save for the sound of the rain pounding against the roof. Rafe nudged the door open with his foot, carrying you inside. The room was dark except for the faint glow of a lamp on the nightstand, casting warm light over the space.

He set you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment before he stepped back. You watched as he moved around the room, double-checking the locks on the windows and door. His movements were methodical, his expression tense.

“Rafe,” you said softly, sitting up. “You don’t have to do all this.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yes, I do.”

You wanted to argue, but something in his tone stopped you. He was carrying more than just worry — it was guilt, fear, and the overwhelming need to protect you. It was his way of tricking himself into believing he had some control over the whole situation.

Once he was satisfied, Rafe returned to the bed. You noticed the subtle way he opened the drawer of his bedside table, checking the loaded gun inside.

Your stomach tightened. “Do you really think it’ll come to that?”

His gaze flicked to you, softening slightly. “It’s just a precaution,” he said, his voice steady.

You nodded, though the thought of him having to use it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Come here,” he said, holding out a hand.

You crawled toward him, settling into his arms as he pulled you close. His body was warm, solid, and the way his arms wrapped around you made you feel like nothing in the world could touch you.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“What about you?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I’ll sleep,” he promised. “Just need to make sure you’re out first.”

You frowned but didn’t push further. His hand smoothed over your back in slow, soothing strokes, lulling you into a sense of security.

Eventually, your breathing evened out, and Rafe let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He stayed awake, his eyes scanning the room, his ears attuned to every sound beyond the rain. Every creak of the house set his muscles on edge, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. But then he’d look down at you—your peaceful face, your fingers loosely curled against his chest — and the storm inside him would quiet, even if just for a moment.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, Rafe reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of your cheek.

“You don’t even know how much you mean to me,” he whispered, his voice so soft it was nearly drowned out by the rain.

His hand moved to your shoulder, then down your arm, his touch light, almost reverent. He wanted to memorize every detail—the way your skin felt against his, the rise and fall of your breathing, the warmth you radiated.

For a long time, he just watched you, his thumb idly brushing against your arm.

No one would hurt you. Not the mercenaries, not anyone. He’d burn the world down before he let anyone take you from him.

When his exhaustion finally began to creep in, Rafe pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear. Even if it's the last thing I do.”

With one hand resting on the gun in the drawer and the other wrapped protectively around you, Rafe finally allowed his eyes to close, the storm outside fading into the background.

As long as you were in his arms, nothing else mattered.

[dreamsofbroflovski]

Leopold "Butters" Stotch x Reader - sweet escape

Also available on ao3!

Summary: When you and your darling boyfriend break up, Eric Cartman's inner cupid decides to make sure you two get back together... By fucking your way right out of that argument.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (EVERYONE INVOLVED IS ABOVE THE AGE OF CONSENT), Explicit Language, Cisgender female Reader, Aphrodisiacs, Nipple Play, Nipple Orgasm, Penis In Vagina Sex, Bathroom Sex, Creampie

A/N: I've had this in my Docs for almost 2 months now, and never got to properly finish it. Then yesterday I went berserk and stayed until 4am writing and cleaning up the draft so I could have it up by today.

We have an utter drought of Butters x Reader smut in this fandom, so I hope I did our sweet guy justice.

Obligatory "English is not my first language, if anything sounds like total nonsense it probably is so please let me know" This is also my first fic after whole years without writing anything creative and my first smut work in general and IDK how to feel about it

It was your average Monday morning in Park County. People from all walks of life had frowns on their faces as they made their way to school or work, missing the protection of their warm blankets and the peacefulness of a deep sleep. In your high school, most of the students hung about in the hallways as they waited for classes to start, and the cliques standing around together provided some warmth for its members, both emotionally and physically.

At the end of one of the corridors, in one of the staircases, hung out a particular group of young men, lazing around and chatting about their weekend like everyone else. Some of them stood, leaning on the wall or the handrail, while others sat on the steps, basically creating a barricade against anyone who wanted to go up or down the stairs - not that many people tried, anyway; over the course of their high school days all the way to the current senior year, the South Park boys had kind of made that particular part of the stairs their hangout spot, and the other students really just preferred to take any necessary detours than have to deal with the certified biggest assholes in the whole school.

As they began to engage in yet another heated debate over some useless topic, almost none of them saw a certain blonde man arrive. This was not abnormal - most people were never paying attention to Butters, unless they needed him for a favor. What was abnormal, however, was the expression he carried. Butters was a normally friendly and peaceful person, always with a smile on his face even in the most inhospitable of days; to see him like he was now, walking with heavy steps like a soldier, his face down and gaze fixed on his own feet, it didn’t take much from anyone to see that he was not doing well. 

“Hey there, fellas.” He spoke in an unusually low voice, not looking up for even a second to acknowledge his peers. Almost all the other boys responded with a quiet Hey or a quick movement of the head, but he didn’t acknowledge either of those greetings, too engulfed in his own feelings.

“Oh, hey, Butters, there you are.” Cartman said, looking briefly at his direction but almost seeing past him, clearly not realizing what was amiss - Eric couldn’t care about someone else’s feelings to save his life. “Thank God you’re here, I have to talk to you about something later and it’s really important, if you didn’t show up it would’ve really fucked me over. You’re really gonna have to make up to me later for that. We’ll go over what you can do during lunch, so tell your bitch to - hey, where’s your bitch, anyway?”

“I DON’T KNOW, I DON’T CARE, AND IF ANY OF YOU DO THEN YOU CAN GO FUCK YOURSELVES!” was Butters’ immediate answer, in such a thundering angry tone that it made the whole group flinch in fear. This was the first moment he actually looked at his so-called friends that Monday, and his face was one of pure fury. “And if YOU-” he turned in his heels to face Cartman, pointing a finger at his face, “-think I’m going to be a part of whatever fucking evil deeds you have planned right now, then you better sit that fat ass of yours down, because I ain’t helping you anymore, got it?” He turned again to glare at the rest of the guys, who all had wide eyes. “Or any of you bitches either! I’m done with you jerks! DONE!”

“Dude, dude, calm down, it’s okay-” Kyle was the one to first try and appease the situation, seeing as everyone else was too afraid to make a movement. He tried to reach an arm out to Butters, but it was promptly slapped out of his reach by the latter.

“IT’S NOT FUCKING OKAY! Everyone hates you, y’all fucking hate each other, and then you sit around here and pretend to be best friends! Oh, but y’all won’t say anything because if you do y’all gon’ have to hang around with fucking Kip Drordy ‘till graduation! And I’ll tell you what else-”

He eventually became engulfed by his own rage, breathing rapidly as he looked around for anything else he could say his truth about.

“Easy there, buddy. Look, I haven’t had breakfast yet, how about you and I go pick up a snack in one of the vending machines?” Kenny tapped on Butters’ shoulder, gesturing in the direction of the canteen.

“I don’t want no goddamn snack!” Butters yelled right in Kenny’s ear, but the latter didn’t even acknowledge the rudeness, being used to worse back at his house.

“Yes, you do. Now let’s go.”

The whole staircase group watched in silence as Kenny dragged Butters far away, and then all faces turned to Cartman.

“Great job there, fatass.” Kyle snarled, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck you, Kyle! What the hell did I do now?” Cartman raised his voice, pointing a finger in Kyle’s face, then signaling with his other hand towards the corridor through which Butters had just left. “He’s the one that started acting like a chick on her period! That’s got nothing to do with me!”

“You provoked him, dude! You know he’s sensitive about that shit these days!”

“Butters is always sensitive, dude! What is his problem NOW?”

The other boys looked at each other, unsure if Cartman’s behavior was legitimate. “You really don’t know what you did?” Kyle asked, almost a surprised tone in his voice, his eyebrows arched.

“No! If I’m going to be blamed for shit, at least tell me what it is!” Eric huffed, tired of the back-and-forth.

Kyle took a deep breath. “Butters and (Y/N) broke up this weekend.”

The news had Cartman legitimately shocked. “Really? Why didn’t he tell me?”

“But he did. He told all of us.” Stan picked up his phone and turned the screen towards Cartman, with the messages app open, and started scrolling up quickly with his free hand, which made it impossible for the other to be even able to read anything. “It’s all over the group chat, dude.”

“Oh, right. I didn’t read that shit, I was rushing the battle pass for the new Fortnite season.” Cartman waved his hand in dismissal and Stan put his phone back in his pocket.

“Then you can’t complain about not being informed of stuff as soon as it happens.”

“Alright, alright, my bad. But man, hope they get back together.”

Eric wasn’t really feeling bad about causing Butters to snap or worried about your romance out of care for his friend. More so, like everything else in his life, the fatass wanted you to sort your issues because that would bring him personal benefit. He needed your lover for something in the coming days, a very important plan he had been cooking, and that breakup could very well ruin it all.

When you and Butters first got together, Cartman thought this was the death of his most useful pawn, maybe he’d even have to spy on your relationship to make sure you wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience. To his surprise, the opposite turned out to be true - the already affable young man became even more docile, if that was even possible. He was also willing to do damn near anything if it meant your happiness, so the only thing Cartman ever had to do to get his help was make up some bullshit story about how that scheme was actually going to be great for your relationship and how you’d be so glad if Butters just assisted him with this one thing (despite said thing having nothing to do with you at all, and you normally not being aware of the stuff until it happened). Since the blonde was mad at you, that meant the usual strategies wouldn’t stick.

Whatever it was that was creating this rift between you two, it had to end fast.

“But why the hell did they break up, anyway?” Eric continued, hoping to gather more information that he could use to reverse the situation.

“You’d know if you read the group chat!”, three or four of the guys answered in unison.

“Hell, I don’t read the group chat either and even I know what happened”, said Craig. He wasn’t usually one to engage in his colleagues’ dumb fighting, so, since the most aloof person on Earth had an opinion on the subject, Cartman knew he’d been missing out.

“You don’t read the group chat?!” Tweek yelped, looking at Craig with a panicked expression on his face - even more panicked than the one he had at any given time. “ACK!- You gotta read it, babe! What if one of us gets injured, dies, and you never find out because you didn’t read the group chat? What if EVERYONE dies and our last wishes are all in the group chat? UGH!”

He then seemingly got really scared of this hypothetical situation he himself created, proceeding to hyperventilate and tremble on the spot.

“I don’t read them because you do, babe. Then you tell me everything. Your texts are the only ones I ever need to read.” 

Craig patted Tweek’s hair a few times and kissed him on the forehead after speaking, which seemed to calm down the anxious male, who let out a contented sigh as his lungs seemed to finally allow him to breathe properly again. Everyone else around rolled their eyes at this, and Jimmy, out of the couple’s line of sight, stuck his tongue out and made a gesture pointing down his throat as if going to vomit.

“What do you guys do when the girls are mad at you, though?” Kyle asked, looking across the group, focusing on no one in particular - Kyle was the only one there who never managed to be in a long-term relationship (his surreal bad luck with women was extremely good content for jokes around those parts), and wouldn’t have an answer to that particular question.

“I just fuck mine ‘till she’s stupid”, Clyde answered immediately, with a hint of pride in his voice.

“Jesus, Clyde!” Tolkien gawped at the man next to him. Even if they were used to that type of vulgar speech, hearing it early in the morning on a Monday was a less than ideal setup. “Didn’t your mom teach you some manners or something?”

“As a matter of fact, no. She couldn’t.” Clyde looked sad for a moment. “But it’s real, you guys. Whenever Bebe starts bitching my ear off about some nonsense, I just take her somewhere private and give it to her good. By the time we’re done, she can’t even remember what it was she wanted, so it’s a win.”

“She probably just drops the issue because she knows you’re too stupid to hold any kind of deep conversation with”, stated Craig, earning a chuckle from most of the guys.

“Hey! It’s not like you’re any kind of master communicator either, Mr. Don’t-Read-The-Group-Chat!” Clyde retorted, hitting Craig - and Tweek, by association - right where it hurted.

By then, Cartman had tuned out the voices of all the other guys, the gears in his mind turning furiously. Clyde, however much of an idiot he could be, had unironically given him the solution to his most pressing problem. 

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

Later on, at night, the only lights on in a particular suburban street were those in the kitchen of the Cartman household.

Eric had an old cookbook open in the counter in front of him, alongside an assortment of ingredients and kitchen utensils. The food laid out seemed like your average components for making cupcakes - sugar, eggs, flour, the works -, but, hidden in the middle of it all, camouflaging itself nicely with the vanilla extract in a way that one would really need to pay attention to realize, was a bottle containing an edible aphrodisiac concentrate - the wonders of same-day delivery allowed it to be dropped off at Cartman’s doorstep right that afternoon when he bought it in the morning. 

After being done with all the other ingredients in the bowl, following the instructions in the book to a tee - Cartman could fool around with many things, but food was not one of them -, Eric grabbed the tray with the liners he had set and transferred the mixture to them. After that, he picked up that one particular bottle, turning his attention to two specific tins closest to him in the tray, lined with red cases. The bottle had instructions in the back of it - thorough information about its content, advice about the amount that was to be used and general warnings -, but the cook was having none of that, instead dumping the liquid in the two tins until he felt satisfied. In his mind, the more effect it made, the easier for him.

When that was done, he carefully put the tray into the oven and moved on to other parts of the recipe.

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

The next day, Eric Cartman was on a mission. Along with the usual backpack, he carried with him to school a small box that smelled faintly of vanilla. The cupcakes had turned out really dang nice, if he could say so himself, and now it was time to pacify a certain pair of lovebirds.

After going to the usual staircase, he was surprised to find that his target, the only one of those assholes he cared to see today, was not around - but it wasn’t without reason; ever since his outburst yesterday, most of the other guys had decided to leave Butters alone with his anger until the issue was resolved, so he got warned to take his sulking elsewhere because it was bringing everyone down. As soon as he found that out, Eric turned on his heels and continued through the hallways, leaving his other colleagues very confused.

Making his way to Butters’ locker, he found the blonde male unaccompanied, mumbling some nonsense as he picked up everything he needed for the upcoming classes.

“Butters! Hey, buddy.” Cartman approached him with a smile.

“Fuck off, Eric!” Butters slammed the door to his locker, startling everyone who dared to be around him.

“Woah, calm down dude, I just wanted to give you this.” Cartman opened the box in his hands and carefully picked one of the cupcakes that had the red liner, handing it to his infuriated friend. “Might make you feel a little better.”

“Oh- huh- Really? Thanks.” Butters seemed genuinely surprised that someone, no matter who, was being nice to him. He picked up the cupcake, taking a bite out of it right away and getting some of the whipped cream on the side of his mouth. “That’s awfully nice of ya. You’re a good person, ya know, Eric. UNLIKE SOMEONE I KNOW!” He said that last part too loud, facing the corridor, as if he expected you to be around so you could hear all about how much he hated you right now. Unfortunately, you were nowhere to be found - instead, he yelled that stuff right while a group of young freshman girls happened to be passing through, laughing about something. They jumped in fear, looking at him like he was a maniac, and quickened their steps to leave as soon as possible while whispering to each other.

“Yeah, yeah, Butters, I know, I’m amazing” Eric replied, absent-mindedly, setting his sights on the end of the corridor, planning his escape route. “Look, man, I gotta go, see you in class or whatever.” Not even saying a word more than the absolutely necessary, he left Butters’ side as well, this time looking for his next objective.

Luckily, he didn’t take too long to find it as well. Right as he turned the corner, you stood next to another set of lockers, next to Red and Wendy. As they talked eagerly about something, though, you kept to your silence, also dwelling on your fight with your ex-boyfriend. You just weren’t trying to make your anger everyone else’s problem was all, but the other girls knew better than to talk about it near you or ask you questions, lest a wrong word also have you snapping.

Cartman beelined to your group, and as you all saw him coming up, the happy chatter immediately turned into silence. “Hello, ladies”, he spoke, earning a raised eyebrow from you and a questionable stare from the two other girls. “Might I interest you in some cupcakes?”

Before anyone could answer, he opened the box in his hands again, carefully picking a cupcake and handing it to every member in your trio, making sure to give you the one with the red wrap. He had made sure to bring extra cupcakes just in case anyone else in the class might see him with them or ask about it, since just giving sweet treats to you and Butters and no one else would look extremely suspicious. The red liners were to separate the laced cupcakes from the others, so he wouldn’t give them to anyone else unknowingly, and among the colorful liners in the others, no one could see you and your ex getting the same color as nothing but a funny coincidence.

As he closed the box, though, you didn’t make a single movement, still staring at him with the baked good in your hands. “No need to thank me, you know. Aren’t you going to eat it?” He asked, tilting his head to the side slightly.

Your eyes narrowed at him. “You put your dick in this thing, didn’t you?” was the question that came out of your mouth. Red let out an “Ewwwww”.

“NO! Why would you think that?” He gasped, his eyes widening in surprise, like it was an absurd thing to even think about - even though it was definitely something he was capable of doing and everyone knew that. “Who do you think I am, some kind of psychopath?”

“Yes.” Your eyes went from him to the cupcake, turning it around in your hand, analyzing it for any obvious signs of tampering. “Farted on it? Put cum on the whipped cream? Is my mom dead on the filling?”

“No, no and NO! Christ, you do something once and all of a sudden it’s all people ever talk about.” He didn’t actually expect you to start asking so many questions - who questions free food? -, so he hadn’t taken the time to build up an actual excuse. “I just had too much batter and made a few extra to bring to class, can’t a guy just be nice anymore?”

 You waited a little bit more to see if he’d say anything, if he’d give away any evil plans. Unable to figure out anything, you took the leap of faith, getting the cupcake near your mouth and slowly taking a bite of it. The taste that your tongue could pick up - plain vanilla, whipped cream, a little bit of chocolate from the sprinkles on top - was good, but nothing out of the ordinary. Well, you weren’t expecting Cartman to be some kind of superb baker, and there wasn’t anything that struck you as odd, so you continued eating. Seeing this, the girls around you followed suit with eating theirs, since if you couldn’t find anything wrong with it they probably wouldn’t either.

“See? Pretty good, isn’t it? Anyway, I’m gonna go and give the rest away, bye.” He left before you could interrogate him any further.

“What a weirdo”, stated Red. Before you could dwell on the subject more, Wendy warned both of you about the time, and your trio started making your way to class.

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

For the next couple of hours, Butters felt like he was about to die.

His whole body felt hot, to the point where he was building up a slight sweat. During this time of the year and up in the mountains, this concept felt absurd, so when he asked the classmates around him to see if anyone else felt the same way, he was met with confused stares and Kenny putting the back of his hand on Butters’ forehead to check his temperature. He was warm alright, but he could tell this wasn’t a fever because this particular warmth felt more intense in the lower part of his belly, irradiating through his body.

The worst part that came with it, though, was the hard-on. It had popped up about an hour into classes, throbbing like crazy, refusing to go down and urging him to take action. He thought about asking for the hall pass to go to the bathroom and masturbate, but decided against it - because that would mean getting up in front of the whole class and standing there where everyone could see him. At this point, after so long, it all started to feel really painful, so he resorted to just curling onto himself on the chair as best as he could, waiting for the bell to ring so he could leave without drawing too much attention.

All the way across the class, you weren’t faring too well, either - just way better at hiding it. Some strands of your hair were glued to your forehead from the sweat, and you fanned yourself with an old crumbled assignment you found in the bottom of your bag. Under your table where no one could see, you pressed your thighs against each other, rubbing them together as silently as possible to create even the tiniest bit of friction to relieve yourself. As much as you did, it wasn’t nearly enough.

During this whole ordeal, you and Butters would look across the room towards each other regularly - even though you were mad at each other, you were the only person he could think about at a time like this, and vice versa. Every once in a while, your gazes would cross, both with completely panicked stares. Oh what you’d give to know what he was thinking at those times. But then, either you or him would realize the other was staring, and you’d immediately turn to the blackboard and pretend you were staring at it the whole time.

The bell ringing to announce lunchtime couldn’t have come soon enough.

“Alright class, off to lunch, we’ll-” The teacher started her usual speech to send all of you off, but before she could finish, Butters got up from his desk and bolted out of the door in extreme hurry, the speed with which he left being so intense that it knocked his whole desk back as he left and all his belongings scattered to the ground. “- Oh, I guess someone’s really into Taco Tuesday.”

As everyone got up to leave for the canteen, you thought about making a quick detour to the bathroom, maybe you could sneak in a little DJing session in one of the stalls, if you kept your quiet, just enough to get yourself through the rest of the day. Before you could make your way there, however, your girl friends made a whole group around your desk, and you had yourself cornered. If you wanted to leave anywhere, they were absolutely going to follow, so you begrudgingly walked to lunch alongside them, still trying to keep your legs as close to each other as possible. You weren’t sure if you’d even survive the rest of the day at this rate.

You hoped that lunch time and the interactions that came with it could make you distracted unlike the quiet classroom, but you were deprived of that as well. No matter how much you tried to pay attention to the conversations the girls were having around you at the table, the heat in your lower abdomen was too strong to ignore, and your thoughts always went straight back to poundtown at any given chance. More than once you had hands waved and fingers snapped near your face because someone asked you a question and you didn’t realize it. 

Also, having scanned around the room with your eyes more than a couple of times like a turret looking for a target, you couldn’t find Butters anywhere in the canteen. You wanted anything from him, even his angry looks at this point were enough to get you going - your mind got busy drawing up all those detailed scenarios where he pinned you to the table, choked you, slapped your ass, pulled your hair, all that while pounding into you violently and calling you filthy names that you never thought you’d hear from his mouth, but that made sense in your anger. 

But he wasn’t there, and you had honestly started to worry. The way he left class earlier had you wondering, who was he hanging out with that made him leave in such a hurry? Was he with some other girl? You usually trusted Butters a lot, he worshipped the ground you walked on and never gave you any reason to doubt his loyalty, but now that you had broken up, God knows what kind of shenanigans he could be up to. You certainly didn’t want to imagine the worst; not only because of the implication of betrayal on his end and the idea that he could already be loving someone else so soon, but also because it would mean he was getting a bunch of action while you couldn’t even masturbate.

