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javierpena-inatacvest · 2 months ago

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Chapter 1- Jello at Your Front Door

Summary: 15 years ago, a football and a boy four doors down makes your move to Florida a little more bearable. Now, you're not quite sure how to feel when you find out he's shown up back at home unannounced

Word Count: 5.5K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n, Frankie has a nickname for reader)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, meeting Frankie for the first time, cute, awkward baby Frankie, a football throw Santi will never forgive you for

A/N: ... Hey.... How y'all doin'.... Remember when I said I was gonna start a different Frankie series months ago? I hope you humbly accept this as my official formal apology for not being able to get my shit together, as I present this offering to you instead 🙂 I started writing this 24 hours ago and I legitimately couldn't stop, so here we are??? I know this is a different style that what I normally write, but here's to trying new things (and hopefully finishing them). I hope you guys enjoy 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Next Chapter

You, Present

“Frankie’s home.”

You weren’t really sure how to comprehend how the combination of those two words would be one of the worst sucker punches you’d taken to your gut in the better part of the last decade.

As the sentence replayed over and over in your head, you could think of any other combination of two words that would have scared you less.

“Hurricane’s coming.”

“Bomb’s dropping.”

“World‘s ending.”

In a universe where things make sense, the response these would elicit from the average person would be reasonable, rational even. When you’ve been given a warning about the way two words have the potential to alter your reality, you can’t help but panic.

But today, you’ve woken up in a universe where things don’t make sense.

And what’s worse is, you didn’t even get a warning.

The statement shouldn’t have shaken you as much as it did. When you’d seen his truck parked in the driveway four houses down, you knew it had to be him. Anyone else in the world would be caught dead driving the barley mobile piece of metal he’d been traveling in for the better part of 20 years. But Frankie Morales was not anyone else. He’d drive that damn car until the wheels fell out underneath him.

It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gotten in a stubborn stare down with his 1989 maroon Chevrolet Silverado. You had a sneaking suspicion that today wouldn’t be your last.

“Why is Fr- Why is he back?”

You hadn’t intended for your tone to be so bitter, but the taste of Frankie’s name on the tip of your tongue left a taste in your mouth so sour, you wanted to recoil into yourself.

“Why do you think?” It was clear your mother had no interest in playing into your game of cruel intentions, barely paying you any mind as she glanced out the window, unphased by the looming presence in the Morales’s driveway, “You should go say hello.”

“No thanks, I’m not a fan of purposely ruining the rest of my day.” You don’t mean for your eyes to roll as far back into your head as they do, but you can’t help it. At this point it seems like an innate, programmed response. Simply the thought of Frankie Morales was enough to dampen your mood; an intentional confrontation was the last thing you needed.

“You’re going to have to see him at some point, you know. Can’t hide from him the whole time he’s here.”

Your mom hadn’t even given you the chance to rebuttal, disappearing from your bedroom to leave you to stew in your own resentment, because she knew as well as you that it was pointless to fight back.

At some point, you’d have to face Frankie. Today, you’d stick to hiding.

You, Summer of 1999, Age 11

26 total hours trapped in a U-Haul with your family and every item you’d ever owned was not the way you had planned to spend your last week of summer before starting middle school. You’d hoped that the nearly 3 day journey from Michigan to Florida would be long enough to help you cope with your distress. Unfortunately, you weren’t shocked that cramped quarters and unclear driving directions in the midst of uprooting your life wasn't doing much to lighten your mood.

Your parents had promised you the move would be worth it. That starting a new life halfway across the country would be good for your family. You weren’t quite sure what positives Florida posed to you, but even at the ripe age of 11, it didn’t take a genius to realize that “starting over somewhere new” was code for “trying to keep your dad alive.”

The doctors back home were thrilled to tell you about the new, potentially life saving treatment for his rapidly progressing colon cancer. You were thrilled too, until that new, life saving treatment meant moving 1,300 miles from home.

Not once did you protest- keeping your dad a living, breathing part of your life was better than having to say goodbye to your best friends, but it still didn’t mean every mile you drove further and further south down I-75 was another grain of salt in your freshly open wound.

Your parents had tried to incentivise you with all the joys that Florida would have to bring- warm, sunny weather, beaches, being a 3 hour drive away from Disney world, a bigger house, the list went on and on. And while you knew one day you’d find joy in the rewards you’d reap from your sacrifice, you had a feeling that day wouldn’t be coming any time soon.

It took too many movers to count to finally get your new house to resemble what was supposed to be a home. There was something so unsettling about seeing your furniture reassembled into unfamiliar corners of a place you’d never been. Even the things that were supposed to feel familiar and comforting now felt distant and foreign, scrambled in the walls of your new residence like a child who had shaken up a box of their favorite toys and dumped them out on the ground, leaving behind a mess for someone else to clean up.

The only solace you could seem to find in the wave of chaos that had washed over your life was the view outside your bedroom window. A quiet escape, perfectly positioned to watch the warm rays of sunset fade behind the rooftops, the night slowly shifting into shades of black and blue as your eyelids became heavy.

Each night as you drifted to sleep, you dreamt about the ways you could be saved from the lonely island you were trapped on. A sole survivor begging to be found. You tossed and turned in the sea of your twisted bedsheets, crying out that there would be someone, anyone who would risk their life to rescue yours.

On the first two nights, the only response to your pleas was a deafening silence, an insult to injury that you were destined to spend the rest of your life on a godforsaken landmass no one would ever find. On the third night, your cries carried on the winds of the warm summer air, sneaking through the cracks of an open window four doors down.