“Earth to (Y/N)!” You were once again thrown out of your train of thought by Wendy Testaburger, snapping her fingers close to your ear to draw your attention once more. 

“Wait, what was it again?”, you answered, looking around with your eyes focused on the peers closest to you. All the other girls at the table were staring back, some with anger in their eyes, some with concern.

“Ugh, nevermind. I’ll text you later, since you’re too good to listen to us today.” She made a dismissing motion with her hand. “The bell’s about to ring. Let’s head back.”

As your whole group got up to leave, you looked around the considerably less crowded cafeteria one more time, hoping to catch your ex lingering around, maybe he just came late for lunch? But unfortunately, he was God knows where still. You were expecting to catch some sights of him in class again, but that was unideal - the setting there was one of silence and concentration, two things that you had no intention of keeping up with.

You didn’t have to wait until then to see him, though. As soon as your group opened the cafeteria doors, he was waiting right on the other side of it, just waiting for you to leave for the hall. Coming up from your side, he pulled on the sleeve of your blouse to draw your attention. “Canitalktoyouplease?” was the sentence that left his mouth, almost too quick and slurred for you to catch.

“Huh?”

You turned to face him and the sight was almost absurd. Butters was usually well kept, his parents weren’t going to let him get out of the house looking less than presentable, but right now he was a whole mess. His hair was all shagged up and he was panting like he had just ran a marathon. The hairs closest to his forehead were wet and some droplets of transparent liquid were around it - could be sweat, the same problem you had, or he might’ve thrown some water on his face to cool himself down (which was also a great idea). He also had his jacket tied to his waist, which was weird considering it wasn’t hot this time of the year and he had been wearing it earlier. Did he spend the whole lunch period running track?

“Can- Can I talk to you, please?” He repeated more slowly this time, gripping your arm tight and making you wince from pain. He wasn’t aware of his own strength right now. Seeing the look on your face, he quickly removed his hand from your arm, but stayed still waiting for your answer.

“She doesn’t wanna talk right now, asshole!” Before you could even say anything, Red yelled out, moving right next to you and locking her arm on yours, to show him that you weren’t alone. “And it’s almost time for class anyway. Fuck off.” 

You loved Red McArthur, you really did. That was one of your best friends right there. You didn’t regret at all having told her everything about your fight with Butters, were extremely grateful for the support she had shown you throughout, and you’d surely be glad for her intervention in any other situation. However, she was the one that should be thankful right now - thankful that the knives in the school cafeteria were dull, otherwise you’d have picked up one and stabbed her on the spot. You and your ex were still in a rift, sure, but he was the person you wanted to talk to the most right now and she was denying you that. Even if unknowingly, she was currently being the ultimate cockblocker, or pussy-blocker?

You took a deep breath, something that the other girls probably took as an attempt to dial down your anger at Butters, but that was in reality so you wouldn’t yell at your best friend in front of everyone else. “It’s alright, Red. Go on without me, we won’t take long.” You spoke as calmly as you could, waving them away with your hand and taking your arm away from hers.

As soon as you did so, Butters took you by the wrist and started to power walk in a completely different direction from everyone else, and you had a hard time matching his footsteps while trying not to bump into the groups of students everywhere. You wondered where the hell he was even taking you in such a hurry. For a while, he also seemed confused - he looked towards every door as you went, as if searching for something himself -, but then he made a decision, taking you up two sets of stairs to the third floor of the school building, where he surprised you again by pulling you inside the handicapped restroom.

Unlike the other toilets in the school, the ones reserved for handicapped people were single-user, and since there weren’t many disabled students that were willing to go all the way to the third floor to pee, this one was actually always seen to be in great condition. It was quite spacious to make it easy to maneuver wheelchairs, and also away from many of the actual occupied classrooms. Whatever it was that Butters wanted to discuss with you, he clearly didn’t want anyone else listening.

While he turned to lock the door, you took a few small steps towards the other side of the restroom, standing in the middle of it. You crossed your arms and straightened your posture, trying to look as stiff and unsympathetic as possible. Maybe it was overkill, you had agreed to be here so that already sent the message that you were at least willing to listen, but you didn’t want him to think for a second that he still had your heart on a chokehold like he did.

He took a deep breath as he turned to face you, as if trying to collect his thoughts. “Look, I know you’re mad at me and I’m mad at you and you prolly don’t wanna see me none, but I have no one else to turn to! I need your help!” He blurted out, his arms in front of him like he was ready to push you back if you were to become aggressive.

You frowned. “YOU need MY help? With what?” 

“I… I can’t say it, okay?” He was fighting with his thoughts now, knowing that he’d need to speak up, but couldn’t bring himself to. “It’s a heck of a thing and I can’t really explain it and I don’t even know if it can be explained-”

“Stop with the rambling!” You stomped your foot on the ground to alert him. “Either you tell me what this is about or I’m leaving!”

At this moment, he averted his eyes to the ground, avoiding your gaze as if that would conceal his feelings of absolute shame. His hands moved to his waist, untying his jacket and letting it fall to the floor, and the reason why he wasn’t wearing it immediately became clear - he had a noticeable tent in the front of his pants, which the sleeves of the jacket previously hung in front of, covering the view. 

As soon as you saw, it took you every little bit of restraint you had not to immediately drop to your knees, free his dick of its confinements and take it in your mouth to suck him dry. You felt your saliva building up, ready to make it as sloppy as possible too. But it would mean a complete lack of self-respect on your part to give in without at least him properly asking for it (you could faintly hear the voice of Red in your head scolding you for that), and you also needed to negotiate your own release, so you just swallowed it all back and waited as he built up the courage to continue talking.

“I tried jacking off in the stalls, watching porn on my phone, heck, even meditating to make it go away… It’s not enough. Nothing is. I NEED YOU.” He grabbed both your wrists with his hands and stared deep into your eyes as he pleaded. “I’ll do anything you want if you help me. If you never wanna see me again, I’ll leave! Forever! Just please help me! I can’t stand this anymore!”

You were far from wanting him to leave forever, not when he begged like this, looking like a hungry lost puppy. The poor man was so overwhelmed by his own arousal that he couldn’t notice the fact that you had taken a few steps towards him to close the distance between you instead of widening it. “Anything?” You murmured, to which he nodded vigorously. 

You wriggled your wrists out of his hold and took his hand in yours, guiding it towards your crotch. Your other hand quickly opened the buttons and zipper in your pants, and you pulled it down just a little, just barely halfway down your butt. The wetness between your legs had created a damp spot in your panties, and when you guided Butters’ hand to feel it, the mere brush of his hand over your extremely sensitive area was enough to make your breath hitch even through the fabric. He noticed it immediately, and you saw his eyes widen. “I believe we can help each other.”

He needed no more explanation, maybe due to fear that talking any longer would make you change your mind. So he quickly clashed his mouth onto yours, needy and desperate, wrapping both his arms around you with unusual strength - whatever it is that was driving him mad was also making him act differently than what you’re used to, but you were here for it. As you kissed him back, you felt his usually soft lips to be slightly raw - he had probably been biting them in his anxiety earlier. You didn’t have a second to dwell on it, though, because his tongue swiftly started to brush over yours, an invitation for a dance that you gladly accepted.

Still completely glued to your mouth, Butters started to take small steps, which made you walk backwards, all the way to the other side of the restroom. As your back touched the wall, you felt one of the horizontal metal grab rails under you. You shifted so more of your ass was on top of it, not completely seated (the bar was too narrow for it), but just giving you the extra support in case you needed it. The current position had you firm on your right foot, while the other hovered slightly above ground. Your legs being more open also allowed for Butters to get even closer with his hips, his erection so close to your pussy, separated only by the clothes you both wore.

In one swift motion, Butters hiked up both your blouse and your bra, not even caring about the back clasps, taking everything off and exposing your breasts to the slightly cold air of the restroom as well as to his hungry gaze. The latter wasn’t true for much long, though - he closed his eyes and dove immediately with his mouth to your left nipple, sucking on it and flicking the hardened bud with the tip of his tongue, while his right hand took care of the other breast, massaging it softly. Your nipples were already sensitive by nature, but right now they felt connected to all other nerves in your body, and the stimulation had you whimpering in pleasure.

Your lover started to alternate between one breast and the other with his mouth, giving both the same amount of love and attention - wherever his mouth wasn’t, one of his hands was sure to be, kneading the soft flesh and flicking your peaks slightly. The other hand would then be running around your chest, arms and belly, feeling your soft skin and making up for lost time. 

On your end, one of your hands grabbed hard on the metal rail below you, even if that wouldn’t do you much to make you stable. The other ran through Butters’ hair, caressing it - a type of caring behavior that almost felt out of place considering the borderline sinful thoughts you had all day and the situation you found yourself in right now, but that was doing wonders for him, since it made him even more eager to keep loving on your tits.

You could also feel his hips rutting towards plain air near you, as he tried to satiate his throbbing dick even a little bit. Not wanting to deny him any part of this experience when he was treating you so right, you moved one of your legs closer to him, putting your knee between his legs and allowing him to grind on your thigh. He took the offer immediately and responded by growling against your breast and sending some more shivers through your body with the vibrations.

The new stimulus had Butters going wild. He was getting more feral with his treatment of your body - taking your nipples between his fingers, tugging at them and twisting slightly. He started to graze your bud with his teeth, which soon turned into full-on love bites all across your nipples and breasts, the red patches not looking so jarring now that your whole skin was so flushed, but they’d certainly be a nice keepsake later.

When you started to feel that familiar tension in your muscles, the pleasure in your nipples spreading like a flame under your skin, it came as a surprise. You hadn’t ever climaxed from just him working your nipples before - hell, was that even possible? -, and it had sneaked up on you, first feeling like if lightning was gentle, an electric tingle all over your body that sparked like fireworks. Then there was no denying the well-known wave of pleasure that hit you like a tsunami, crashing your whole world around you and making your knees buckle. 

Sensing your loss of balance in front of him, Butters quickly let go of your breasts and wrapped his arms around your waist. You wouldn’t have fallen either way, catching yourself in the metal bar behind you with a firm grip, but the consideration was appreciated. As he looked at you with a worried expression and breathing through his mouth anxiously, you felt the walls of your pussy spasming again and more slick dripping in your panties. 

“You okay?” His eyes ran through your body, looking for anything that might be wrong, and coming up short. You were absolutely perfect as always.

“More than.” You purred with a smile, giving him a brief kiss. When your mouths parted ways, he tilted his head closer to yours ever so slightly, almost as if chasing your lips with his. Savoring his yearning, you pucker up your lips and make a kissing sound, before tugging at his shirt. “You’re gonna kill me like this though. Just let me feel you already.”

It was his time to smile. “Okay, honey”, he hummed, fixing his posture - and you closed your eyes happily, not having noted how much you missed him calling you pet names until now. He locked mouths with you again and his hands drifted down between you two, pulling further down the hem of your jeans and tracing your slit through the soaked panties, earning from you a sharp moan.

His mouth left yours so he could focus on ridding you of the rest of your outfit, and you held down on the grab rail with your other hand as he lifted your legs – first one, then the other so you could keep stability - to remove your shoes, pants and undergarments completely. You would’ve helped him to make the job quicker, but he seemed to be enjoying the ride now that he had you back in his embrace. Once he had fully taken everything off, he planted a quick kiss on the inside of your lifted thigh, making you shudder.

Slowly and carefully letting go of your leg, Butters took another look at your full body as you stood there naked for him. He wanted to kiss every inch of you, show you as much of his love as possible, but there was also this overpowering lust. Not wanting to spend another second more not touching you, he made quick work of his own pants and boxers while you grabbed onto his shirt and pulled it over his head, throwing it somewhere and allowing his bare chest to touch yours. You were both drenched in sweat at this point, and your naked bodies basically glued together like that, but in the haze none of that mattered.

Butters lifted your left leg up again and held your thigh firmly against his hip with his right arm, while his other hand stroked his shaft slowly as he moved to position it against your entrance. You felt your cunt clench tight as the head of his cock breached your folds, and you were sure he could feel it too, as his breath hitched and his eyes fluttered when you tried to look at them. “Need me that bad, huh?”, he murmured, giving you a kiss on the cheek. “I need you too, honey. Can’t be without you no more.”

With that, he thrusted into you in one swift motion - your surreal wetness making it easy for him to bottom out several inches deep inside of you, the familiar sting you felt as he stretched you being eased by how aroused you already were. The both of you moaned almost in unison at this very welcomed sensation, and in a moment of pseudo-clarity you remembered that you couldn’t be loud like this, a realization that did not seem to grace Butters as he started to push out and back into you with more fully open-mouthed moans. You quickly put one of your hands in the back of his head and push it towards the crook of your neck, where he starts to place quick but strong suckles and bites, not caring for - actually downright wanting - the marks they’d leave.

“Shh, honey” You whispered with the softest of voices, not wanting him to get discouraged, but still needing to give him a reminder. “Can’t get loud in here or they’ll catch us. Just do this for me, okay?” 

It was hard for you to heed your own warning, though - with each quick and hard slam of his hips, plus his assault on your neck, you wanted nothing more than to have him hear just how good he was doing. You settle for biting your own lip and keeping your moans in your mouth, which to him seemed to sound even hotter - as he sped up the pace of his thrusts with newfound energy, getting high on the sound of your muffled whimpers and the wet sound of his dick plunging inside your weeping cunt.

The force with which his hips struck your body had you sliding up and down against the wall, your tits bouncing with the movement. His hot breath on your neck made the fine hairs on your whole body stand up, and your back arched, which made him hit that sweet spot inside of you even more perfectly now. Needing to be closer, closer, you let your hands go from the grab rails where they had settled before and wrap your arms around Butters’ neck, relying on him like your last connection to the Earth now. You were glad he had enough strength to hold you with just the lower half of your body pinned to the cold bathroom tiles while still jackhammering into you.

As Butters raised his head from your neck to take a brief look at you through his half-lidded eyes, he used a lot of self-restraint to not cum on the spot. You were a whole mess: disheveled hair, face moist with sweat, a soft reddish tint spread through your whole body, but more prominent on your cheeks, nose, and breasts. You weren’t staring back at him, eyes tight shut as the feeling of his cock inside of you distracted you from using any of your other senses. He wanted to kiss your rosy puffy lips again, but wouldn’t risk disturbing the pretty noises that came out of your throat as you tried so hard to not let out the loud moans you wanted to. “Yeah, that’s it, baby... You’re so… good to me...” He laid his head back on the crook of your neck, but didn’t go back to biting - instead, he inhaled deeply, taking all of your scent in, your faint perfume that he loved mixed with your sweat and… a hint of vanilla? “Lemme make you… feel even better…” 

His last sentence slurred into nonsense, but in the blur you barely registered it. You also didn’t even notice how he sneaked his left hand between your bodies, coating his thumb with the splattered juices around your cunt before moving it up and rubbing quick circles in your clit, increasing your pleasure in an almost overwhelming way. You felt a sharp sting in your lip and a metallic taste - in your efforts to not make any noise, you had bitten your lip so hard it broke skin. The pain, however, was quickly overshadowed by Butters’ ministrations, and you slapped one of your hands over your mouth to silence yourself, leaning with your back against the wall again.

It wasn’t like any past fuck you ever had. Everything was heightened; You heard every slap of his skin against yours and all the little sharp breaths both of you took as you tried to avoid being too loud in your pleasure, you could feel every single vein in his cock squeezing through your tight walls, and you saw whole galaxies even through your closed eyes. 

As that coil inside of your belly was getting tighter and tighter, so were your walls against Butters’ cock - and you knew that had to be catching up to him, as he started to lose the pace on his thrusts, and the muscle in his arms and legs seemed to become even more tense. “‘m- I- can’t hold much longer like this, sweets!” It seemed almost impossible for him to get the words out, having to say them through quick breaths as he got close to his release himself. “You’re just… too good…”

Then there was no warning as he let out a loud growl and his hips hit your body with one final deep slam, and you felt his dick pulsating as he filled the deepest part of you with his hot seed. The thumb in his left hand, however, still flicked your clit viciously, and so it didn’t take much longer for you to come undone, your cunt gripping his throbbing dick as the pleasure washed over your body for a second time.

As both of you dissolved into each other’s bodies, you found it in yourself to take his face in your shaky hands and press his lips to yours once more. Unlike your previous kisses of today, though, this moment was much more kind and full of tenderness, feeling exactly like the ones you shared throughout your relationship with him. You both felt loved and cared for, and while that rough fuck session took care of the needs of your physical bodies, the kiss took care of your souls.

You only dared part your mouths this time when it became necessary to breathe, and both of you sported soft smiles after you did, tired, but happy. You started using one of your hands to brush back through your fingers the multiple small strands of hair glued to his forehead, while the other caressed his cheek. He leaned into your touch, resting his hands on your waist. His dick was softening, but he didn’t feel keen on pulling out just yet, relishing the closeness of your bodies like this.

“I love you, Leo.” You finally broke the ice after a couple of minutes like this, giving him a peck on the forehead, to draw his attention back to Earth.

“Geez, by now I sure hope so!” You couldn’t help but giggle at his ever present sincerity. “I love you too, (Y/N).”

As you smiled and took note of your actual environment for the first time in a while, an idea came to mind. “Wanna get away from here?” You already knew what his answer would be to this offer, but you wanted to make your intentions clear nonetheless. “We can find someplace else where we can make some real noise.”

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

You and Butters didn’t come back for the rest of classes, and nobody in school had an answer to where you were, either. All texts sent to you or him went unanswered for that day, and your friends had no idea what happened.

What they could certainly say they saw, though, was the pair of you arriving at school together the next morning with a pep in both your steps, chatting away and smiling as you held hands. Everyone was left speechless, and some even questioned if the last few days had even been real. 

The only person who didn’t seem confused was Eric Cartman, his nonchalant behavior earning him plenty of questioning from the other dudes the following days, but he refused to admit to anything. And why would he, anyway? You and his friend were back together, happy as could be, the sun was up in the sky, everything was right. And, if it ever stopped being that way, he had a certain tiny bottle in the back of his wardrobe to sort things out again.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 8: She's The Salt Of The Earth And She's Dangerous]

A/N: Be sure to vote in the poll pinned to the top of my blog AFTER you finish reading!!! 🥰

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, RIP Jace (again).

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “She's A Rebel” by Green Day.

Word count: 7.4k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

“I’m sorry if I was a creep when we first met,” Aegon says. He’s been oddly philosophical since he was burned. “I hadn’t seen a hot single chick in a while, and I wanted to fuck you.”

Cregan siphoned just enough gas from a decrepit Chrysler Sebring in Merna to take the Tahoe two and a half hours west to Little Thunder Bay Campground on the shores of Lake McConaughy, a manmade reservoir and New Deal project from the 1930s. You glance over at Aegon dubiously, amused. “Do I count as hot?”

“Yeah, Chippendales, you’re hot. In like a…you live in a cabin and knit sweaters by a crackling fireplace kind of way.”

You smile. “So you got over that.”

“Oh no, I still want to fuck you. Now I just know you better, so I wouldn’t want to offend you by being obnoxious about it.”

“That’s sweet, I guess. I appreciate your discretion.”

“No problem. If you ever decide you want to take a ride on a less distinguished Targaryen brother, let me know.”

The two of you are fishing from a boat launch, dry splintering planks of wood, opaque rippling water, soft wind and bright sunshine from an aquamarine, cloudless sky. Cregan found the fishing poles in the abandoned RV you’ve moved into, a Winnebago Spirit with one of those stick figure family decals on the back window, Mom, Dad, four lovely children and a dog too, all of whom are perhaps alive but more likely dead and in any case nowhere to be found here in this tranquil corner of western Nebraska, 150 miles from the Wyoming border. Helaena digs worms from the earth, then Rhaena slices them into wriggling segments with a hunting knife and brings them to you and Aegon to be impaled on barbed hooks. Aemond, Rio, Daeron, Luke, and Cregan are swimming about twenty yards down the beach, soaked boxer shorts and nothing else, splashing each other and scrubbing the grime off their skin from a morning spent gathering wood for the firepit and the grill; Ice is paddling joyfully alongside them. Baela floats on her back and peers vacantly up into the vast blue nothingness. Aegon is not permitted in the water, as his leg is an open wound beneath his bandages. You ask him as you recast your fishing line: “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

You shrug, smirking guiltily. You thought it was obvious.

Aegon throws back his head and cackles, slow and lazy. “Oh, I get it. A loser.”

“I didn’t say loser.”

“You thought loser.”

“I implied loser.”

“It’s alright. I’ve been called worse things by people I admire much less.” He contemplates his answer as he gazes down into the water, sluggish stoned reverie. Aemond must be almost out of morphine by now. At last Aegon says: “I think the first thing I ever learned was that no matter how hard I tried, no one was ever going to love me. Not in a normal kind of way, Disney movie love, Christmas rom-com love. So I stopped trying. Mother wanted me to play piano, so I bombed the recital. Father wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer, so I skipped class, went golfing and yachting, didn’t even bother to pay someone to write halfway decent essays for me. If they couldn’t love me unconditionally, I wasn’t interested in meeting their conditions.” Then he chuckles, the breeze combing through his hair, ninety degrees and only getting hotter. “I refused to work. All you’ve ever done is work. You must hate me.”

“No, I get it.” You reel in your line; a fish has stolen the worm from your hook, tiny clandestine nibbles. You impale a slimy new victim and recast. “No one wants to be used.”

“Yeah. Exactly. I wasn’t going to spend my life doing shit I didn’t want to do so my parents could brag about me to their insufferable friends and absolve themselves of their mistakes. Mother married a man who didn’t give a fuck about her, Father ignored us all. Me being a success story would have given them the impression they did something right. I couldn’t have that.”

So Aemond had to be the success story instead. You glance down the beach at where he is bursting through the water and slicking back his dripping hair from his face, showing Luke a bone he found in the muddy silt of Lake McConaughy, hopefully not human.

Aegon follows your eyeline. “Aemond went the other way, I guess. Always so pathetically desperate for their approval. Scrabbling for crumbs of it like a rat. That’s what the thing with Alys was all about, it’s the only explanation I have. Older woman, surrogate mother, comforting but chilly, fawning but forbidden, always keeping him at an arm’s length and rewarding his tricks with treats.” He smirks flirtatiously, then sees that he’s hurt you. “Oh, um, I mean…look, it wasn’t…it wasn’t a good thing, you know? He wasn’t happy. It was a seven-year-long psychotic episode, not a relationship.”

“You mentioned that Criston likes Aemond,” you say, pivoting. “The…what is he? A family friend, an assistant?”

“My mother’s personal security guard. And yeah, he cares about Aemond. He’s proud of him, he trust him, he thinks he’s more capable than any of the rest of us, and that’s probably true. It’s definitely true compared to me. But that doesn’t mean Criston always knows how to express it.”

You look out over the water, trying not to imagine Aemond touching Alys, this woman you hate without knowing her face. You wonder if he ever wishes you were more like her: older, clever, entrancing, masterful. “It must have been a strange way to grow up.”

“Cold,” Aegon says. “Hollow. Holidays, birthdays, vacations, everything. You go through the motions but something’s always missing. When you’re little, you think it’s your fault, and then eventually you realize that they’re going to be miserable whether you’re there or not. But you can get out if you’re willing to run far enough.” He scratches at his forearm, and your eyes catch fleetingly on the black ink of his tattoo: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You had told Rio something similar when you were stranded on that transmission tower in Catawissa, Pennsylvania. “This is fucked up, and I don’t mean that I don’t feel bad about what happened to Jace, and I get that millions of people have died agonizing deaths, and that all sucks, believe me, I know, but this…” He gestures vaguely, to the zombies and the desolation and the collapse of everything you’ve ever known. “It was kind of my Get Out Of Jail Free card. And in a weird way…sometimes I feel like I’ve been happier since the world ended than I ever was before.”

You smile. You know what he means. “Even if your leg gets infected and we have to saw it off without anesthesia like you’re a Civil War soldier?”

Aegon laughs and shakes his head, his hair flopping around. It’s almost long enough for him to have a man bun like Cregan’s if he wanted one “No, probably not. Also, what’s the Civil War?”

“Forget it.”

“No, now I want to know.”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“Aemond said something interesting this morning while you were picking blackberries with our favorite Trump supporter,” Aegon tells you, salacious and sly, offering a tantalizing morsel he knows you’re powerless to refuse. He pauses and waits for you to admit it to yourself.

“Fine. Okay. What?”

“He said that when you and Cregan are standing next to each other, you look like you belong together.”

You groan, quite loudly. “I have zero interest in Cregan romantically. Literally zero. I don’t think he sees me that way either.”

Aegon shrugs. “The dating pool is awfully small nowadays, Banana Chip. Anyone who’s not a corpse or an immediate blood relative starts to look tasty.”

“So that’s why you like me.”

Aegon grins, teeth he shows often and easily, so unlike Aemond in every way. “No. I think I’d like you anywhere.” He tugs languidly on his fishing pole. “I want a new golf club.” He forgot his at the house in Broken Bow where Jace died.

“We’ll see.”

“I want new shoes too.” One of his Sperry Bahama sneakers was burned beyond repair and filled with shreds of his own singed flesh, scraps like soft bacon fused with the padding and insole. “And some polos.”

“I’m not a Big Lots.”

“Who the fuck shops at Big Lots?” Aegon’s fishing line jerks, and he yanks hard on the pole before reeling in his catch. Suspended at the end is a long green creature, yellowish spots and a villainous angular face. “That is one ugly bitch.”

“It’s a pike,” you say, and then when you grab it you observe that the misfortunate fish has the barb of the hook piercing not through its lip but one of its bulging, glassy eyes. “Oh my God!”

Aegon squeals, horrified. He offers no meaningful assistance. “That’s so gross, that’s so gross, what are we going to do?!”

“We have to, like, I don’t know, grab the back of the hook from inside its mouth and pull it out of the eyeball, I guess…?!”

“Yeah, awesome. Good luck with that.”

You reach tentatively into the pike’s gaping mouth. Its jaws snap shut, needlelike teeth stinging your wrist. “Ow!”

“Cregan!” Aegon bellows. “Cregan, help!”

Now the others are running to the boat launch to see what’s going on, Helaena and Rhaena from the shore, everyone else from the lake, Luke helping Baela wring the water from her sundress and Ice galloping alongside Cregan. He gets a look at the pike and guffaws, loud and rumbling.

“Poor little guy. That’s some bad luck he’s got.”

“Can you get the hook out?” you ask, eager to surrender the fish, which is still thrashing franticly and gnashing its teeth, mindless cold-blooded death throes.

“Of course I can.” Cregan plucks the pike from your grasp, shoves his massive hand into its mouth, and rips the hook out with one effortless maneuver. The pike is freed, but its eyeball remains speared on the hook. Then Cregan spies blood on your wrist. “You okay there, Miss Chips?”

“Oh yeah. I’m fine.”

“Freaking disgusting, man,” Aegon mutters; he and Rio are ogling the disembodied eyeball, complete with a frayed optic nerve like a tail, with identical, stunned revulsion.

You turn to smile up at Aemond, but he doesn’t notice you. He is staring at Cregan, his sole blue eye narrow and fixed and flat like still water.

~~~~~~~~~~

“The closest town is Ogallala,” Aegon says as he lays his map across the wooden picnic table. The rest of you are seated around him and picking flaky white meat from between the thin, fragile bones of the pike, which Cregan has gutted and cooked on the large metal grill that careless camping families once roasted marshmallows and hotdogs over. Helaena is at the edge of the table and writing in her spider notebook, elegant loops of cursive. Ice is lying on her belly and gnawing on a rabbit she killed for herself, its doomed black eyes gazing up at you.

“That has to be what, ten miles south?” Rio says apprehensively.

Aegon licks grease from his fingers. “Yup. A little more, probably.”

“What about Lemoyne?” Daeron says, pointing. “Or Keystone, or even Belmar? They’re all closer.”

“See how small the names are written?” Aegon tells him. “That means they’re not actual communities. They’re like a few stop signs and maybe a Dollar General and that’s it.”

“I love Dollar General,” Cregan says, nostalgic. “Man, do y’all remember Chicken in a Biskit? I used to park myself in front of the tv and eat boxes and boxes—”

“It has to be Ogallala,” Aemond insists. “We need pharmacies and grocery stores and cars to siphon gas from, we need a real town.”

Rhaena chews her lower lip anxiously. “The Tahoe is empty. We have maybe half a gallon left and that’s it. Just enough to get down to Ogallala if we’re lucky, but not back.”

“So we’ll drive until it dies and then we’ll walk. Cregan has a gas can in the back, if we find fuel we can bring some back to the Tahoe and continue from there.”

“Walk, huh?” Aegon says, looking down at his bandaged left leg, which he can’t put any weight on. He gets around by hopping, leaning against other people (oftentimes against their will), and being carried by Rio.

“Well, you’re not going,” Aemond tells him. “And Baela isn’t either.”

Baela, gazing blankly down at the map, says nothing. A brown striped snake darts through the grass only a few feet from the picnic table, moving swiftly towards the lake, and there are alarmed gasps and yelps.

“Northern water snake,” Helaena says, glancing up from her notebook. “Not venomous.”

“Good,” Rhaena replies with a shudder.

Luke says fearfully as he reads the map: “Aemond, last time we went into a town that big was Broken Bow, and…Jace…the farmhouse…”

Aemond slams his fists down on the table. “We have to, okay? We need food and water. We need bullets. I need more pain meds and bandages for Aegon, I need antiseptic and Neosporin, and Vaseline for when he’s healing, and supplies for when Baela goes into labor too, since I’ve had to use everything I had saved.”

“We need pads and tampons too,” Helaena says as she examines the black-ink inventory in her notebook. “And Advil, lip balm, bars of soap, hair ties, and socks and underwear. And that green jelly aloe vera stuff for Aegon’s sunburn.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Aemond agrees. “We need a lot of things. And we have to refuel so we can keep moving west.”

“We could stay here,” Baela says, so softly that at first you aren’t sure if you heard her right.

“What, Baela?” Rhaena asks gently.

“I want to stay here.” Baela is more resolute now. “I want to have the baby here.”

Nobody knows how to respond. Rio gives you a troubled glance. You nod in agreement, so subtly you doubt anyone else notices. Not an option.

Aemond is calm but unwavering. “Baela, I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.”

She pleads her case. “I like the Winnebago. I like the lake. I’m comfortable here, and we’re out in the middle of nowhere, and I…I think we could make this our home for a while, now that we’ve found someplace like this. Someplace quiet and safe.”

“We’re not safe here, Baela,” Aemond says. “It feels like we’re safe, but we’re not. We aren’t a big enough group to reliably be able to defend ourselves. We don’t have adequate supplies. We have a lake to our backs, sure, but the rest of the shoreline is open for anybody to walk right into, and our visibility is blocked by trees. No one has stumbled across us yet, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. And if they do we’re extremely vulnerable. But when we get to the west coast, we’ll be home.”

“I’m tired of running. I’m tired of being afraid.”

“I understand. I am too.”

“It’s different,” Baela says, abruptly fierce. “You don’t know what this feels like. None of you do. I’ve never given up and I’ve never asked to be taken care of, I’ve always been the strong one, but I’m so goddamn tired, and I want to have my baby here, and I…I…” Her large dark eyes are glistening, haunted. “Every time we’re driving I feel like I see him sitting next to me, or standing out in the middle of the road, and then I have to remember what happened all over again, and…I just…I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Rhaena takes Baela’s hands in her own, skims her thumbs across Baela’s knuckles; Luke rubs her back reassuringly. The rest of you can only offer silent, pitying looks. There are no easy answers, no fortuitous gold strikes, no shortcuts. The only way out is through.

“Whatever you guys decide, I’m leaving either way,” Rio says. “Sophie’s waiting for me in Oregon. I can’t just hang out in Nebraska forever. I’ll walk if I have to.”

“It’s over a thousand miles,” Aegon tells him.

“Doesn’t matter, man. I gotta do it.”

You add: “Obviously, I’d have to go with Rio.”

Both Aemond and Aegon appear startled. “We’ll be on the road again soon,” Aemond promises. “Tomorrow, if we can find gas in Ogallala.”

“I’m not going,” Baela whispers.

“We have to, Baela,” Rhaena implores. “It’ll be alright. We’ll take care of you, and the baby too when the time comes.”

Baela stands, strides to the Winnebago, disappears inside and slams the door behind her.

“She’ll be okay,” Rhaena tells the rest of you. “She’s…you know, she’s shaken up. She’s not thinking clearly. But she’ll realize this was the right decision. The only decision, really.”

“It’s best if we can get set up somewhere permanent before she goes into labor,” Aemond says, as if he’s defending himself. “Traveling with a baby…Baela recovering…it would be very dangerous for all of us.”

“Luke and I are thinking the same things, Aemond. We agree with you.”

He gives Rhaena an appreciative smile, very small but sincere. Then he turns to Daeron. “Baela and Aegon will have to wait here when I go south to Ogallala, since they can’t walk in the event the Tahoe runs out of gas. You’re going to stay behind to protect them.”

“Got it,” Daeron says soberly. All the bullets are gone; his compound bow, fed with arrows fashioned from sticks, is the best weapon you have left. Cregan has his axe, Rio still prefers to bash skulls with the butt of his Remington shotgun, everyone else must make do with hunting knives from that cellar back in Pennsylvania and kayak paddles found here at Lake McConaughy.

Aemond looks around the table. “I’ll need Rio, Cregan, and Luke.”

“And our beloved furball Blue Raspberry Icee,” Aegon says, smirking. “To sniff out any zombies.”

“Yes. Ice too.”

“What about me?” you say, staring incredulously at Aemond.

“Not you. You’re staying here in the RV.”

“If you and Rio are going, I’m going.”

“No, you’re not,” Aemond says. “You’re the best shot, and we all agree about that, but we’re fresh out of bullets. You therefore have no advantage tactically.”

“What’s Luke’s advantage?”

There are awkward chuckles. Aemond leaves the picnic table and gestures for you to follow him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Why?”

Aemond doesn’t answer; he keeps walking until he’s hidden amongst a small grove of Kentucky coffeetrees, oval emerald leaves and umber seed pods that hang from branches, reminding you of skate egg cases—what some people call mermaid’s purses—you once found washed up on the beach outside Djibouti City. Rio teases you: “Ohhh, you’re in troubleee…”

You swat him on the back of the head; his hair is getting long too, dark curls that flutter in the breeze that comes in off the lake, hot and humid, the infinite wildness of July. “If I’m not going, you have to swear that you’ll—”

“I got it, I got it,” Rio says, blasé and jolly. “I’ll look underneath things, I’ll look on top of things, I’ll look everywhere. Okay?”

Aegon kicks him with his good foot. “Get me a golf club.”

“I’m not a Dick’s!”

“Dicks?! Who brought up dicks, you sicko…?!”

You go after Aemond and meet him in the shade, an island of twilight in the omnipotent golden morning. He pushes you against one of the Kentucky coffeetrees—rough bark to your back, prodding you through your t-shirt—and nuzzles your throat as he presses his hips to yours, blissful clandestine surrender as your knees weaken and you gaze dizzily up into the canopy of leaves.

You sigh: “This is not an explanation. This is a distraction. A very enjoyable one, but a distraction nonetheless.”

“Daeron is good with a bow, but he’s young,” Aemond murmurs. “I need you to help him protect the others.”

“You’ve managed to make this sound like a promotion.”

“And,” Aemond continues. “When things get risky and chaotic, and I’m trying to make sure everyone is safe…I find you being around to be…distracting.”

“Rio doesn’t think I’m a distraction.”

He chuckles, avoidant. “That’s not an equivalent situation.”

“I get that Luke has binoculars, but I am also perfectly capable of using binoculars, and I could borrow his and he could stay here. I really don’t think he’d mind being benched, he’d probably prefer it—”

“I always ask you to stay near Rio, and you never do, and then I have to worry about you getting lost or bitten or imperiled in any one of a million other ways.”

“Because it’s not that simple! Rio gets it, I have to be able to improvise—”

Suddenly, Aemond pulls away and asks: “Do you trust me?”

You are bewildered. “What?”

“Because I could understand if you don’t.”

You search his scarred face; he has that look like he’s trying not to reveal too much of himself, to show that he’s nervous or vulnerable or afraid. You touch your palm to his ravaged cheek, your voice soft. “I trust you, Aemond.”

He seems relived. “Good. Then please stay here.”

“You’ll watch out for Rio?” you say threateningly.

“Of course.”

“And yourself too.”

He grins, those small secretive teeth he loves to hide. “That’s the plan.”

“And you’ll check under things and on top of things, and you’ll remember what I said about the racks? When you go into stores and you’re rummaging through—?”

Aemond kisses you, warm and slow and kind, the curve of his lips pleased and mischievous. “It’s flattering that you’re so concerned.”

“And don’t forget the pads and tampons.”

His scarred eyebrow rises half an inch. “Oh?”

“I’m already having pre-period cramps. I’ll need supplies in a few days.”

“You’ll have them. Don’t fear.” Then he studies you, concerned, his brow furrowing and his palm testing your cheek and forehead. “You feeling okay? You’re sure that’s all it is?”

“Oh yeah, totally. It’s very routine at this point, I’ve had a decade to get accustomed.”

“Alright. If there’s anything else you think of before we head out, I’ll add it to the list.” He takes your hand and examines the shallow scratches left on your wrist by the needlelike teeth of the pike. “Let me clean and wrap that up for you. I think I have just enough bandages left.”

“Your worst nightmare came true,” you joke. “I was bitten after all.”

Aemond doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s long after nightfall and you and Aegon are keeping watch just outside the Winnebago Spirit, slumped in folding camping chairs people once told their legends from: scary stories, workplace grievances, familial mythology. In the firepit, logs split and pop, and embers glow a bloody red. You’re waiting for the Tahoe to return and trying not to think about the possibility it might not.

“These suck,” Aegon says, garbled by a mouthful of Cheddar Whales, grimacing at the bright blue box. “Why do you and Rio eat these? They’re like…dodgy Goldfish.”

“Are you kidding?! They’re way better than Goldfish! Goldfish don’t taste like anything.”

“And Cheddar Whales taste like salty cardboard. The American Dream.” Aegon passes the box back to you. “They better come back with some SpaghettiOs or Rice-A-Roni or something. I can’t survive on Cregan’s overcooked fish.” He lights a Marlboro Gold cigarette by sticking it into the fire and takes a deep drag, looking up at the stars. Aemond gave him the last of the morphine before he left, and Aegon is floating on a feathery, narcotic cloud.

You say after at last working up the nerve: “So you’re a slut, right?”

He snickers, firelight dancing on his sunburned face. “Slut, loser, you’ve got me all figured out.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m a slut. Why?”

“Have you ever had trouble…” Your hands flail around aimlessly; it’s so awkward to say out loud. “You know…getting it in?”

“No, not really. But I’m hung like a hamster.” He looks over at you, curious shimmering stoned blue eyes. “Technical difficulties, Chip And Dip? Not enough dipping going on?”

“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re probably just nervous. Aemond’s a doctor, he’d be able to tell if you had something wonky down there, like those chicks who are born without a vagina. Or with two vaginas. Jesus Christ, can you imagine the possibilities? Why can’t I meet someone like that?”

You stare into the fire, discouraged. “I’m going to ruin everything.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Aemond will assume it’s his fault. He thinks everything is his fault.”

Through the darkness, you spot headlights bobbing as the Tahoe approaches on bumpy dirt roads. “Oh, thank God. They’re back.”

“About time. If Rio didn’t find me a new golf club, I’m going to drown him in the lake.”

“He could break you in half.”

“But he wouldn’t.”

“No.”

“Because he likes me too much.”

“Right.”

“Maybe you like me too,” Aegon says as he exhales smoke, his glazed eyes listing to you, his grin crooked and drowsy. “Just a little bit.”

You smile reluctantly. “I might.”

“Cool.” He beams up at the stars, and then says again: “Cool.”

As the massive SUV rolls to a halt, the headlights cascading over you and so bright they’re nearly blinding, you notice the red letters on the grill: GMC. “That’s not the Tahoe,” you say, panicked.

“What? Then who is it?”

“I don’t know.” You stand up, instinctively reaching for one of your M9s; but they’re both empty. All the guns are. Your hand drops to your side.

Aegon, unable to rise on his own, remains in his chair and grips the armrests tightly. He whispers: “Should we go inside…?!”

“They’ve already seen us. But they don’t know who’s in the RV.” Rhaena, Baela, Helaena. With a shiver like a bolt of cold lightning, you recall what Aemond said at the bowling alley back in Shenandoah, Ohio: I don’t want them to know we have women with us.

The GMC Yukon is still running when two men step out, the headlights disorientingly bright. They are both armed, you see immediately, pistols that you’d guess are Colts. Aegon’s hand juts out and closes around your forearm as the strangers approach. They are both young, maybe twenty, and wearing jeans, camo jackets, and baseball hats like they’re going hunting. They stand in the yellow-white glow of the headlights as they watch you.

“Hi,” you say congenially, forcing a smile.

The men glance at each other, then one greets you with a nod. “Howdy.”

“We’re set up here,” you say. “But it’s a big campground. You’re welcome to any of the other spots.”

The man who spoke earlier chuckles and scratches at his short beard. You steal a glimpse back at Aegon: his eyes are huge and horrified.

“It’s real quiet on the lake,” you continue. “We haven’t had any problems, and we’ve been here a few days. It’s a good place. We’re happy to share it. We don’t…” You deliberate what words to use. “We aren’t interested in making trouble. We just want to be left alone.”

The man replies: “I camped here every single summer growing up, learned to fish here, swam in the water with my cousins, brought my girlfriends here to fuck. And now you’re inviting me to stay? You’re not from here. I can tell by your accent. This is my backyard. You’re the one who should be asking for permission.”

Aegon is making a low, whimpering sound; his fingernails are digging into the defenseless, downy underside of your forearm. “We don’t have anything of value,” you say, your voice trembling.

“Uh huh.” The stranger’s gaze flicks to the Winnebago.

“We found it. There’s no gas, no keys. Two of the tires are flat. It’s just shelter.”

“Who else is in the RV?”

“No one.”

The second man is squinting at Aegon. “Is he a cripple?”

“He was burned. That’s why we’re resting here for a while, so he can heal.”

The first man points to the bandage on your wrist. “Did you try to kill yourself? My neighbor did that when her kid got eaten. Slit her veins open out in the middle of the street. Bad scene.”

“I got mauled by a fish,” you reply numbly.

He laughs, a slow, rolling, mocking sort of sound, not taking his eyes off you. Then they drop to the Beretta M9s you have holstered at your waist. “Are those loaded?”

“Yes.”

He signals to the nearest Kentucky coffeetree. “Prove it. Shoot that tree.” You stare at its trunk, stark in the headlights of the strangers’ SUV. Long seconds tick by, the only sound the idling of the engine and the crackling of the firepit. “You can’t,” the man says, grinning. “Because you’re out of bullets. But I’m not.”

He raises his pistol and fires, a thunderclap, a mechanical roar. A small circular wound appears in the tree. Aegon shrieks and tries to stand; he tumbles to the earth when the raw, weeping flesh beneath his bandages betrays him. The RV door flies open and Daeron is the first one out, clutching his compound bow but still blinking his way out of the dreams he was jolted from. He won’t be able to nock one of his makeshift arrows before they shoot him.

“What the hell’s going on—?!”

“Drop it!” the stranger shouts, and both he and his companion aim their pistols at Daeron. He freezes. Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena exit the RV and begin screaming, clinging to each other.

“Do what they ask,” you tell Daeron, trying to remain calm. With great hesitancy, he sets his bow on the earth and puts his empty palms in the air. There are hunting knives inside the RV, you think. Where did we store them? In a drawer, in a cabinet?

The men are now herding you all into the RV, jabbing the barrels of their pistols against your backs and bellies. “Let’s go, everybody in,” the first one says. The second man hooks an arm forcefully under one of Aegon’s and drags him through the threshold, Aegon yowling as his burned leg smacks against the doorframe. The second man forces Aegon and Daeron to kneel on the floor at the front of the RV near the driver’s seat; the other one arranges the women at gunpoint, instructing you to squeeze together to sit in a row on the floral couch. Helaena—farthest from you and closest to the kitchenette booth—is sobbing and covering her ears. Rhaena appears to be hyperventilating. Baela’s head is held high, her face furious and defiant.

Aemond, Rio, Cregan, please come back…

“Now this is interesting,” the first man is saying to his friend. He uses his pistol to indicate to each of you. “We’ve got G.I. Jane, this delicate little sweetheart, a pregnant lady, and Cinderella. Where should we begin…?”

You glance at Rhaena, catch her wide frenzied eyes, then look meaningfully at the drawers across the aisle near the kitchenette stove and sink. Knife? you mouth.

It takes her a moment to realize what you mean, then she inclines her head, an elusive nod. She remembers where they are, where they were stored once she cleaned them this afternoon in the lake water. That’s good; but in order for Rhaena to grab a large serrated hunting knife, the men will need to be distracted.

“There’s a bed in the back,” the second man is saying. “I can see it from here, down the hallway…”

Your gaze is darting around the Winnebago. Aegon is yelling something; the second man pistol-whips him, fortunately not hard enough to fracture his skull.

“Don’t worry,” the first man tells Aegon, background noise you try to ignore as you search for an opportunity. “You’ll get to watch…”

Helaena is trying to get your attention, staring at you with her wide, gleaming blue eyes. You furrow your brow at her, not understanding…and then you see the burlap strap she’s looped around her wrist. Her messenger bag must be in the kitchenette booth beside her. And as you watch, and only for a second, she arranges her fingers in the shape of a gun.

The Ruger, you realize, amazed, that tiny revolver she was always so repelled by. Helaena never used it, but she still has it. And it’s loaded.

Baela is arguing with the men, words you tune out. Helaena points to you, but you shake your head. There’s no way for her to get the Ruger to you without them seeing. You mouth to Helaena, your face severe: You have to do it. Then you look to the first man, presently waving his pistol in Baela’s face.

“I’d like to go first,” you say casually, and all the noise stops.

“No, no, no, I’ll do it,” Aegon tells the men. “You want a blowjob? You want to fuck me in the ass? I’m down. I’m not scared of no dick. I experimented in college.”

Both strangers burst into hysterical laughter. “That’s a mighty generous offer,” the second one says, swiping a tear from his eye. “But that’s not the team we’re on, is it, Wesley?”

The first man, Wesley, is smiling down at you. His gaze sweeps over your body, from your bare feet to your eyes, calm and level. “Why do you want to go first, darling?”

Shoot him, Helaena. Shoot him right now. “I’ve never done it before. I figure I should give it a try before it’s too late.”

Helaena whips the Ruger out of her burlap messenger bag and opens fire. She winces each time it goes off, and her aim is terrible; bullets pierce the ceiling and the walls, striking nowhere near Wesley or his accomplice, but their panicked ducking buys valuable seconds. Daeron and Aegon tackle the man closest to them and wrestle the pistol from his hands. Aegon presses the barrel to his skull, pulls the trigger, kills him instantly. Rhaena flies to one of the drawers and yanks out a hunting knife ten inches long. She buries it in Wesley’s throat, the blade disappearing until the hilt rests on his collarbone. When she rips it free, scarlet blood jets from his severed carotid artery, spraying you, soaking you. Blood is in your eyes and nostrils, hot coppery carnage; when you scream, you can taste it in your mouth.

People are reaching for you and telling you to calm down, that they’ll help you, but you can’t wait. You use your t-shirt to mop as much of the blood as you can from your face and bolt through the door of the RV, running towards the lake. You drop to your knees on the sand and splash yourself, cool moonlit rivulets that wash the blood away. You’re trembling, you’re crying, and when somebody grabs you by the arm you scream and strike out at them, clawing like an animal.

“It’s me,” Aemond says, and only then do you get a good look at him, blood and lake water beading on your eyelashes. He’s wiping blood off your face with his palms, he’s inspecting you for fresh wounds. “Don’t fight, it’s me, it’s me, whose blood is this, what happened—?!”

“You were right,” Baela says to Aemond from where she stands on the sand, a hand resting on her belly. Drifting from the RV are the voices of the others who have just returned: Rio, Cregan, Luke. “We’re not safe here.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, rain falls as you lie entangled with Aemond in the attic bedroom of a ranch house in Red Desert, Wyoming, flashing lightning and flickering candles illuminating bare skin. You are kissing feverishly, your hands all over each other, and Aemond is pushing himself into you; or, rather, he is trying to. There is pain, and you can feel your body turning treasonous, rejecting him, shrinking away from him, fearing that you’ll never be able to satisfy him.

No, no no no…

His voice is hushed and gentle as his lips brush your ear. “Hey, you’re shaking, why are you shaking?”

“I’m okay, I’m fine, keep going.” And then, when he stops: “No, Aemond, don’t—”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You have to. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

Instead, he lies down beside you and turns your face to his, fingerprints on the slope of your jaw. He asks again, more firmly: “Why are you shaking?”

All the walls and arches of you collapse, stones tumbling to crack against the earth. You are suddenly fighting tears. Your words come out in a whisper. “I want this to be real.”

He studies your face, distressed. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to lose you. I never thought I’d have something like this and now I’m so afraid of fucking it up.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what Jace thought.”

Aemond pulls you against his chest and holds you as you sink through him into dark, cold, watery dreams, and doesn’t make any more promises he can’t keep.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What time is it on the East Coast right now?” you ask Rio. It’s May and almost a hundred degrees every day in Djibouti City—arid, rainless, sun glare and dust that sting your eyes—so the Navy has you building at night when they won’t have to deal with quite so many Seabees dropping over from heatstroke. Outside the day is turning to a soft lavender dusk and your shift will begin soon. You are dressed—sand-colored t-shirt, camo pants, work boots—and toweling off your hair, still wet from the shower.

Rio is sprawled across the floor of your room, taking up almost all of it; housing at Camp Lemonnier consists of converted shipping containers, each outfitted with its own perpetually whirring air conditioning unit. He is reading Fifty Shades Of Grey. “Like seven hours behind here, so early afternoon, I guess.” Then he looks up at you, suspicious. “Why?”

“I should probably call.”

“Should you really?”

“I want to. I’ll feel guilty if I don’t.”

Rio shakes his head and returns his attention to his reading material. “I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

“You love telling me what to do.”

“I wish you loved listening.” He flips a page, puzzled. “Why the fuck does Sophie like this book so much…?”

You open Facebook Messenger on your phone and make a call. The wifi isn’t good for videos, but old-fashioned audio calls usually work okay. There is an answer on the fourth ring.

“Yeah?” she says, and you can hear the entire house when she turns on speakerphone: the squeaking of the recliner, the droning of a talk show, indistinct speech and chuckling from other people, glass—cups, bottles, baking dishes, ashtrays—clinking sharply.

“Hi, Mama! Happy Mother’s Day!”

“Aw, ain’t you sweet to call.” And you are testing her voice like water from a tap, icy cold, hot enough to scald. At the moment, Mama sounds perfectly lukewarm. “I didn’t count on hearing from you. I know how busy you are.”

That’s a landmine that you step gingerly around. “We definitely have a lot going on here, and there’s the time difference and everything…but I wanted to make sure to say hi, even if I can’t talk for long. What are you up to today?”

“Oh, nothing much.” You hear her smoking: breathe in, breathe out, a cunning sort of pause as she decides how to proceed. Of course there were no extravagant festivities planned. Nothing ever felt like a real holiday at home: Mama getting sloshed and burning the turkey on Thanksgiving, Christmas presents that had to be returned for grocery and gas money, fistfights and doors ripped off hinges on New Year’s Eve. You had decided years ago that Hallmark channel magic was pure fiction…but sometimes you get glimpses of it now. Thanksgiving dinner in some unceremonious chow hall with Rio and your other friends feels more like a holiday than anything else you’ve ever known. “You still in Africa?”

“It’s Djibouti, Mama, I told you. It’s on the Horn. Across the sea is Yemen and Saudi Arabia.”

“Why can’t they put y’all to work in your own goddamn country?”

“Well, we do that too sometimes.” You stall, listening to her smoking. Rio glances up at you from where he’s still reading on the floor. “They have some incredible beaches here. Yesterday morning we went down to the water and there were all these cute kids playing, and they only spoke French but Rio showed them how to play tic-tac-toe by drawing a board in the sand—”

“I like the beach,” she says, and you know you’ve made a mistake. “You remember that?”

Deflated now: “Yeah, Mama. I remember. Are the boys going to take you to Virginia Beach this summer?”

She scoffs. “We’ll see, but I doubt it. It’s expensive, girl.”

You sigh deeply. Rio was right. I shouldn’t have called. “We talked about this. I need to be saving up to get my own house one day, and my own car, and all those things I’ll need to have a life when I get out of the Navy—”

“And what about my house?!” Mama cries, damn near wails. “I’m gonna lose it! I can’t make the payments!”

You reply calmly: “Mama, that’s your house. That’s your business. And you’ve got more than one kid still living at home long after they’ve turned eighteen, so they need to be the people you’re asking to help, not me.”

“You’re gonna let your Mama be homeless? Is that what you called to tell me on Mother’s Day? What the hell kind of daughter are you?”

“I got out!” you shout into the phone, and Rio is scrambling off the floor to rush to you. “I’m learning things and I’m making money and I’m building schools and hospitals on the other side of the fucking planet, and you can’t be proud of me because you think it means you’ve failed, but the truth is that you could have gotten out too! All of you could have! But you didn’t, it was me, it was just me, and now you hate me for it!”

“You need to come home now,” Mama says. “You gotta take care of me, take care of your Mama. You only got one and she needs you, so you gotta heed me. That’s what’s right.”

“I am not going to spend the rest of my life watching you get wasted in that filthy house, and I’d work where, at the Dollar General? At Arby’s? And get knocked up by the first guy who shows any interest?”

“You’re giving me heart palpitations. I’m gonna have to go to the emergency room and it’s all your fault.”

Rio is whispering into your other ear, one of his massive palms resting on the back of your neck: “Just hang up. It’s not worth it. You can hang up, just hang up…”

“I want things to be normal,” you tell Mama, you plead, tears stinging in your eyes. “I’ve tried so hard to get along with everyone, and help you as much as I can, but no matter what I do it’s not enough, and you’re always mad at me, and you’re always fighting with me—”

“You’re damn right I’m fighting with you, because you’re a spiteful, selfish child.”

“Hang up,” Rio is murmuring. “Hang up, hang up, hang up…”

“Mama,” you say, your voice strangled. “I’m sorry. I have to go now.”

“When I’m homeless, you know you got no one but yourself to blame—”

You hit the red button to end the call, throw your phone down onto the bed, stare at the wall and swallow noisily, choking back sobs. You won’t let yourself cry. You’ve cried enough for them already. You have to keep moving forward. The only way out is through. “You were right,” you say to Rio at last, quiet and raspy. Your hands are trembling. “I shouldn’t have called.”

“Hey.” He grabs your face roughly, forces you to look at him with your miserable shimmering eyes, grins hugely. “I’m your mom now, bitch.”

You laugh as tears spill down your cheeks, let him bury you in one of his smothering bear hugs, cling to him like a life raft in a storm.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ scenarios | dating negan

♡ fandoms; The Walking Dead

♡ characters; Negan Smith

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; explicit sexual content

♡ notes; in case anyone forgot i’m technically not a dedicated slasher blog

i put this in sections so i didn’t have to make more than one post lol . also these take place while he’s still the ruler of the saviors. i’ve been obsessed since his first episode oh my god that’s eight years of hyperfixation so that’s usually where my brain goes plot- wise

i’m thinking Billy Butcher is up next? lmk who else we wanna see, Garcia Flynn from Timeless is probably too niche? but i love him so so much

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

I. Kisses/PDA

> negan is an affectionate person

> with his wives it’s just for show- they’re hot, and he wants all his followers jealous of his lifestyle

> but with you, it’s different

> his wives don’t like him, per-se. he’s convenient to be married to and easy on the eyes, but they’re cold to him

> and he knows why, he doesn’t really give a shit. especially now that he has you.

> you may not be his spouse- you’re sure as fuck not letting him call you that without a ring- but he’s even more physical with you

> standing by him? hand on your back. sitting? you’re on his lap. look cold? he gives you his jacket and keeps you tucked under his arm

> “i just like takin’ care of you darlin’”

> and he loves kissing you in front of others- from little pecks to long, lingering kisses that makes other people look away

> he seems possessive, and he doesn’t mind people pointing it out

> it’s not that he doesn’t trust you- it’s never that

> he trusts most of his men too…maybe not simon. because simon loves staring at your ass

> but he’s proud. he’s proud you’re his, and he’s yours, and that he gets to show you off

> and like hell he ever lets anyone forget it

> alone he acts like keeping his hands off you is impossible

> he smacks your ass any time you lean over, pulls you into big bear hugs from behind and randomly pick you up

> he doesn’t ever want you to doubt his feelings for you, and physically is the easiest way for him to show it

> he’s very sexual, big shocker

> but his favorite kisses are sleepy kisses

> you wait late into the night when he’s due home from terrorizing his territories

> some part of you is afraid one day he won’t come home- so you always wait

> you’ll be exhausted, rubbing your eyes and yawning and usually wrapped up in a blanket

> but no matter how long he takes directing his men and double checking inventory and dealing with the dead

> “hey there, baby doll”

> you always run straight into his arms and bury your face in his chest. he’ll laugh and pick you up, kissing you gently before he carries you to bed

> most times he falls asleep on top of the covers with you, eager for the morning when he can make it up to you for being gone so long

II. Sharing a bed

> negan isn’t used to sharing a bed anymore

> the wives have their own rooms just down the hall, and so do you

> no reason for him not to give you at least a little space

> and having a room is the height of luxury in the sanctuary anyways. it’s a perk of dating the boss

> but you don’t know how to tell him you do want to share a bed, even though you’re barely apart when you’re awake

> so you just…don’t. you assume it’s a boundary he wants to keep and don’t mention it

> until the night terrors start up again

> you’ve seen a lot of people die a lot of different ways. most of them people you cared a lot about

> the memories always seem to come back in your dreams no matter how far back you push them

> when you’re woken up by one in the middle of a harsh storm, it’s just a bit too much

> you just can’t stop crying, and it’s loud and you need held. you need him.

> you creep as quietly as you can down the hall, and you hesitate at the door until the thunder crashes again

> when you stumble in he sits up fast with a knife in his fist

> then he gives a slightly annoyed sigh in recognition, relaxing

> “the hell are you doing?”

> “i just- um-“

> you can tell he notices the wobble in your voice and opens his arms up without another smart remark

> “hey, hey, i’ve gotcha..”

> he doesn’t ask questions- you don’t cry for nothing. and he gets nightmares too

> falling asleep in his arms feels natural…so natural it becomes a habit

> and he sleeps better with you too, curled around you and holding you so tight you think he might be worried you’ll disappear

> it’s less than a week before you stop using your bed altogether

III. Let’s get kinky

> he’s happy in pretty much any dominant role, whatever you call him is good enough for him- daddy, sir, master, etc

> and he likes when you call him whatever it is in front of his men

> the only chance of getting your dick/strap in him is if he power bottoms. but 95 percent of the time? you’re receiving and it’s big

> he likes being risky. he’ll take you out to visit settlements just to have an excuse to stop and fuck you in the car

> or even in a house there, just a room over from his men and gagging you with his fingers so you don’t get caught

> not that he’ll care if they catch you anyways

> he has a nice big office- half of the reason he uses it is so he can have you on his lap as a cockwarmer while he reads or looks over inventory numbers

> the other half is so you can suck his dick under the desk while he talks to simon or dwight

> (simon is a raging pervert so he definitely knows, too)

> he loves fucking your face, watching you get all teary eyed and drooling all over yourself from taking his massive cock

> “oh look at the fuckin’ mess you’re making!”

> he’s generous though- he loves reciprocating oral

> and he loves overstimulating you too- whether that’s by edging you for hours or just making you cum again and again and again

> he loves taking you from behind, pushing your face into the mattress and gripping your hips so hard they bruise

> but he also loves when you ride him slow, gasping quietly as he watches you fall apart completely for him

[rosinaparker]

I love your 9th member imagine, I love to see a full one shot. I’m not picky about the subject, maybe something happens on stage (good or bad) or maybe a conflict with another member or another group (with a positive ending)

It was an accident..

A/N: YOOO I’m so happy we’re getting requests again😭 (glad to hear you liked the 9th member imagine! Let me know if y’all wanna read more of these) -Rose

Genre: angst, with a good ending

pairing: platonic!skz x f!reader

warnings: arguments, yelling, bruises, accident happening, cursing, mad Lee know

It has been a tough week for you and the boys, lots of mistakes have been happening on stage, lots of arguments happened..the air was tense between everyone. You had managed to withdrawal from any arguments but you’re time was coming too and you knew it.

Today was a very important day. The mama show was happening. The concert you and the guys have been practicing for almost 3 weeks. Most of the petty arguments that happened earlier were starting to cool off. It wasn’t long till it was your turn on the stage. The song that you had to preform was thunderous. Not as bad as it sounds like.

Everything was going smoothly till the pants that the stylists chose for you started to get in the way. Han had already stepped on them several times, you had to pull them up constantly and to top it all off, minho tripped on them at the end, making you fall off balance as he stepped on them. You quickly catch yourself before you fall onto the ground too hard. It was a disaster, Chan waited till the lights went off and came to check up on you, a bruise was definitely forming at the knee.

Suddenly Minho took the in-ear monitor out and put his microphone away from his face.

“What the fuck was that?” He spat at you, giving you a nasty look. The others didn’t want the show to end badly, since they were still on stage. The audience was still watching, even if it was dark you could make out that someone was arguing.

“Guys dont make a scene” changbin called out. Chan saw how frustrated minho was and immediately pulled the members off the stage and into the backstage.

“Couldn’t you watch your damn step? I almost tripped to the fucking ground” he snapped back. He started pacing around the room “the whole crowd saw us falling onto the ground because of you” he groaned.

You weren’t having any of it, immediately shouting, “Its not that big of a fucking deal!”

“Guys dont argue. It was very obvious that this show was not going to be successful” hyunjin called out, trying to calm the situation but only making it worse

“It wasn’t successful because she fucked it all up again.” The other yelled, getting all up the tall ones face.

Chan got between them, making sure they don’t get violent “Hyunjin is right. The show wasn’t going to do well. And y/n wasn’t at fault here”, he points to your pants “the pants were just too long and make it hard to dance in.”

Han spoke up “i agree, i kept on stepping on them.” he gestures a ‘sorry’ to you for doing so.

“The past few weeks have been tense guys. WE have been tense.” Chan exclaimed, “we have been arguing with each other the whole time, obviously the performance is gonna fail” he sighed, turning to leeknow.

“It was an accident, stop blaming her already.”

He still looked pissed, but tried to see a different point of view “fine, fine. Sorry for bursting out like that” he glanced at you. “Sorry for making you trip” you look at the rest of the guys. You felt stressed. Shit was too much right now and you let your members down..

“I’m sorry guys-” you were cut off by felix “don’t apologize. We’ll just have to tell the staff that the pants were horrible”

It seemed like the situation had toned down, everyone went back to their seats. Eyes were following the group, whispering something to each other.

Yeah, there was no doubt that the audience knew there was a fight.

Seungmin noticed the bruise on you knee getting darker “need an ice pack for this?” He points at it.

“No i think i’ll be fine” you give him a weak smile.

“Hope you won’t limp around for the next few days” i.n butted in. The rest of the night went on quietly. The ride home was silent. It seemed a bit akward between you and minho..

As you were about to enter the dorms, he kinda holds you back “hey, are we good?” He asks quietly, to which you give him a small smile “yeah. You were just frustrated, don’t worry”

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. How about i buy you korean bbq?” Your face lights up, he knows how to make things better between you “sound good to me :)”

You had an ice pack pressed against your knee the whole night long though-

-Rose✩

A/N: its a bit different from what I usually write. Hope its good enough!!!

[hookedsworks]

Edge(ING) Fitness - Chapter XXVI

II's POV.

ao3

masterpost

II watched his personal trainer best friend, who he had not heard from in two days, saunter into the gym at about 9:30 AM. His hood was up, and he was slinking around like he didn’t want to be seen. 

“IV!” II thundered as he stalked across the gym. “Where have you been?” 

“At home,” IV retorted. II was pissed off, especially after hearing that III had attended IV’s game. 

“I haven't heard from you in two days, IV! What the hell! You didn't even ask how my date went! You're the one who caused it! Where have you been!” IV finally turned around to look at II. IV had an iced coffee in hand, glazed eyes and was clearly trying to keep a grin off his face. II searched for any other sign of what the hell happened. Like a line of dark, mouth shaped bruises…hickies. Hickies and he couldn't have been bothered to return my texts. “Who did you spend the weekend with?” the smile that ripped across IV’s face nearly made II forget he was mad. For a second. Then he remembered. 

“Why? Jealous?” Ivy sipped his coffee. 

“Jealous? You’re an idiot, IV. I was worried about you. And you were… what? Fucking around?” 

“Woah. Watch your language there, it almost sounded like you care,” rage. II hated it when Ivy hid something behind a facade of aloofness. He was tired. 

“Ives… dude… I just worry about you, okay? You don’t have to be a dick. You could have just let me know you were with someone,” Ivy always did this when he was afraid to tell II something. “Was it III? You know I’m not going to get mad, he’s not even a member of the gym. And I’m dating a member of the gym,”

“You’re dating him now?” they walked into the staff offices, and Ivy began getting ready to teach a yoga class. 

“W-well. Yeah, I think. I mean. We’re going to go out again. I kissed him. Or, well, um, he kissed me,” II thought about how cute Vessel had been. Even this morning, when they had been talking. He was just so sweet, so cute. II wanted to squeeze him. 

“Yeah, III and I kissed too,” jealousy reared its ugly head. 

“You guys are whores,” 

“Yeah? Explains why he’s so good at it all,” Ivy cackled. “C’mon, II. Don’t be mad. Just get your man,” 

“I want to date him. I don’t want to just fuck him,” 

“Hey! I don’t want to just fuck Mustache either,” Ivy seemed to think about it for a moment. “Well, I’d definitely like to do that again,” 

“Okay! I get it. You sealed the deal. But do you know anything about him? Are you going to take him on a date?” 

“Dude, you know that never works out for me. No matter how much I want it. They just want me for a night. I’m fine with it,” Ivy rolled his eyes. This was the thing that II hated the most about Ivy. He was always thinking no one truly wanted him. His ex had done that.  

“Hey man. He’s not Roxy. If you want to, you should go for it. I know Vessel, and if he thinks III is a good friend, I think that III will be better for you. If you want to. I think you’re just holding back,” 

“I didn’t ask for a psychoanalysis,” Ivy stared at II. He’d nailed it, that was exactly what Ivy was afraid of. “And it’s only a matter of time before he realizes you’re… you,” 

“He’s not Roxy, dude. He likes you. He’s known me the exact same amount of time he’s known you, and he’s never taken his eyes off of you,” Ivy sighed. He threw a shoe backwards. 

“I don’t want to talk about this, II,” 

“Fine. Go on a date with him though. Give him a real chance. You both deserve more than just one night,” 

“Why would I do that? Just to set myself up for heartbreak? It doesn’t matter how much I’d love to take him on a picnic, or see him watch a planetarium show, or go to a concert with him. We had sex. That was it,” 

“I highly doubt that. He’s been pining after you for weeks. He wants you to go to his marathon, doesn’t he? Why don’t you just keep talking to him and see what happens. If you’re really worried about it, I’ll ask Vessel to loop III in,” 

“If he texts me again, I’ll.. I don’t know. I guess I’ll try, but only if he shows interest. I don’t want to set myself up for it again,” II sighed. He was so sad for Ivy, for his desire to protect himself to the point of missing out on relationships. “I’m going to teach yoga now. Do not tell Vessel a thing. I can handle myself,” Ivy left the room and II pulled his phone out. He just… couldn’t help but think that III could be good for Ivy. He sent a quick text to Vessel. 

Is III going to ask IV out?  Vessel replied less than a minute later, in four consecutive text messages. 

He already has

Ives hasn’t replied yet

He sent it on IG

since Ives won’t give him his phone number 

Dammit IV!

[yakumtsaki]

Oh yay, our first thunder fire in the new house, wonder how long before someone dies again! Also love how you can see our old house in the background, a reminder you can run from your past but you can’t escape it. 

I am of course talking about this family’s past of semi-acceptable interactions between family numbers, because from now on is where things really go off the rails in this department. Allow me to introduce you to..

..Julian and Stacy’s daughter, Sunset Tinker-Union! (Because her parents wear pink and purple, get it? Get the name origin?) So the minute Bartholomew brought Sunset from school I knew it was over for me, as we’re now far enough removed from the other branches of the family tree that not even the extended family mod can save us from all those third cousins being fair game.. and you all know full well that if there’s one thing this family knows how to do, is be attracted to their distant cousins-

-I held out to one tiny hope that maybe Barflina will continue being socially incompetent losers and Sunset will hate them, but no, the minute a distant cousin enters the building it’s clearly time to turn up the charm. So first Bartholomew goes and smustles with Sunset, which, Barth, I didn’t know you were even like, biologically capable of having fun in any way-

-and then Felina (who I keep forgetting is SHY LOL WHAT) goes over to ADMIRE HER. BRO. I have never seen Felina do anything remotely nice her entire life, KILL ME.

But don’t worry, Sunset clearly takes after auntie June! She’s into it! She follows Barth to the toilet for no clear reason! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME

So you at this point you might be like ya ok, calm your tits, there’s no guarantee anything will even happen. To which I reply go back and read, not even the whole thing, just our college runs, and then get back to me. We’ve been knocking on semi-incest’s door since generation 1 and now we don’t even have to knock, I mean the door is wide open! FML

ANYWAY, all this to say, it’s time to extremely focus on finding these two flops non-related-to-us people to date before we fuck off to college, and this is ALL I’m gonna be doing this update- 

-Like haha oh man Cyn and Sandy are starting a rock band, there’s def jokes here, NO. NO TIME, DON’T CARE, HAVE TO AVERT DISASTER.

-Failina, hold your goddamn notebook closer so I can copy, it’s hard with my eyepatch! -It’ll be even harder when I take your other eye out!

Alright you two.. uh.. awesome kids, let’s go out! 

-Go out where. -And WHY.

So you can have fun, meet people, maybe sing some karaoke or play bowling! You’ve seen how much fun your ancestors have had as teens out and about, driving drunk, being hoes, committing various crimes, you wanna miss out on that experience? It’s even how grandma Shajar met grandma Sophie and that marriage could not be stronger!

-Ugh ok, I guess I do need to get started on the spouse hunt. -And I would like to get drunk in a different setting than our library.

Perfect! Who knows, by the end of the night, you might even be besties singing duets like Jojo and Gunther!

Oh my- WE LITERALLY JUST GOT HERE. WHAT CAN YOU TWO POSSIBLY BE FIGHTING ABOUT

-SCREW YOU, DAVID OTTOMAS IS MINE -NO, HE’S MINE, HE’S THE ONLY TEEN SIM IN THE LOT AND I HAVE SENIORITY -THE HELL YOU DO

OK LET’S GO HOME

-SCREW YOU, I WANNA OPEN THE GARAGE DOOR -THE DOOR IS MINE, YOU CAN’T EVEN DRIVE YET

OMG LITERALLY STOP. I LEARNED MY LESSON, I’M NEVER MAKING YOU INTERACT AGAIN

Once again, I’m crawling back to Lakshmi! Finally she has returned to us! As you might recall I had to deal with her understudy, Margaret, and frankly she was better than Lak at her job but it just wasn’t the same. Lakshmi and I have HISTORY. We have a deep, dark, beautiful relationship-

-I’m not giving you a discount. 

UGH FINE. Take 5k of our last money (I forgot to mention the new house somehow cost 500K, we legit have like 20k left)-

-and hit us with your best shot!

-Oh, I will! 

Ok but you’ve said that before and I’m still not over the time I paid you 5k for June and you gave us iVan. 

-No, this time I mean it! The path is clear! 

The ‘path is clear’?? The path for FELINA’S love life is clearer than it was for June the literal model-hot genius???

-Indeed!

I gotta say, Lakshmi, your mouth better not be writing checks your crystal ball can’t cash.

-It is not, I promise! 

Alright, I’m waiting, do it to us-

OH

MY

GOD

IT’S MEADOW

THEY HAVE 3 BOLTS THIS IS ALREADY HILARIOUS. LAKSHMI YOU ARE FORGIVEN FOR ALL THE SHIT YOU’VE EVER PULLED ON ME

Bro this pairing is KILLING ME. Like I get it on paper since they’re both family sims and I guess their chemistry panels and zodiacs must insanely match too, but I thought Felina would get with someone like idk. Gvaudoin? Alegra Gorey? Klara Vonderstein? Maybe the Diva or a vamp NPC? Like you know what I mean, someone that makes sense with the whole dark queen powerful dynasty blabla she has going on. But no, she’s gonna start this house Lannister bs her LTW is about with.. MEADOW THAYER. I love it so much, Felina please don’t ruin this for us!

FELINA WTF DID I JUST SAY

-Sorry, but I don’t know you well enough to accept you touching my shoulder, huhu!🌞

-But if you want to tickle me again, that’s somehow more acceptable to me despite it involving way more touching!🌞

Alright, as I suspected, not a lot going on upstairs with dear Meadow, but it’s ok, I’m just glad to have a huhuing sim around again, Cyn is like 80yo :(

Ah, the tickling of love! Good job, Fel, now we can work our way up to flirting-

-Or I can just not be a turbocuck AND GO FOR IT

Man, the Sophie genes kicked in! Good for you, Fel!

Backyard karaoke time! Seriously what song could these two possibly BOTH like, please comment or msg me your guesses. 

So at this point I’m already 100% sold on Meadow as a spouse as I don’t think it’s humanly possible to come up with a funnier pairing than what fate dropped in my lap, but I’d also like to point out that Felina is so into Meadow that she’s already rolling fears of falling out of love with her, despite not even BEING IN LOVE WITH HER YET. Family sims are a fucking trip. 

CUTE. Alright Felina, you’re set, we got it in one, semi-incest avoided, yay us. Now I’m gonna leave you to your dream date and focus on Barth-

-who is gambling by himself. Guess I don’t need to ask who’s drunk again!

-That’s one safe bet, haha! 

Good Lord. Alright, get up, let’s find you someone while Lakshmi is still here, I’m sure our amazing luck will continue-

-OH FUCK IT’S TIAVE TEENS, HE HAS THE DON BROKEN FACE THING. ABORT ABORT

Oh good there’s nothing to abort, because it turns out Bartholomew is a COMPLETE FAILURE OF A ROMANCE SIM. Observe and keep in mind THEY HAVE 3 BOLTS:

-LALALA LALALA NOT LISTENING TO YOU INSULT MY SPATULA, FUCK OFF

LOL NO @ THE NOOGIES RETURN. FUCK. So clearly Felina has grandma Sophie’s chadly genes and Bartholomew has grandma Shajar’s noogiesexuality, except he’s a romance sim with a 20 woohoo LTW. College with this guy is gonna be UNBEARABLE. 

Alright, Barth, let’s try this again, don’t be discouraged! Ignore our lack of cash!

Ignore that Felina got it right on the first try and is still on her endless dream date!

PATRICK TEENS?! LMAO. Bartholomew is so committed to going through family trees, like if it’s not gonna be his own it’s gonna be SOMEONE’S, he doesn’t care! Unlike Don-clone Tiave, Patrick is cute tho, let’s give it a try-

-Ya, let me stop you right there, buddy, not into it but best of luck in your future endeavors!

Bruh. Let’s extremely call it a night, Barth.

-Oh hi, huhu!🌸 -Hi hi, huhu!🌞 -I feel like I know you?💗

Ya Cyn, if I didn’t have photographic proof that it’s not true I’d legit think she’s your long lost daughter. Man ACTUALLY how much sense does it make that like people tend to seek out partners that remind them of their parents and Cyn was always such a maternal influence on Felina??? Holy hell this game has so many layers. 

Clearly inspired by seeing her younger self in Meadow, Cyn finally finds it in her to woohoo again after Don’s passing! It’s legitimately crazy to me how loyal she was to him in death, like I can’t get over it, she never extended that courtesy to him while he was alive!

-𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙼𝚈 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝙴.𝙴𝚇𝙴

It’s ok, Barth, you sleep off the romantic flopping and that tray of whiskeys and we’ll try again tomorrow.

-Ya, make sure to call us over when he ‘tries again tomorrow’ cause we don’t wanna miss it HAHA -HAHAHA boy did I screw him over by passing down my personality points! -You sure did, my little turbocuck! Let’s sleep in the same bed tonight, I can’t get into this one anyway with this flop sleeping there! -That’s what everyone is gonna be saying to him in college HAHAHA -HAHAHAHA oh Shaj, I love you, let’s work on our marriage! -I love you too, we’ll overcome our issues!

Awww, see Barth? Love wins❤️

[calicomarie11]

Eddie breathes out as he takes in the sunset over LA. The view from the roof of the firehouse is spectacular tonight, the smog taking on a golden hew as the sun’s last rays hit it. Christopher had actually picked up when he called, and even though the conversation was stilted and awkward it was progress.

He’s hopeful that Chris will be ready to come home soon, if only to be able to go back to school with his friends and get out from under his grandparents’ thumbs. This has been the hardest summer of his life, and it’s thanks to Buck and Tommy that he is surviving it.

Speaking of, Eddie hears the bang of the door as it slams open fast enough to hit the wall and rebound. A few seconds later he looks over to see Buck standing beside him, his face thunderous. It’s an odd feeling, to be happy when his best friend is so obviously upset.

Eddie lets him stew, sure that Buck will speak when he’s ready. His friend is not known for keeping his thoughts to himself. He hopes he doesn’t take too long, he wants to share that Chris actually talked to him this time.

Buck lets out a heavy sigh and Eddie perks up, ready to be supportive. “Something on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer right away and Eddie starts to worry that this is something serious, life changing. He really hopes it’s not about Tommy. He’s never seen his friend so happy in a relationship before and Tommy is a lot easier to get along with then any of Buck’s exes.

Buck turns to him, his face severe. “Have you been watching Hotshots?”

Eddie frowns, confused by the question. “No, of course not. We made a pact.”

Buck lets out the breath he’d been holding. “Thank fuck. Apparently we’re the only people who kept to the pact.”

He’s still confused about what a TV show has to do with Buck’s bad mood. He had thought about watching the show, if only to be prepared to support Buck if Taylor the show screwed him over, but Buck has been so adamant about ignoring the show’s existence that he’d decided against it. His only knowledge of the show comes from the billboards and bus stop ads of beautiful people in heroic poses that are ubiquitous around the city.

“I thought we were ignoring the existence of that show. What’s brought this on?” Eddie asks.

“Traitors,” Buck grizzles. “Apparently everyone has been watching the show. Tommy, Lucy, the rest of the Harbor crew. And Hen, Chim, and Ravi all admitted to it and implicated Karen and Maddie too. I can’t get upset about Harbor, they didn’t know, but I can’t believe my family would betray me like that.”

Eddie’s a bit surprised himself. Buck had been very forceful about ignoring first the book and then the show. He’d only had the one breakdown, that Eddie is aware of, about how stupid he felt when Taylor turned their relationship into a media empire. At the time he had barely restrained himself from saying I told you so. He had never trusted her, but Buck was hurting and it wasn’t his place to make him feel worse. He’s glad Buck’s taste in men is better than his taste in women.

Back to now, “I’ve never watched it, I swear. What brought this on?”

Buck sighs, his hand drifting towards his forehead to rub at his temple. “Tommy didn’t know about the history I have with the show and I was telling him about Bobby’s new job and he got really excited and told me about everyone watching it. Then I had to tell him about Taylor and he told me about Randy.”

“Randy?” Eddie says, the confusion apparent in his voice.

Buck turns to Eddie, his face too conflicted for Eddie to accurately parse the emotions there. “Do you really want to know?”

And Eddie has to stop and think about it. Because, of course he wants to know what is bothering Buck, but at the same time, he’s dealing with so much emotional fallout from his actions in the spring that he’s not sure what impact one more bombshell might have. Will this be the thing that sends him teetering over the edge? But surely Buck would keep it locked down if he really thought this would send him into a spiral.

“Let it rip,” Eddie says, trying to sound confident.

Buck looks at him curiously, not entirely sure about that response. “Apparently, a large portion of the fanbase for Hotshots think that Sandy and Ricky should be together.”

“And Sandy and Ricky are…” Eddie trails off in confusion.

“You and me,” Buck says, his voice flat.

Eddie stares at Buck, his head tilted as he processes. “But I’m straight. How would that even work?”

“I know,” Buck almost shouts to the skyline.

“I mean, I’m really straight. I’ve thought about it and everything,” Eddie says.

“What?” Buck’s nose crinkles as he turns to look at Eddie. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I was telling Frank about you liking guys now,” Eddie starts before Buck interrupts him.

“You talk about me in therapy?”

“I talk about my life and relationships with other people in therapy and you are probably my most stable relationship ever,” Eddie says.

Buck’s face breaks out in a wide grin and he bumps his shoulder into Eddie’s. “Aww Buddy, I love you too.”

Eddie shoves him a bit, his face flushed. “Yeah, yeah. Anyways, Frank thought it was interesting that my best friend turns out to be…bi? Queer? Have you settled on a label?”

“Oh, bi, definitely. I thought about pan, but I like the bi flag better,” Buck says with a shrug.

“Right, bi, and he asked if I’d ever considered you as more than a best friend. And I told him no, because I hadn’t. But it stuck with me, so I did think about it because we do work so well together and Chris loves you and it would make things so much easier.”

Eddie focuses on Buck, who is shifting nervously next to him. “But, I’m sorry man, I’m just not into dudes. Like at all.”

Buck lets out the breath he’d been holding. “Thank fuck,” he laughs. “I was afraid for a second there I was going to have to let you down easy.”

Eddie glares at him, not appreciating how relieved Buck looks. “Hey, you could do worse.” Like Taylor fucking Kelly he thinks.

“Eddie, I love you like a brother, but you are one of the most emotionally constipated people I have ever met and I’m a needy motherfucker. It would never work. You’d shut down, I’d get insecure and start pestering you which would make you shut down farther and we’d both end up punching holes in the wall.”

“It sounds like you’ve thought about this,” Eddie says slowly.

“Yeah, Tommy asked me a similar question after he figured out the Randy thing. And my gut reaction was hysterical laughter. But I thought about it later and it was still a hell no. Sorry man.”

Eddie tries to glare at Buck, but the twitching at the corner of his mouth ruins the effect. “Well, I don’t want to date you either.”

Buck nudges him again. “I know dude. Don’t worry, a few more years of therapy and you’ll be as emotionally healthy as me and then we’ll find you your own Tommy. For now, you can be the token straight guy.”

“Token straight guy? What about Chim and Bobby?” Eddie says, confused.

Buck just grins and jogs back to the stairs. Eddie follows him. “What about Chim and Bobby, Buck?”

Read on AO3

[megumimania]

cold brews and finals week blues

eren x fem! reader

synopsis: it seems like the dreaded finals week blues has gotten to you, but luckily eren is here to help you get out of it.

a/n: was in an eren mood so i decided to write him, i miss my man 😔

“its the third time she’s come in this week, what’s her deal?” sasha asked whilst changing the coffee filter.

“maybe because it’s literally finals week dumbass, everyone is stressed as fuck and studying till their hands fall off.” jean replied, walking over to wipe down a nearby table.

“and everyone knows trost library is the worst place to be right now, everyone is on edge it’s almost unnerving, do you not remember coffee gate last year?” armin chimed in ,”i almost thought we were about to witness a murder.”

“but if someone spilled coffee on my laptop that contained my essay that made up 30% of my final grade, i’d go psycho too.” jean added to which armin agreed.

eren didn’t get why you kept coming back here, not that he was complaining, it was refreshing to see someone his age that wasn’t one of his three coworkers but the coffee was average at best, the wifi was abysmal, it was a miracle if you were able to load a document in less than five minutes and the aged interior of the cafe was enough to make you feel you were trapped in time, which probably explained why the café was a hit with the older people, but even then business was slow as ever.

the conversation droned on as eren's gaze kept moving back to you hunched over your laptop, your eyebrows becoming increasingly furrowed as you struggled to grasp the material. in frustration you let out a sigh and slammed your laptop shut and stormed out of the cafe in a huff, leaving your stuff behind.

a quick glance over at your table and eren realised that you were in his psychology class with professor ackerman, who was notorious for over complicating simple topics and for creating the most hardest tests known to man, with it being a miracle if you managed to scrape by with a C in his class.

not wanting to pry any further, he returned back to work, serving one of his regulars when he heard the rumble of thunder outside that was accompanied with the harsh sounds of the rain battering against the windowpane. he was growing increasingly concerned, almost ten minutes elapsed since you’ve been gone, not that he was keeping track of course.

with the customer leaving and his co workers already heading out, eren decided to close shop early today, leaving the door unlocked just in case you came back. to keep himself busy, eren alternated between sweeping floors and waiting for you to return. he didn’t know why he was making such a large effort for you, but after seeing you in such a panicked state the least he could do is offer a helping hand.

the shop bell rang for the second time that day as you stepped in, the rain leaving you drenched and shivering. eren's gaze fell onto you as he closed the door behind you, handing you a spare hoodie from the break room along with his notes for the psych final, placing them on the table behind him.

"thank you." you muttered quietly, pulling his hoodie over your shirt, it smelt faintly of fresh linen which brought you an unusual sense of comfort.

"you alright?" he asked, with a genuine expression of worry on his face.

“well…i have my psych final in 72 hours and i barely understand anything, my roommate is a complete asshole and im running on three hours of sleep.” you replied in a somewhat even tone, repeatedly blinking so that he wouldn’t notice the incoming stream of tears that created a glossy sheen on your eyes.

“I can help you study for your psych final, just tell me what you need help with.” he replied coolly, cracking a smile as an attempt to make you feel better. “but we can’t do all this on an empty stomach though, is pizza alright with you?” he asked turning around to face you, his gaze being enough to set your skin on fire.

when the pizza arrived, you and eren went back and forth on who was going to pay but eventually he won. you watched him with a small scowl on your face as he paid and tipped the delivery boy extra. he faced you with a subtle shit eating grin.

"i could've paid for it." you grumbled whilst getting a slice of pizza."i know." eren replied “it’s my way of saying thanks.” you looked at him in confusion, “thanks for what?”

“well for one, it’s not everyday i end up helping a pretty girl study for her finals, usually closing is the most quietest part of my day.” he replied looking away briefly

you were not going to mention how he called you pretty, given that his flustered expression said enough also you were still processing the compliment, not that you weren’t a stranger to a few compliments here and there, but while those were fleeting, eren’s compliment stuck. creating a surge of butterflies in your stomach.

you both sat in silence, finishing the remains of your food. bored of the silence, you turned to eren asking him, “what do you do in your free time other than school and work?”

“I teach karate to kids on weekends.” he replied, looking up at you. “are you any good at it?” you said with a teasing lilt to your voice.

“my trophies and medals hanging up in my room at home says otherwise.” he chuckled before adding, “if you don’t believe me you are more than welcome to come down to the dojo to watch me train.”

“okay sure.” you said calmly trying not to think about how fast your heart was racing. you turned to look outside. the rain eased up leaving nothing but dark clouds as a reminder of it’s looming presence, it was getting late and you wanted to get back to your dorm before it got dark.

“I should get going, its getting late.” you said, finally getting up from your seat. “let me drive you home, i can’t let you walk by yourself this late.” eren said as he grabbed his keys and his jacket before closing the door behind him.

you both got into the car as eren began driving, you turned on a random radio station, trying to fill the endless vacuum of silence. eren was too focused on driving that you took this opportunity to observe his features, from his shiny brown locks, his intoxicating green eyes, to the light freckles that dusted his face.

you felt your face getting hot at the sight of him. suddenly it was too stuffy in the car, you rolled down the window to get some fresh air. eren looked over at you in confusion but you reassured him that you were okay.

after arriving at the university’s parking lot, you got out of his car thanking him for the ride. eren didn’t leave until you reached home safely.

the day of the psych final arrived, you got into class early to do some last minute revision. you spotted eren at the back with his headphones on, looking concentrated as ever while glossing over his notes.

not wanting to disrupt his flow, you chose to sit a couple rows in front of him. you opened your laptop going through your notes and flashcards as you tried to remember the information. you were shitting yourself to say the least, even though the impromptu study session with eren helped a lot, you were scared of failure.

“y/n!” eren whisper shouted, trying to grab your attention. “yes?” you snapped at the voice in frustration, before realising it was eren, “im sorry, i didnt mean—”

“mean what, ms l/n?” professor ackerman interjected, his tone sharp as ever. “you and mr. jaeger know that once you step into this hall, it is strictly exam conditions. luckily you’ve caught me on one of my good days, so i won’t go to the trouble of disqualifying you both from this exam but don’t let this happen again.”

“sorry professor,” you both replied in unison.

you waited for the rest of the students to fill in, as you mentally began to prepare yourself for this test, with a sound of a paper being placed on your desk snapping you out of it. looking around, you spotted eren who gave you a thumbs up, wishing you good luck, you returned it and looked back at your paper with your pen in your slightly trembling hand.

you waited for the rest of the students to fill in, as you mentally began to prepare yourself for this test, with a sound of a paper being placed on your desk snapping you out of it. looking around, you spotted eren who gave you a thumbs up, wishing you good luck, you returned it and looked back at your paper with your pen in your slightly trembling hand.

surprisingly, the test wasn’t that difficult, you managed to get over your nerves and finish the paper within the time with the confidence that you answered each question as best as you can. the rest of it was out of your hands.

“time’s up, please stop writing.” professor ackerman announced further adding, “please leave your paper on my desk in an orderly fashion, you are dismissed.” you left the classroom in a somewhat better mood, now that the biggest thing in your life was over. you headed out on the courtyard, sitting under the large oak tree, basking in the suns rays.

eren spotted you by the oak tree, leaving armin and mikasa to continue their conversation. eren thought you looked like you just stepped out of a painting, the way the sun illuminated your perfect features.

“hey, can i join you?” he asked squinting his eyes from the sun, so that he could see you better.

“yeah sure.” you replied, motioning for him to sit next to you.

“how was it?” eren asked curiously, busying his fingers by pulling out the grass

“it was alright, i managed to finish the paper and everything i studied ended up being on the so i can’t complain.” you replied directing your attention to him, “how did it go for you?”

“it was pretty good, i think.” eren answered before asking, “what do you think you’ll get?”

“eren i am not gonna bet on my grade, i don’t want to jinx anything!” you replied .“but since we’re on this topic i bet that i’ll get an 80, if luck is on my side.”

“okay, i bet that i’ll get an 83, see now both of our grades are in jeopardy!” he jokes as you hit him on the arm. “If you get an 80 i’ll take you on a date.”

you stared at him dumbfounded, “are you fucking with me, jaeger?”

“nope.” he replied with extra emphasis on the p, (seriously eren was confused where this surge of confidence came from).

“so worst case scenario, what if i don’t get the 80?” you asked curiously

“the offer still stands.” he replied with a grin watching your reaction

“that is such a weird way to ask someone out but im in.”you replied with a smile before continuing, “do you enjoy making risky bets, mr jaeger?”

he laughed before replying, “no not really, i only bet on things that i have my heart set on.”

your heart fluttered in response, you took a deep breath before mustering a reply, “i’ve got a class in five minutes so i gotta go, but thanks for everything.” giving him a quick but meaningful hug, before walking off to your class.

a week or two later, you opened your laptop to find an email from professor ackerman, which contained your grade. after a minute of trying to give yourself a pep talk, you clicked the email and your jaw dropped, as you saw that you got an 82 on your psych final.

you texted eren unable to wipe the smile off your face

you: i got an 82 on my psych final

you: professor ackerman must’ve been in a good mood or something

you: yk what im not gonna question it imma just take it as it is!

eren: not be that person but i told you so y/n 🥱 #inerenwetrust🙏

you: yeah yeah, you better have a sick ass date planned! 🙄

eren: of course, only the best for you.

eren: i’m already outside let me in pls, my ass is about to freeze off 😔

you: bro wtf??

[piperslovebot]

Fictober 1 - “This was good work.”

Dynamic: Eric/Donna (an alternate twist to 5x18)

Beginning Notes: This is a continuation of a drabble one of my best friends, @randomwriter23 did. And with a line I added in the reblog. We also did an rp for this as well, and honestly she was a cowriter for this and it means so much that we did this together!

………….................................

"Eric, we'll be graduating soon. Don't you think you should be focusing on stuff that's more mature?"

That stung more than it should've. He could take maybe Fez or Kelso saying something like this, but hearing his future wife say this is too much.

Eric scoffs, "Says the girl who claims to be a feminist yet calls herself 'Hot Donna' on the radio."

"First of all, that had been Jerry Thunder who called me that first," said Donna.

"Yeah, but you continued to use it as your brand." Eric fired back.

"Second of all, my brand isn't what we're talking about. We're talking about your interest in something that you should've grown out of," said Donna.

"'Should’ve grown out of'? So because I'm an adult, I have to stop being into Star Wars?  I have to stop liking something and doing something I enjoy. I thought being an adult had to do with how you act, not what you like. Donna, we’re graduating soon. Shouldn’t you be focusing on something more mature than policing what I like?"

"What do I like that's immature?"

"Well you like trying to get me to stop talking about something I'm passionate about, going as far as make me give you money if I keep talking about it. And I know for a fact that you like that I’m somehow always in the wrong and that you get to escape responsibility. And I know for sure that you liked that story that destroyed my reputation, yet got mad when I gave you a taste of your medicine."

"Your story hurt," said Donna.

"And yours didn’t? It destroyed my reputation, Donna. I got shoved into lockers, beaten up. I don’t care about how you ended your story. In fact, it’s just as shitty as the stuff you said about me: I was a monster who murdered your cat and forced you to wear a promise ring but despite that you never stopped loving me? You dished it out but you couldn’t take it when I responded. You’re allowed to put your perspective, but when I do it, it 'hurt'? Shut the fuck up, Donna."

"Eric, where is all of this coming from? I thought we were fine."

"I thought we were, but I was wrong." Eric shook his head. "You know I can handle when random people acting like it’s weird I’m with you, I can even handle my friends and family thinking that I’m lucky to have you, but the fact that even you think that and are trying to 'tone me down' stings a lot. And somehow we have to keep doing shit on your terms and only yours. My perspective doesn’t matter. It’s all about you.”

"I don't think that you're lucky to be with me. And we talk about things."

"Well you sure act like you think that. And name one time."

"I can't think of one right now."

Eric crossed his arms.

"Okay. What about everything with Shelly?"

"Oh when you embarrassed us at The Hub and didn’t apologize because you already felt bad, so I couldn’t express my anger with you? Or the fact that you actually believed that I'd cheat on you?"

"I realized how much of a good guy you are."

"You can't be serious." Eric shook his head. "Hyde said I didn't cheat, even Jackie said I wouldn't cheat, but it took you making a scene and embarrassing me and Shelly at the Hub to get you to believe that I wouldn't do anything like that."

"Why is all of this a big deal? It was in the past!"

"It's the fact that you act like you're above me and that you're ashamed of me. That you think I'm lucky to be with you just like everyone else, and you were the one who first brought up the stuff about the Hub, not me."

"I don't act like I'm above you! I'm not ashamed of you! I don't think you're lucky to be with me! But why is everything I've done being brought up again?"

"If you didn’t think any of that, you wouldn’t be asking me to tone down something I like. I'm fine with not saying anything Star Wars in my vows, but that is not what is happening? And the only reason I’m bringing it up because you’re asking questions that involve me bringing it up. And you clearly haven’t changed from it! Somehow it’s like I’m always the jerk in the relationship, I have to be the one to change while you’re somehow perfect."

"I thought we were fine, Eric!"

"Clearly, we're not!"

Eric shook his head, "I’m outta here." He began to head out.

"Eric, could we talk about this?"

Eric turned around, "Okay. Talk."

"What can we do to fix this between us?"

“Actually be honest and talk about everything? If we’re gonna get married one day, things have to work for both of us. And I don’t feel like you see me as your equal to be honest." Eric said.

"I see you as my equal, Eric," said Donna, standing up.

"I really want to believe that Donna."

"Well, what other things have I done to make it seem like I don’t see you as one?"

"You shut down important conversations when I try to start them. Like that day when we were imagining our futures and at first I saw you as a housewife." Eric said. "When I came to your house and apologized and tried to talk about our future, you shut it down and said we should just go for a drive."

"I had just talked to my mom, who had said that we were both young and that we might not end up together anyway," said Donna.

"Why didn’t you just tell me that? We used to tell each other everything before that."

"I didn't want to bother you with my problems at home."

"We used to talk about that stuff all the time, like when you told me they were fighting and then I cheered you up and said I always make you feel better? How did that change? Why did that change?"

"I don't know!"

"I don’t think I did anything, but if I did…"

"You didn't do anything. It's just me. I don't know why I found it to be difficult to talk to you about all of this."

Eric continued to listen.

"I guess maybe it was because your family is a family. You have two happily married parents. They have their issues, but they always solve it as a team, and they don’t put you in the middle of their fights.”

Donna continued, "I don't hold that against you. My parents set the worst example for me, and I guess I felt I had to not talk about that in order to keep the peace."

Eric sighed, "I may not completely understand that, but I still would’ve been willing to listen, y'know? We were best friends way before we started dating and I don’t want that dynamic to change when we get married someday."

"I don't want it to change either. Maybe we should go to therapy both separately and together."

Eric nodded, "Maybe we should."

"So…what about the wedding?"

"We don’t have to get married now. We don’t need to worry about setting dates, but there’s always someday."

"Yeah. I mean, we both need to figure out what we want for careers."

Eric nodded, "Yeah, but I'm glad we talked about all of this."

Donna smiled, "Me too. And I'll…stop with the geek dollar thing. But, and I say this with love, maybe you shouldn’t use Star Wars in your vows. Is that okay?"

"That's okay. I'll tone down my interests because I know it isn't just you that gets annoyed with it."

"You can talk about Star Wars as much as you want. I mean, it’s something you’re passionate about. The only deal breaker I might have is if you become a Star Wars professor." Donna chuckled.

"If I'm gonna be a professor, I'm teaching history," said Eric.

Donna smiled, "Good." She wrapped her arms around Eric to kiss him.

Eric chuckled, "Well this was good work."

Donna chuckled, "Yeah…this was."

[violentvalerian]

The Best Bad News (WuWa AU Rover x Calcharo) // Part 1/3 // A Little Calamity

“This day fucking sucks!”

Aalto walked to the door of the living room and peeked around the corner into the hallway. There stood his roommate, drenched from head to toe and dripping water onto the hardwood floor. And looking massively annoyed.

“Lemme guess,” Aalto said, throwing his pale hair back, “You got into a fight with a sprinkler and lost.”

“Yes, Aalto, that’s exactly what happened,” the dark-haired man in the hall grumbled with an eyeroll and peeled his soaked black denim jacket off his slender form, hanging it up to dry, “It’s raining cats and dogs outside.”

His words were accentuated by a clap of thunder that made both young men jump.

“Oh really?” Aalto asked with a grin, “Thanks for letting me know, Ro. Wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” Ro said, kicking off his sneakers that hit the ground with a wet splat. A flash of lightning lit up the otherwise dim apartment.

“You hungry or something?” Aalto asked, “I could order us something.”

“I can’t afford to get takeout every day,” Ro complained, “Don’t we have anything to pop into the oven or something?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Aalto graciously said and placed his hand on his chest, “It’s on me tonight.”

“Really?” Ro asked and looked at him with wide eyes, “You’re actually serious? Never thought I’d ever see you so generous.”

“What?” Aalto exclaimed, “I’m always generous! Just not when it comes to monetary things. Whatever! What do you want?”

“I don’t care, you decide,” Ro said and quickly disappeared into the bathroom to avoid any further questions. He was notoriously bad at making decisions, no matter the subject.

He tore off all his clothes that were sodden with cold water. The rain had totally caught him off-guard on the way back from the library where he’d worked on some assignments for his history studies. First he’d been drowning in work, and then almost drowning in the literal sense with how heavy the storm was.

He stepped into the shower and turned on the water, cursing when the ice cold stream hit him, colder even than the rain. For some reason, Aalto liked to take freezing showers, and no matter how many times Ro begged him to at least turn the tap back into a neutral position, he never remembered to do so. At least it didn’t take forever to warm up today, and soon he was wrapped in a misty cocoon of warm steam and water that relaxed his tense shoulders and smoothed the goosebumps that had risen on his skin from the cold.

Feeling like a completely reborn person, Ro emerged from the bathroom and went into his room to change. It was small, barely large enough for his bed and his desk. Since he’d only moved in a few short months ago when he started studying in Jinzhou, the walls were still bare, and in a corner there was a tower of not unpacked moving boxes whose structural integrity seemed worryingly precarious.

Ro threw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt and  returned to the living room to see Aalto lounging on the couch in front of the TV, ignoring some sports game while scrolling on his phone, as he always did. Despite only knowing each other for two months, Ro and Aalto had already grown to be close friends, albeit with rather different interests and personalities.

“Feeling better?” Aalto asked, noticing Ro’s presence, “I ordered pizza by the way.”

“Much better,” Ro replied and pushed his legs off the couch to take a seat, “Hope you didn’t get tuna for me again.”

“Nah, you don’t like fish, I get it. There was a two for one deal on something with four cheeses.”

“So you’re not paying for me after all,” Ro grinned.

“Yes I am!” Aalto insisted, “I bought a pizza just for you and just so happened to get one for free myself.”

“Sure, sure,” Ro laughed and pulled out his phone. When he opened Echoline, the most popular social media in Huanglong and beyond, his face fell. “Oh… my… god,” he breathed, pronouncing every word as if it were a full sentence, “No fucking way!”

“What?” Aalto asked, “What is it now?”

“No way!” Ro repeated and flew to his feet, staring at his phone in disbelief.

“What?!” Aalto asked, pushing himself into a more upright position, “Tell me! The suspense is killing me.”

Ro furiously tapped and swiped on his phone. “My favorite band is going on tour for their second album, and they’re playing a show here! In Jinzhou! And… oh my god… It’s on my birthday! Oh my god, I have to be there!”

“Oh hell yeah, congrats,” Aalto said, but he’d lost interest. He knew Ro’s taste in music differed from his own greatly. Aalto liked all kinds of sounds that came out of computers, the less real instruments, the better, as long as the bassline was heavy enough to shake the ground. Ro, on the other hand, liked classic rock and alt punk. Music was one of the things they’d never agree on.

“Ah!” Ro now shrieked in horror, “No! No, that can’t be true!”

“What is it now?” Aalto sighed.

Ro sobbed. “It’s already sold out?! How is that possible? They only went on sale a few hours ago!”

“Damn, those guys must be pretty popular for that to happen.”

“Yeah,” Ro said sadly, “They’re from the New Fed, and this is their first international tour. Fans have been begging for one for years. And now they’re gonna be here, but I won’t be. I’m gonna cry. This is the worst day of my life!”

“From the New Federation?” Aalto asked, “Think I might know them?”

He’d moved to Huanglong from the New Federation a year ago to study business at Jinzhou’s Huaxu Academy that was famous for its excellent courses. And its insultingly low acceptance rate.

“Pfft!” Ro scoffed, “They don’t do your stinky robot music. They got real guitars and drums and vocals that haven’t been fried by ten different filters and overlays.”

“Stinky?!” Aalto asked in offense, “Don’t insult my modern taste like that just ‘cause you’re still stuck in the eighties!”

But Ro wasn’t even listening anymore. “Ahh, the lead singer…” He sighed, “He’s got a voice sent from the heavens, I swear, and he’s just dreamy. They’re all really good, but Cal is just on another level.”

Aalto perked up, grabbing his roommate by the shoulders. “What did you say?”

“That the lead singer is on another level?” Ro asked in confusion.

“No, what did you call him?” Aalto asked and almost shook him, “Cal?”

“Yes,” Ro slowly said, looking at Aalto like he was crazy, “Calcharo. He’s the lead singer of the Ghost Hounds, my favorite band.”

“Holy shit!” Aalto exclaimed and let out a hearty laugh, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re a Ghost Hounds fan sooner?!”

“You know them?” Ro asked in surprise and tilted his head, “Didn’t think that’d be something you’re into.”

Aalto laughed again. “Their music be damned, of course I know them!”

“Huh?” Ro was utterly confused.

Aalto beamed at him when he dropped the mother of all bombshells. “Calcharo is my brother!”

Ro’s jaw dropped and he coughed up an incomprehensible bouquet of word fragments, sputtering and gasping for air. “Wh- B- You… He… B- brother?!”

“Yeah, my big bro!” Aalto confirmed, nodding rapidly, “No way you like his stuff!”

“His stuff is the best stuff ever!” Ro called out, “Between Me and the Devil is my favorite song of all time! I can’t fucking believe you’re Calcharo’s brother! You are, right?! You’re not bullshitting me right now, right?!”

“Hell no!” Aalto denied and pulled out his phone, quickly digging through his gallery and producing a photo he held under Ro’s nose. It was a capture of an older, physical photograph from an album. On it were two boys with the same light hair, both carrying large backpacks. One was significantly taller than the other and showed only a faint smile while his shorter counterpart grinned between both ears and revealed countless gaps in his teeth.  “Look, Dad sent this the other day because he was going through our family albums. It’s my first day of school! Here is me, and there’s Cal. He’s four years older than me.”

Ro’s jaw dropped again. Despite the kid in the picture looking far, far younger - around ten or eleven - it was undoubtedly Calcharo, lead singer of the Ghost Hounds, with his naturally white hair and those pale blue eyes. Looking at Aalto again, the resemblance suddenly hit him. It was almost uncanny. He had the same hair, even styled it similarly with the bangs hanging around the side of his face and the rest of it always combed back, and their face shape was really similar as well, only Aalto’s jaw wasn’t as pronounced as Calcharo’s. And their eyes were different. But despite that, Ro totally bought it.

“That’s crazy!” Ro screeched. “Crazy! Insane!”

“I’m gonna call him,” Aalto said, holding up his phone with his arm stretched out, “and ask him if he can do my bestie a favor and drop some tix.”

Ro gasped, nearly hyperventilating. “No way! You’d do that for me?!”

“Duh!” Aalto said and flicked his forehead, “Means I don’t have to worry about a birthday present for you. Easy win!”

“You rat!” Ro said with a grin, “I’ll love you for the rest of my days if you make that happen.”

“Leave it to me!” Aalto said eagerly, “I’ll call him right now.”

Unfortunately for him, right now was also the moment the doorbell rang incessantly.

“Ooh!” Aalto whistled, “Dinner time!”

He zipped into the hall to accept the food. Ro, meanwhile, held his hand against his mouth so Aalto wouldn’t hear his squeals of joy as he kicked his feet in excitement. This was the best day ever!

A couple days later, Aalto waltzed into Ro’s room unannounced, totally unnoticed by the aforementioned.

Ro was sitting at his desk over the fattest book Aalto had ever seen, headphones over his ears and bobbing his head in the rhythm of his song. Aalto hesitated for a moment and listened in, giggling when he very faintly made out his brother’s voice. Perfect timing.

He tapped Ro’s shoulder, making him let out a startled gasp and whip around.

“Jesus, Aalto!” Ro complained, “You scared me!”

“I got something for you!” Aalto said in a sing-song voice and revealed a nondescript envelope from behind his back.

“For me?” Ro asked and accepted the envelope, opening it as Aalto watched him eagerly.

“It’s something really special. A VIP ticket for the Ghost Hounds gig!”

Ro shrieked and launched himself out of his chair to throw himself into Aalto’s arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He said and hugged him so tightly that the other almost couldn’t breathe, “You’re the best friend ever, Aalto! I love you!”

Aalto let out a nervous chuckle and patted his back. “No problemo. Just played some of my connections. Easy peasy.”

Ro continued hugging and praising him to high heaven, almost making Aalto blush uncomfortably until he could free himself.

“I got a second ticket, actually,” Aalto revealed, “You can have it if there’s someone specific you want to go with, but if you don’t mind, I’ll go with you.”

“Sure! It’s gonna be a ton of fun!” Ro cheered and clasped his hands together but then realized, “Wait, you don’t like the music though.”

“It’s not like I hate it,” Aalto said with a shrug, “Besides, I rarely get to see Cal now that I moved away and he’s always on the road anyway. Gotta hunt him down for a second of his time. Besides…” He showed a sneaky grin. “If I'm there and Cal knows that I'm there, it's only right I introduce you to him and vice versa.”

Ro stared at him like he was a Messiah, then spun and jumped on the spot, cheering, “You are literally the best, Aalto!”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he laughed and watched Ron's victory dance. How endearing that sight was…

That same day, Ro went to his favorite neighborhood stationary store to buy an archaic paper calendar (with motivational quotes and pictures of kittens) for the explicit purpose to mark the date of the concert and his birthday. ‘Ghost Hounds!!!’ The calendar now proudly announced. He counted how many days he'd have to wait. Sixty-nine. Two months and three weeks and a few more days.

The calendar was the first thing to decorate the walls of his room, right next to the window under which his bed stood. A Ghost Hounds poster soon found its spot next to it, the cover art of A Little Calamity, the album his favorite song was on. A second poster followed, this one showing the three band members posing for the camera. Calcharo in front with his bass slung around his shoulders, Encore, who looked laughably short next to him, on his left with her signature red and pink electric guitar, and then a little bit behind them was Mortefi sitting by his drum set. Ro dared to hope that he'd get the poster signed by all three of them. It would be a dream come true.

Every day upon going to sleep, Ro crossed off another day, watching the concert come closer and closer. Two months became six weeks, then four, then two, one week, three days, and finally! The day was there.

It was a Saturday, and despite his immeasurable excitement, Ro had been able to sleep in in preparation for his long night. It was almost noon when Aalto knocked on his door.

“Rise and shine, birthday boy!” He said with a wide grin.

Ro tiredly lifted his head out of his sheets and blinked at him. His hair was a mess, the black strands thoroughly disheveled. He looked like he had about zero idea of where or who he was.

Aalto walked to the bed and crouched next to it to get on eye level with him.

“Gotcha something,” he said and presented a cupcake on his palm, “I didn’t know what you like so I went for red velvet, the classic.”

“Hm?” Ro groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “Cake? For me?”

“Of course!” Aalto said, “Again, it’s your birthday. You know what that means.”

“Birthday,” Ro muttered and turned over to look at his calendar. There were no more days left to cross off. Today was the day. The day marked in red and circled thrice over. ‘Ghost Hounds!!!’

“Holy fuck!” Ro suddenly exploded and pushed his blanket away, practically falling out of his bed, “It’s the day! The day is here! Ghost Hounds!”

“Easy there,” Aalto placated him, “Cake first. Everything else later.”

He presented his cupcake again and Ro smiled, accepting the small pastry. “You’re right. Let’s share.”

“I already had breakfast,” Aalto waved him off and sat in Ro’s desk chair, watching him peel away the paper from the cake and taking a hearty bite, “Good?”

“Sho good,” Ro said with a full mouth, closing his eyes in delight, “Thanks Aalto.”

“You’re welcome.” Aalto grinned and pulled out his phone. “Cal texted me earlier, they made it to Jinzhou and are setting up. What’s the location called again?”

“Dragon’s Nest,” Ro said without hesitation, “Small club downtown. Why did they pick such a small venue, anyway?”

“Cal said they didn’t expect that kinda interest,” Aalto said with a shrug, “Ghost Hounds are almost more famous in Huanglong than in the New Fed.”

“Huh,” Ro said in thought, “Who would’ve guessed.”

“Anything you wanna do on your special day?” Aalto asked, aimlessly spinning in circles on his chair.

Ro shook his head. “I have to mentally prepare. I still can’t believe I’m actually going to see the Ghost Hounds live.”

“Not just see,” Aalto corrected him, “Meet. Thanks to your super special best friend and his premium network.”

Ro squealed.

The two continued casually chatting while Ro answered some happy birthday texts.

“Hey, what are you wearing later?” Ro asked at some point.

Aalto looked down on himself. Blue jeans, plain white t-shirt. “This?” He asked.

“Fair.” Ro nodded and eyed his closet. “Can you help me pick something?”

Aalto sighed, “Sure.”

Ro sent him out of his room and went to shower, then picked out an outfit he always felt comfortable in. Dark blue suit pants and a white button-down. However, when he went into the living room to show off, Aalto only briefly looked up from his phone and said, “Too formal.”

Ro grumbled and went to change. Cargo pants and a way oversized shirt with a graphic print.

“Too casual,” Aalto judged.

“Bruh,” Ro complained, but went back to the drawing board regardless. Next on the list was a pair of shorts and a bright yellow crew neck long sleeve.

“Hmm,” Aalto hesitated for a moment, “That’s gonna make you stand out for sure, but don’t wear shorts to a concert.”

“Why not?” Ro asked, confused.

“I dunno,” Aalto said with a shrug, “Just don’t.”

“Fine,” Ro groaned, and this time he dug deep in his closet to find the clothes he rarely wore and wouldn’t show himself in anywhere. Either because he lacked an occasion or wasn’t comfortable enough to flaunt them. But if not today, then when would he ever?

He walked into the living room again, provocatively asking, “What do you have to say about this, huh?”

Aalto looked him up and down, blinked, looked some more, and finally said, “That’s the one. Damn, Ro.”

Ro did a little spin, smiling timidly. He was donning a sleeveless cotton top with a high collar, black and tight. Not obnoxiously so, but it did show off his figure flatteringly. As did his black jeans, ripped at the knees and thighs, washed out and a bit rugged.

“Glad that that’s settled,” Ro sighed, satisfied.

“Wanna head out?” Aalto asked, “It’s sill a bit early, but we could grab a bite before the show.”

“Sure,” Ro agreed. At this point he was glad for any distraction from the excitement churning his stomach. It felt like his intestines were a bunch of writhing knots and coils, and he felt so incredibly nervous. The only thing that helped was to not think about the gig later, but it was hard, no, impossible not to think about it. He was a mess. An excited, giddy mess.

Aalto tried to make some sort of sensible conversation, but there was no getting through to him. While they ate Panhua’s signature ramen, all Ro could talk about was the concert. What songs would they play? In which order? Aalto knew barely any of their songs so he couldn’t contribute much. Would he laugh at Ro if he sang along out of tune? He promised not to. Would he tell Calcharo how obsessed he was with him? No, of course not. Aalto didn’t want to embarrass his friend. What was Calcharo like, anyway? He’d see, Aalto told him, getting mildly annoyed.

Soon enough it was time to head to the venue. The Dragon’s Nest was a small club with only two floors and a bar in the corner. It often hosted concerts of lesser known bands that weren’t popular enough to fill stadiums, hence the vibe was more personal, intimate, almost.

With their VIP passes, Aalto and Ro could skip the long line in front of the entrance to the club, and they were corralled into an area right in front of the stage, literally the best seats in the house. Except there were no seats. It was standing only. The venue wasn’t packed, but it certainly was more comfortable in the VIP area where they didn’t have to stand shoulder to shoulder with their neighbors. Ro continuously shifted his weight from one foot to the other and kept telling Aalto how crazy this all was and that he couldn’t believe that they were here and it was less than half an hour before the concert was set to begin.

Having enough of his fangirling, Aalto excused himself under the guise of getting drinks for them both, which he actually did, but in reality he just wanted to catch a short break.

Aalto returned just as the lights in the room dimmed, and he almost didn’t find his way back if it weren’t for Ro squealing and raving.

“It’s starting!” He roared and absentmindedly chugged half of the whiskey coke Aalto handed him in one go, “It’s really starting!”

The room was fully dark now, and the crowd grew silent. Then, the first sounds of drums, a light on the left of the stage, and Mortefi, the drummer, under it, already giving his all. Another light, this one on the right-hand side, tracking Encore who gave the crowd a double thumbs up before strumming the first riff on her guitar, and it was one Ro would’ve recognized anywhere.

“That’s Between Me and the Devil!” Ro screamed, grabbing onto Aalto’s arm so hard it hurt, “That’s my favorite song!”

“Wow!” Aalto shouted back, “They’re opening with your favorite song? What a surprise!”

Ro was oblivious to his sarcasm, he was too busy biting on his lips, waiting for the vocals to kick in. Calcharo was still nowhere to be seen, though he already played the bassline, but then…

“Hey! I don’t know where I’m goin’...”

The first line. Ro heard his voice and was ready to faint.

“But you know where I’ve been…”

The central lights finally flared up, shining down on pure white hair and a shiny, ultra-violet bass played by nimble fingers belonging to the revered lead singer.

Aalto noticed Ro grow completely silent by his side and looked over to find him stare upwards, following every single one of Calcharo’s motions, utterly awestruck.

Calcharo finished the first verse, and into an instrumental break said, “Hello Jinzhou!”

The crowd roared.

“How are you doing?”

The crowd screamed.

“Hell yeah!” Calcharo called out, “I know you’ve been waiting for us, and we’re going to make this a night you won't forget! You ready?!”

The crowd thunderously sounded out their approval, and Calcharo took it as a sign to pick up his bass again and pour out his heart into the chorus, with Encore delivering powerful backup vocals and Mortefi going wild on his drums.

Ro’s eyes were swimming in tears of helpless euphoria, and his heart beat to the song that was so special to him. He was pulled into the rapture that was unlike anything he’d ever experienced as he watched the musicians perform their passion turned music. It was an eternity but just a blink at the same time, so much in so few minutes, but still the better part of two hours passed, filled with song after song. For some, Calcharo took a backseat and let Encore have the lead, and she shredded her guitar like no tomorrow, delivering vocals that were so powerful that no one could have guessed they’d come from this pink-haired girl with the small stature.

Mortefi had his chance to shine during the numerous drum solos, and Ro realized they were different from all the recordings he knew. Mortefi was improvising, freestyling live, whipping up new rhythms and tunes on the spot. The chemistry between the band members was impeccable, they complemented each other perfectly, an entirely new whole growing from them as parts.

After playing all songs from First Last Time, the album this tour was meant to honor, as well as many of their fan’s favorites, Calcharo signaled a break and leaned onto the stand of his microphone.

“I know it’s the last thing you want to hear,” he began, his voice slightly hoarse from his extortion, “but we’re through with our planned line-up.”

Sad crowd noises ensued.

“But!” Calcharo sparked hope, “There’s still one thing we gotta do.” He cast his eyes over his eager onlookers that hung to his every word. “A little birdie told me that we have a special guest tonight. Someone here has completed another trip ‘round the sun, and that deserves a celebration, don’t you think?”

Despite barely knowing what he was going on about, the crowd cheered. Ro raised his eyebrows and glanced at Aalto who was trying hard to keep his grinning in check.

“We wanted to keep it a secret for a while longer, but we’re already hard at work on our next album, and you’re the first ever people to get an exclusive first listen of our newest song, Bad News.” Calcharo found Aalto in the first row, then looked over, met Ro’s eyes and pointed at him. And everything else faded away when he said,  “Ro, this one’s for you!”

Ro stopped feeling the ground beneath his feet, stopped smelling the sweat of so many bodies moving as one, stopped hearing the crowd going absolutely wild for the last time. He  could only perceive the beat of Mortefi’s drums, the hum of Calcharo’s bass, and the tune Encore strummed on her guitar. And he only saw him.

“You’ve heard the rumors

I know they’re pretty bad

The only thing worse than the rumors

Are the cold heart facts

I ain’t no angel

But maybe you like it like that…”

Maybe Calcharo wasn’t an angel, but he looked like one, surrounded by the colorful flood lights reflecting off his hair, painting a halo around him. And Ro did like it like that. It was one of the best sights of his life.

“Mama told me

I always was a problem child

But Lord knows I never had a problem getting wild

I know some back roads, baby

If you wanna get lost for a while…”

Ro did want to get lost. Or maybe he already was. Lost in the performance, lost in the rush of watching Calcharo and his band go all out for a final time this night. He almost forgot to take notice of the song that was fast-paced and energetic like all Ghost Hounds songs but still felt like a different flavor, a new spin on everything their fans loved most.

“I'm bad news

I bet you heard about that

Yeah, I'm bad news and bad news travels fast

Hey!”

The Chorus shook the ground, or maybe it was the jumps of the crowd moving in sync, encouraged by Calcharo who raised his arms and walked around on stage, hopping and dancing with way more energy than he should have had left over after two hours of exerting himself like that.

Ro stood still through it all, wholly in disbelief that this was supposedly for him, out of all these people. This global premiere was dedicated to him, and it made tears stream down his face while he grinned from ear to ear. This was the best night of his life. Period.

The Ghost Hounds delivered the rest of the song and ended it to thunderous applause.

“Thank you, Jinzhou!” Calcharo called and bowed, “You were fucking amazing! We’ll be back for sure, but for now, take care, get home safe, and always, always keep your fangs sharp!”

Under more cheers and roars, the stage went dark, and when the lights in the room came back on, Calcharo, Mortefi, and Encore were gone.

---

All lyrics and song titles are from the real life band Ghost Hounds. Go listen to them if you like what you read here.

AO3 link to the whole fic

[kilikrungpotmeister]

3 Years Too Late

Ao3: Link

<prev Chapter 15 next>

All four of the Spartio members stood in silence after hearing the shaman speak. They stared at her like deers in the headlights as the room buzzed with her electricity.

“Thunder honey-“ Kim tried to say before the shaman sharply cut her off

“Don’t honey me!” Thunder growled, “that man just now was Kilik wasn’t it?”

The group went silent once more. With Thunder so railed up they wanted to avoid her having a melt down. They all tried to formulate what they should say, that is except for Harver. Before any of the others could speak, the lightning spear stood up and walked over to Thunder, standing between her and the rest of the twins’ guardians. “Yes it was.” He said in a matter of fact tone.

One could almost hear the shock from the rest of the team after he said that. But none of them made a sound or any sudden movement, least they’d have to deal with Thunder losing the mother of all lightning bolts in their direction.

“Then why did you let him leave?” She growled, the buzzing getting louder, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“We were ordered to and to keep you two in the dark for now,” Harvar replied flatly, as if unafraid of the possibility of getting electrocuted, “he had actually been given orders to not make contact for now. Him meeting Fire, meeting us was an accident.”

“An accident?! He played dead for three fucking years and just popped back up out of nowhere on the anivarsary of his death was an accident?” She asked, growing more visibly aggravated. At this point you wouldn’t need any tools to feel the charge growing in the room. “The asshole sent Fire into a mental breakdown because of it and all he fucking does is run away?”

“It’s complicated,” Harver said.

“What’s there to be complicated?!” Thunder responded, “the prick obviously wants to comeback into our lives again as is he never fucking left. Like the deadbeat he is.”

“Thunder it’s no-“ Jackie tried to interject but got quickly silenced by a bolt of electricity hitting the ceiling having arched out of the girl's body.

“How long have you all known?” She asked her teeth clenched. She would never admit it but it was obvious to Harver that tears had started welling up in her eyes. From how Harver was standing the other guardians couldn’t see this.

Harver couldn’t blame her, this must’ve felt like a betrayal to her and her brother, keeping them in the dark about all this. Truth be told the only reason they didn’t fight to have them there was out of sheer shock of the situation.

“Just a few moments ago, when we saw him trying to bring Fire here. Fire had lashed out at him and overused his energy.” Harver continued to reply in his characteristically straightforward tone. “and Kidd only really confirmed it was him earlier today. This was a surprise to all of us.”

“A surprise to all of you? you expect me to believe that?” Thunder asked, almost laughing as she said that raising an arm up to Harver.

“I have no reason to lie?” Harver said, raising her arms, “go on, if it’ll make you feel better.”

The buzzing grew louder, sounding as if Thunder was actually thinking of losing a bolt at the older weapon.

“Thunder don’t do this!” Ox shouted only to be stopped by the lighting spear raising his hand.

Harver stood unmoving even as the other three started to grow worried his expression was as solid as a rock.

“Rrrrraaa!” The girl screamed as she whipped her arm down and instead sent the bolt down into the ground leaving a brand new black scorch mark on the concrete floor. She knew they weren’t to blame for all this, they were as shocked about Kilik’s return as she was.

“So what now? He’s just going to hide away from us?” Thunder asked, her tears starting to fall, “and we’re just supposed to pretend we don’t know? Pretend that he’s still dead?”

“We don’t really have a plan honestly.” Harver said, his tone growing slightly softer. He’d step closer to the lightning shaman and gently hugged her, holding her close to let her shed her tears in private. With his habit of putting on a cold front he knew better than the shamans’ other guardians what it’s like to try to bury one’s emotions. A habit he thought he had passed on to Thunder.

Be it out of tiredness from what has happened today or genuine emotion, it was an offer she did not refuse. The shaman would rest her forehead against Harver’s chest.

Why is all this happening now? The lightning shaman thought to herself. She was just so confused, unsure about what she’s actually feeling and what she should do now.

“Kidd is trying to figure out what actually happened to him,” Harver explained, “ And figure out a way to properly break the news to everyone. But if you wish to confront Kilik yourself, Kidd should know where he is currently being housed. You can ask Kidd and We can see him tomorrow.”

“Wait Harver you sure about that-“ Ox tried to interject.

“She deserves to know if she wants to,” the lightning spear responded in a kert tone, “She and her brother, among all of us deserves the chance to confront him and get answers for the last three years. Be it a good reason or know, they deserve to know why he abandoned them.”

The other three guardians just stood in silence. They couldn’t deny that Harver was right. Though they still think things would end badly, the twins did deserve to get an explanation out of their adoptive father.

The lightning spear would take a breath and turn back to the younger weapon. He’d gently pat her head. “Remember, we’re here for you Sparky,” he said, “and we aren’t going anywhere.”

Thunder would nod. Her mind raced too fast for her to formulate a proper response. She quickly rubbed the tears from her eyes.

“Either way, it’s late, we all should have a rest, including you,” Harver said, taking a step back from the shaman, “resonating with your brother could not have been easy. I’m proud you were able to do it.”

“You can sleep in Kim and my room for tonight,” Jackie said, “we’ll be taking turns in monitoring Fire’s condition. We’ll call Stein and Marie over tomorrow to give him a proper check up.”

“Thanks Aunt Jackie but if it’s all the same to you, I prefer the couch.” Thunder said her tone softer now, a hint of remorse in her tone but an unmissable fragility to it. She really didn’t know what to do now. It fells at if a stray breeze would set her off into another melt down. But she knew she couldn’t let herself do that she knew her outburst earlier put the four of her guardians on edge. Thankfully their apartment had been reinforced to handle their meltdowns. But still, it isn’t a fun experience having to either fight a wild fire or lightning storm in the confines of an apartment.

“If that’s what you want dear.” Kim nodded respecting the shaman’s wishes. The witch would go over to her and give her a gentle kiss on the forehead before heading back to the Twins’ room in an almost automatic movment. Thunder could tell somthing was on the witches mind, something was bothering her.

Jackie on the other hand went to get some blankets while Thunder went to get the couch ready for her to sleep on.

Everyone stayed rather quiet and to themselves. Much like Thunder none of them really knew what to do other than watching over the twins. After all that’s happened it would be a surprise if any of them continued to act like they’re usual selves. What does one do when finding out a long dead friend has miraculously come back to life?

Once everyone settled down Thunder flopped onto the couch, laid down and facing the ceiling. Taking a long slow breath as she felt herself sink into the cushion of the couch. Staring at the ceiling, she tried to figure out what she had to do next. Even if she did go after Kilik, what is she going to say to him? Was she gonna attack him? Punish him for making them suffer for the past 3 years. Take revenge on what he had caused to Fire.

She had only caught a glimpse of the man as he left, but she could tell something was different about him. To top that off there was something bothering Kim as well.

With a sigh she pulled the blanket over her head and closed her eyes. She wouldn’t admit it to her guardians but she had started getting dizzy. From resonating with her brother then her outburst earlier, the barely had energy to think of what she’d need to do tomorrow. But what she knew for certain was that she wasn’t gonna let Kilik get away again.

[backtothefanfiction]

The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter Sixteen: From Friends to Enemies

Summary: The Vulture crashes Felicia's wake.

Warnings: 18+ Only, genre typical content, wake/funeral, grief, angst, knife, threat, betrayal, complicated marriage

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: We may be coming to the end of this story but there's room for one more grenade... or should I say pumpkin bomb... This is a slightly shorter chapter but still packs quite the punch with its ending. I hope you enjoy!

SIXTEEN

The moment Peter walked into the Huntsman the energy was palpable. He wondered for a moment if the sudden silence was brought on by his arrival, but as he turned the corner past the central bar to their usual private booth and seating area, it became very clear what was causing the tension. Harry.

He was clearly drunk, his eyes bloodshot, his body swaying back and forth slightly as he squared up to the much taller Hobie. “I’m his right hand man, not you!” Harry spat. “You didn’t even know Felicia.”

“Come on Harry, calm down. Let’s go outside and get some air.” Eddie said, coming up beside the younger man. 

“No!” Harry said as he shrugged him off when Eddie tried to usher him backwards and away from Hobie, who was trying to keep his composure.

“You’re drunk, Osborn. Go take a break before you do something you can’t take back.” Hobie said calmly through a face like thunder.

“Don’t talk to me like you know me, man.” Harry said. “You have no idea what I’ve done. What I’m capable of.”

“Oh really, Osborn.” Ben said, stepping up to stand at Hobie’s side.

“I could take you any day, Reilly.” Harry threatened pushing forward, Eddie quickly reaching a hand out to hold Harry back.

“What the fuck is going on here?!” Peter said commandingly, making everyone stop and stare at him.

“Ahh Parker. It seems Osborn here’s had a bit too much to drink and is getting a little too big for his boots.” Hobie replied.

“If anyone’s stepping in things they shouldn’t and getting too big for their boots it's you!” Harry spat at Hobie.

“HARRY!” Peter said commandingly. “Take a walk and cool off man. We’re all friends here.” He said, placing a hand on his number two’s shoulder. Harry begrudgingly rolled his shoulder out from Peter’s touch but began to back down.

“You’re not my boss.” Harry threw out to Hobie as he began to walk away, his fingers reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.

“I’ll go make sure he’s okay.” Eddie said to Peter as he followed after Harry.

The moment Harry left the tension dissipated enough for the other patrons and wake attendees to once again begin their chattering. Peter ran an exasperated hand through his hair as he looked to the bar and then back to Hobie. He needed to deal with this but having a drink and checking out was looking more and more appealing by the second. 

“Angel get home okay?” Hobie asked, trying to diffuse the tension and move on.

“Yeah, it's just-” Peter sighed instead of finishing his sentence, his hand with his absentee wedding ring rubbing over his face. Although he’d had a couple pints, Hobie was still vigilant and recognised the sudden absence of the ring, but before he could push Peter about it he was changing the subject. “What the fuck was that all about?” The slightly younger gentleman asked as he used his body language to encourage Hobie to follow him towards the bar. “Whisky.” Peter ordered with the bar man, holding two fingers up as he leaned against the top, before turning back to Hobie.

“I don’t know, Peter man. Dude’s been simmering away in the corner for the last hour and then apparently I said something about Felicia he didn’t like and he snapped.”

“What did you say?” 

“I made a small speech about how important she was to the team and that she’d be missed and he just flipped his lid. There’s something not right about him. Did they have a thing or something?”

“No?” Peter frowned. He was pretty sure nothing had gone on between Harry and Felicia, but knowing how both of them were he wouldn’t have been surprised if they had had a couple hook ups; but there never seemed like there was anything serious between them. 

“I don’t know man. Something’s really got him rattled.” Hobie said as he took his own glass of whisky off the bar top. Peter sighed as he looked down to his own drink, hanging his head in mild defeat. “Anyway man, what’s going on with you? You don’t seem like you’re faring much better? Is it Angel?” Hobie asked.

Peter took a long hit of his drink before he could even look to Hobie to talk about this. “I don’t even know anymore. Miguel says we are better together but…” he sighed once more rubbing a hand across the side of his face, “It never used to be this hard you know.”

“She’s a tough nut.” Hobie said starting to relax, hoping his vibe would rub off on his partner. “Kinda has to be considering everything that's happened to her over the years.”

“Yeah, but she’s just… different now. She’s shooting guns and getting in on interrogations and she’s…” Peter’s words trailed off as he struggled to find the words.

“She’s better than you at it.” Hobie jokes. Peter flashes Hobie a look out of the corner of his eye that wipes the smile on Hobie’s face clean off before it has fully formed.

“Uuuuhhhgg.” Peter groans as he dips his head to try and compose himself again, his hands leaning wide against the bar top. He looks up to the ceiling, willing his control to return but it’s getting harder and harder for him. He’s stuck in a gang war he never wanted, his marriage is completely falling apart, he’s just lost one of his closest friends and now Harry was acting extra rebellious. He threw back the last of his drink, his head turning towards the picture of Felicia placed on top of the bar.  ‘You’d know what to do right now.’ Peter thought to himself as he looked at her.

“It’s gonna be alright man. We’ll get through this, you’ll see.” Hobie tried to reassure him, but before Peter could find hope in Hobie’s words the door to the Huntsman flew open, the shadow of a figure pausing in the doorway for extra effect.

“Sorry man, this is a closed event.” Carl said loudly over to the guy. Instead of heeding the warning, the man stepped further into the bar, the door slamming closed behind him.

Peter and Hobie slowly stepped around the side of the bar to investigate as the bar grew silent in recognition.

“You’ve got some real nerve coming in here.” Hobie threatened as he came face to face with The Vulture.

“Easy does it Luther,” Tommes said, likening Hobie to the gritty fictional British detective, “I just came to pay my respects.”

“I don’t think you can pay respects when you’re the one who butchered her.” Hobie said, stepping up to him, whipping out a pocket knife as he got in Tommes’ face. “Tell me why I shouldn’t carve you up like you did her.” He said, raising the knife to Adrian’s face.

Toomes laughed. “Now if you do that, you won’t hear what I have to say about his lovely wife.”

Peter’s face fell as he stepped forward, a hand outstretched to lower Hobie’s arm away from the Vulture’s face. “You know, she’s quite the little firecracker that one. I see why you married her.” Toomes continues to taunt, not looking away from Hobie until he begins to back away and give him some space again. “Thank you.” He says as he brushes down his clothes as if he’s wiping off Hobie’s energy from him.

“Where is my wife?” Peter says threateningly, that unconscious need to protect her despite everything going on kicking in. “What have you done-”

“Oh I haven’t done anything. She came to me actually. Did you know we’ve been texting?” Adrian taunts as he holds up his phone and gives it a little shake in Peter’s face, causing Peter to bristle. “As for where she is now?... Well the last time I checked I think she was packing up her bags and making a call about a jet. Just thought I’d let you know.”

Hobie’s hands reached out to grab Adrian’s jacket, squaring up to his face, but Peter wasn’t paying attention; he was already moving for the door. He couldn’t let her leave. He couldn’t even begin to start unpacking everything Toomes had said. 

“Miguel, keys!” He commanded when he saw him stood with Eddie having a cigarette. Miguel was taken aback for a moment. “KEYS. NOW!” Peter shouted. Miguel quickly reached into his inside pocket and tossed the keys to him.

“Pete? What’s going on?” Eddie tried to ask. “Pete?!”

Peter ignored them climbing into the drivers seat of the car, starting the engine. He almost caused an accident as he hastily pulled into traffic, tires screeching and horns blaring but he didn’t care, he had to get to her. Had to stop her.

--

Peter didn’t even shut the engine off as he skidded to a stop and immediately got out of the car, the driver's door left wide open as he raced to get into the apartment building. He took the stairs two at a time, not wanting to waste time waiting for the elevator. 

“ANGEL!” He shouted as he burst into the penthouse apartment. “ANGEL!!!” He shouted even louder as he began to race upstairs to the bedroom.

The doors to the bedroom were left wide open. He stopped, spinning in place as he quickly surveyed the room. He noticed certain items were missing and quickly raced to the wardrobe. He froze, his stomach churning as he was met with the sight of the now half empty wardrobe, certain items of clothing still strewn across the floor indicating she had packed hastily. SHIT! He couldn’t just let her leave, not again.

He began to race back out of the room and down the stairs to the open plan living space, his hand racing for his phone as he began to search through his contacts. That’s when he noticed it, her ring next to his on the kitchen counter. He slowly began to walk towards it, his fingers reaching for it when-

“I’m sorry Pete.” Harry’s voice came from behind him before there was a blow to his head and everything went black.

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

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[minhyuuk]

who’s crying now // rockteez!seongjoong

⇀ genre: au, band fic, rockstars, music, general

⇀ word count: 1.7k

⇀ tw: explicit language

⇀ summary: Hongjoong won't sit back and let pretty-boy lead singer Seonghwa rip off his band's music. 

“What do you mean they covered it? That’s our cover. It’s our finishing act!” Hongjoong asked between exasperated breaths. Those fuckheads, he couldn’t believe they would pull something like this. It was a slap in the face. The Guerrillas were known for their rendition of Died in Your Arms by Cutting Crew. It was a classic that they rebranded for shits and giggles one day in the studio and it became a hit. The song was incorporated into their setlist faster than Hongjoong could strum.

Across town, their rivals named the ‘Pirate Kings’ were performing for their nationwide tour. The Guerrillas weren’t as popular as Pirate Kings but still garnered enough attention. Enough attention for Pirate Kings to rip off the very cover that launched them into relevance. The Guerrillas were finishing up their own concert and stepped behind the curtains to hydrate and freshen up before sending their fans on their way. San had checked his phone and noticed a flurry of messages informing him of the rival band stealing their thunder at a venue only 15 minutes away.

“I’m not surprised, Seonghwa loves the attention and he’ll do anything to get it. On the night of both our shows? Half of our fans are already over at their concert. Shit…” San’s head hung low and morale dipped among the exhausted rock group.

Jongho, their main singer, sat on the couch in defeat. He didn’t have any reason to feel more upset than Hongjoong. Hongjoong was their main guitarist and the lead vocal for their Cutting Crews cover. It was a slap in the face to all of them, but mostly him. Pirate Kings couldn’t stand to see a smaller band grow, could they? It was a stunt Hongjoong knew was the brainchild of their fame-obsessed lead singer, Seonghwa, who paraded his good looks and whiny voice around stage.

“We’ll cover Journey.”

One of Yunho’s drumsticks fell from his palm, “What?”

“If they wanna cover our covers, we’ll cover theirs. We cover Separate Ways as a big, you know, like a big ‘fuck you’ and then …” Hongjoong wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

“And then?” San interjected, curious but not necessarily shooting down the thought.

“And then… Well, it might be the best or worst thing we’ll ever do.”

“We have five minutes to decide on something.” Jongho swiped at the perspiration on his forehead and grabbed his mic.

Hongjoong bit his lip. Fuck. He wasn’t lying when he said it could be the best or worst thing. If they were targeted by Pirate Kings for ripping off their cover, their contracts would be over. The band’s reputation would plummet and they’d have to work twice as hard to get to where they are now, let alone any higher…However, if it worked out… If their spontaneous revenge cover of Journey went anything like Cutting Crew…They’d earn some bragging rights and maybe even a few record deal offers.

And much to Hongjoong’s initial chagrin, he could rub the prominence right in the face of Pirate King’s Park Seonghwa.

“I’m down.” Yunho held his drumsticks out in between the four of them. San sighed and placed his hand over top. Nervously, Jongho stood up and joined. The three of them stared at Hongjoong expectantly.

“If you fuck this up for us, I’m NEVER going to karaoke with you again.” San laughed despite his shaky nerves. It wasn’t a question of whether or not they could play the cover or play it well, they knew they could do this. The implications of stealing their thunder back were what tempted reconsideration. Plus, losing karaoke night was a threat Hongjoong didn’t heed lightly.

“Let’s go show Pirate Kings whose ass they can kiss!” Hongjoong slapped his hand down on the circle and the four of them yelled ‘Guerrillas!’ in unison. The lights on the stage cued their entrance, the crowd going wild in the sudden darkness. Fans of The Guerrillas were few and far between but as loyal as they come. Their screams welcomed the rock band back onto the platform for their encore. Hongjoong and Jongho took center stage to prepare for the song. All the members exchanged a look of “here goes nothing” before they were illuminated.

“We’re gonna do something a bit differently tonight, is that alright?” Jongho asked the crowd rather formally, to which they replied in screams of confusion and excitement. “We’ve got some news that a band down the street took some inspiration from our classic rock covers…” He paused for dramatic effect. Some of the audience cheered, a majority booed, others remained completely ignorant.

“And we thought that in order to repay the honor we’d cover one of their pieces. I’m sure we’ve all heard ‘Separate Ways’ covered by the lovely Pirate Kings, it’s good, isn’t it?” His sarcasm was hard not to laugh at. Jongho was fronting the last minute decision as if he planned it himself and Hongjoong gazed at the singer admirably.

“But what about ‘Separate Ways’ covered by us? For this show only, we will be skipping our ‘Died In Your Arms’ rendition- I know, I know. Think of it as a ‘once in a lifetime’ experience?”

San chipped in at the mic while fixing his bass strap, “Promise me, you won’t want to miss out on this. You guys are recording, right?” His wink swayed the indifferent crowd in the right direction and they began to cheer. It might have also been because between sets the bassist managed to lose half his clothes.

To prevent them from sidetracking, Yunho began to kick a steady rhythm onto the bass drum to build the crowd’s anticipation.

Hongjoong strummed the infamous synthesizer opening onto his guitar. In an egotistical stroke, he stepped up to his mic and yelled into the crowd, “Take this, Pirate Kings!”

The music radiated from the stage in a wicked energy laced with revenge and the song’s undeniable notoriety. They were doing it, they were covering Separate Ways and no matter the amount of anxiety that ran through Hongjoong’s body, he wasn’t stopping. He was meant to play music. He was meant to be on stage to rile a crowd and play his heart out. No one was going to take that from him or his bandmates. Especially not over a Journey song.

Jongho took out his earpiece, not needing it for the anthem. He found his voice in the opening words of the song which gained more cheers from the crowd than he was expecting. The camera flashes and the sea of phones being held up stunned him. This really might have been the best thing they’ve ever done.

“Here we stand worlds apart, hearts broken in two...two…two,”

The crowd was electrified. Whatever the repercussions of this moment were drowned out to the sound of a bellowing theater begging for more. Hongjoong strummed on his guitar in a Journey-induced ecstasy. This is how music was supposed to make people feel. It was meant to tickle you from head to toe, to make you feel rebellious, daring, free… Alive. When he glanced at his band, their eyes were all closed to latch onto the moment’s bliss. Canceling one sense to heighten another. They played on. When his time arrived Hongjoong pressed his lips into the mic and belted out to his heart’s content the chorus:

“Someday, love will find you. Break those chains that bind you. One night will remind you how we touched and went our separate ways!”

The music carried them to the end of the song. The bass drum’s beat cascaded like the heartbeat of a wave throughout the building. Hongjoong was unable to recall how long they played the refrain after the singing had finished. It felt like a crime to end the song with the crowd’s reaction only increasing. However, to give the members a rest, they lifted their hands off their instruments and followed Jongho to finish off the song in another round of a capella.

The holler from the audience tore the air asunder in a roar. The Guerrillas had concluded their concert with more pomp and circumstance than they ever had imagined. Their energy had made an irrefutable shift and it was palpable. More palpable than the sweat that dripped of Hongjoong’s cheek into his mouth and more intense than the spotlights that blinded his tired eyes. They were meant to make it big, even if it meant making a few enemies along the way. They were The Guerrillas, who could stop them?

Twenty minutes passed of the band waving and bowing to their fans, catching thrown gifts, dancing and singing until their feet burned. Off-stage Jongho noticed the group's manager ushering to them while holding up a phone screen. He was attempting to beckon the rock stars over after their departure from the stage. Judging by the shaking green phone icon, someone was calling the manager. Riding off the high, the members shook each other in anticipation. Was it a major record company? Was it the local news channel asking for an interview? Who was on the other end of that line that promised everything the four of them had ever dreamed of?

“Hongjoong, you take it. Tonight was your idea.” San laughed like a drunk man. He was elated.

Backstage they huddled around the phone and leaned in together. Hongjoong wiped away some beads of sweat before pressing the screen and holding the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this The Guerrillas?”

“Yes, this is Kim Hongjoong.”

“I’d like to speak with you about your performance tonight.”

Yunho and San stomped their feet, hyping each other up in unhinged excitement.

Hongjoong calmed them and kept his cool, “Of course, can I ask who is calling?”

Seconds melted into decades once Hongjoong’s question rolled off his tongue. The joy didn’t seem to end even as the sky’s limit was reached and they continued to soar. Whoever it was, Hongjoong would marry them. He was going to repay the person by placing a big, fat diamond ring on their finger. His dreams were coming true. Sold out stadiums, merchandise, photoshoots, studios with thousand dollar equipment. He could make the music he loved with his three most beloved friends in the entire universe. All he had to do was wait for a reply before he could pop the big question.

The speaker crackled and all four hearts stopped.

“This is Park Seonghwa, we need to talk.”

-----

this work is also posted on my ao3 so it is not stolen and the pic at the top is not mine so i do not take credit // tags: @thesafecafe​

[jodilin65]

I woke up for a few minutes with a tickle in my throat which caused a coughing fit but I don’t think this had anything to do with sleep apnea. Then thunder woke me up after a little over 6.5 hours of sleep. Tom said the loud thunder actually started an hour before I was woken up.

I was tired but it could have been worse. I wonder if I would have felt worse without the mouthguard. I’m pondering whether, had I not woken up coughing and if the storm hadn’t disturbed my sleep, an extra hour or two of rest might have left me feeling refreshed.

My jaw was a little sore when I got up and I briefly considered skipping a night with the mouthguard but I don’t want to be tired again tomorrow if this thing is really helping me. I want to get on with the testing and find out for sure. It looks like there aren’t going to be any storms for the next week so I should get enough days of testing.

Shortly before midnight last night, I knew my sleep was doomed when I checked the hourly weather. Usually, they push storm times out to be later than first expected but they didn’t push the time out but increased the likelihood instead.

Again I wonder how bad this summer is going to be. A thought ran through my mind; if there is anything up there actually cursing my sleep, then if the mouthguard is helpful, it’s going to throw more storms at me and other things to fuck with my sleep.

Ray said hi to Tom the other day and he was the one to speak first. Maybe he’s sexist, although to be fair, Ray didn’t see me when he was hosing his place down. His back was toward me when I said hello.

A nurse will pay me to come to the house to take my vitals, go over medications, and make sure everything’s nice and safe. It’s a one-time thing. Not sure if it’s because I’m older or just part of my insurance plan.

Getting really sick of having to call other countries to get help in my own country. Had to call the insurance company to make sure I really was eligible for them to pay me $100 to come out to the house. After dealing with yet another hard-to-understand accent, I scheduled an appointment for the 26th. Of course, she too, will be a foreigner.

When I was a kid I hardly saw foreigners and now it seems like every other person isn’t from here. If they could just adopt our accent it wouldn’t be so bad although the more people we have coming over here, the more it still hogs our resources and takes jobs from the people from here.

Even though the GYN I saw is also not from here (at least I don’t think she is even though she barely had an accent) I liked her better than Dr. D and would like to switch to seeing her. Dr. T was much gentler, told me everything she was doing, and it didn’t hurt as much. She said I definitely have moderate to severe atrophy but didn’t feel anything else going on. She did, however, see a yellow discharge. As soon as she said that my mind immediately went to a bacterial infection since yeast is usually white and that’s what she said she thought it was. She took a swab and even a urine sample which I had no problem providing to see if the WBCs that I told her had been elevated in past samples were still up there or not.

When we got back I ate and tried to nap but couldn’t. I’m in a great mood, just tired. I’m glad this appointment is over and that I went after all if I really have an infection or something I need treatment for. As I told her, I haven’t felt any burning for a few weeks now. We never discussed an estrogen-based cream which I’m hesitant to use anyway. A fingertip full of Replens or something similar should do the trick as long as I’m consistent.

Tom got a text message when we got home saying that amoxicillin had been called into the pharmacy but then it was canceled. I guess they decided it would be best to wait for the results of the tests rather than jump the gun and assume anything.

Passed an accident on the way down, as usual. I still can’t believe how common accidents are here. Someone got rear-ended and the person was on a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance. The back corner of their car had a lot of damage.

That’s two appointments in a row I was tired for so hopefully I’ll be more awake when I see the ENT on the 23rd.

We still have to make the appointment for the eye specialist which I’m guessing will be male and foreign. Another thing I noticed early on is that most of the doctors are male here unlike in Cali and I wonder if that has anything to do with this not being a great place to live. At least the cost of living is lower and the weather is warmer. Not as warm as I’d like in the winter but it’s definitely an improvement over NorCal.

Dr. D isn’t sick and didn’t have an accident. She’s having a baby. She must be a high-risk pregnancy to take that much time off unless she just wants to spend the first few months of its life with it. Nothing against her but I hope to see Dr. T the next time I need to go. Dr. D just wasn’t as friendly or gentle. Loved the nails and sparkly eyeshadow Dr. T had on as well. I could tell that like me, she has a thing for bright colors and shiny things. The most important thing is finding out exactly what I have and treating it. More than likely, the Norovirus did end up infecting me after all. I wonder if the dream I had a few weeks ago about being swept out to sea had anything to do with today’s appointment.

Arizona reverting to the Draconian laws of 160 years ago doesn’t shock, sadden or anger me as these things would when they first started happening. Again, if you don’t want your rights taken away then don’t vote Republican! The people got what they voted for. Sure, there are some people that think like I do but I seem to be becoming more and more of a minority.

Damn, it’s windy out there! Can’t imagine why since the storm passed hours ago. Still don’t see any rain or storms predicted through the 20th but I know these things can creep up on us. I love listening to the wind and wind chimes. We got tornado warnings on our phones earlier in the day, too.

Not all news is bad. OJ croaked from cancer! Here’s where I hope the two-time murderer is being tortured in hell if such a place exists. I don’t know if it does but I know he was guilty as fuck. Just the way he ran was confession enough and I don’t doubt for a minute that like Michael Jackson, he didn’t get off because he was rich, famous, and innocent. He got off because he was black and the judge knew that if he convicted the bastard, the LA riots of 1992 would repeat themselves all over again. So he only got off to spare innocent people from being hurt.

Remembering that it’s CampNano month, I checked into the Nano site and it’s just so sad because I miss Aly so damn much. Her account is still there of course. All my projects from 2011 forward are there too, but I can’t see myself returning because it’s just not the same without her. On the 17th, she would have been 43.

In better news, throw asparagus tips in the oven for 5 minutes at 425° and it’s great! I sprayed it with oil first and I’m really coming to like this olive/avocado oil, too.