“You should go out there and play with those boys down the road! They look like they’re probably about your age!”

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed the two gangly figures racing up and down the street for the better part of the last hour, hoping they wouldn’t catch your passing glances through your living room window as you pretended to watch whatever episode of “Rocket Power” aired next on Nickelodeon. Perhaps the pair boys hadn’t noticed you watching them, but your dad had surely noticed the way you could have cared less about whatever was on the TV in front of you.

“They’re playing football, I don’t really think they’d probably want me to play.” You huff under your breath.

“You’re good at football. Probably better than they are.” Your dad laughs like it’s meant to be funny, but you know he’s serious. He’ll never admit to you out loud he wished his only child would have been a boy, but you’ve never minded playing the role of the son he never had.

And he’s not wrong. You definitely are a better throw than either of them.

“They’re gonna think it’s weird that a girl’s asking to go play football with them.” The sigh that follows this is even more annoyed than the last, now too self aware at 11 years old to revert back to the days of approaching kids you’ve never met on the playground and asking to join in without needing to worry about the social repercussions of your actions.

“Well, you can either pout and pretend to watch TV, or you could go try to make some friends. That’s up to you, Bud.” He smirks at the scrunch in your brow and flair in your nostrils, the same face he knows he makes when he’s been hit by the cold, hard truth he doesn’t like.

You know he’s right.

“Fine,” You grumble, reluctantly pushing yourself off the edge of the couch, “But if they’re dumb, I’m coming back home.”

“Atta girl. Go easy on ‘em, Killer.”

As you step outside, it feels like you’ve become some sort of jungle explorer, trying to approach a herd of wild animals in their element without startling them to the point of attack. You’d even brought a peace offering to ease the introductions, hoping that your own football would be an appreciated contribution to their game.

As you make your way down the street, you’re not sure if you’re particularly good at sneaking up on the boys, they haven’t noticed your presence, or worse, they’re actively trying to ignore you in hopes that you’ll go away.

“H-Hi.” You stammer, half attempting to wave at the back of their heads, nowhere near close to catching their attention.

“Hello?” This time it’s a little louder, slowly taking a few steps closer, “Hi?”

God, maybe it’s a fourth option you hadn’t considered and they’re both deaf.

“Hey!”

This one finally catches their attention, causing both boys to turn around cautiously, not sure whether they’re more shocked that someone’s interrupted whatever play they’re about to run, or that the person who’s interrupted them is you.

All of three of you stand in silence for a moment, mind racing in curiosity as you take in the image of clumsy limbs and messy mats of hair stuck to sweaty foreheads. The one boy is shorter, thick, jet black curls sprouting from the top of his head and arms crossed over his chest with a scowl on his face that’s not quite mean, but most definitely not welcoming.

The other, taller and lankier, a mop of dark brown hairs twisting at the nape of his neck, eyes soft as he glances back and forth between you and his friend. His demeanor is much different, almost nervous compared to the boy standing next to him, fits balled in the pockets of his shorts while the adam’s apple he still needs to grow into bobs in his throat.

For as much as no one wants to draw in the silent standoff you’ve entered, you started this mess, so you might as well be the first one to fold.

“H-hi. Sorry, I um, I didn’t wanna interrupt-”

“I mean, you did.” The shorter boy mumbles, wincing as the nervous one slaps him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Jesus, what was that for, asswad?!”

“Let her talk!” He grunts, sneering at his friend before turning back to you, his face much kinder now than the expression he just gave to his friend. “Sorry. You can um, you can keep talking if you want. Sorry about him.”

You try not to laugh at the exchange, but it’s hard not to smirk at the way the two have managed to put themselves on display in the thirty seconds you’ve spent talking to them.

“It’s okay. I um- I just moved in down the street. That green house over there.” All of your eyes shift as you point behind you, signaling where your journey had begun a few moments ago, “I was uh- I was wondering if you guys wanted another person to play with? I- I brought my own football.”

“Normally you only need one football to play football, duh. Do you even know how football works?”

In an instant, your heart sinks to your gut, eyes dropping to the ground to watch your feet start to drag across the pavement, back to where you came. But before you can lift the sole of your sneaker from the cement, a voice stops you.

“She obviously does or she wouldn’t ask, numbnuts! C’mon, Santi, don’t be a dick.”

Although it’s not directed at you, it’s enough to bring your attention back to the kinder boy, no name yet, but quite positive it’s not also Santi (or asswad). The two of you lock eyes for a moment, a strange sort of calm running through you as his slight half smile reveals his brace covered teeth, looking at you in a way that makes you feel just a little less small.

“Yeah, you can play with us. I’m Frankie, by the way.”

Frankie.

There’s something about his name that fits him so perfectly. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know from the way it rolls off your tongue that it just feels right.

“Hi, Frankie. I’m Mackenzie.”

Frankie’s hands are now out of his pockets, a line of defense dismantled after hearing your name.

“Hello? Have we forgotten about me? There are three of us here, remember?”

“This is Santi. Well, Santiago, but we all call him Santi.” The way Frankie rolls his eyes at his friend tells you everything you need to know about their friendship, giggling at the way he dramatically pouts as he introduces him.

“Mackenzie? Isn’t that, like, a last name?” Santi asks, still not yet warmed up to the idea of you, but intrigued enough to ease how tightly his arms are crossed.

“And? Isn’t Santiago the capital of Chile?” You sass, your mater-of-factness and quick wit making Frankie unintentionally snort.

“Alright, touché, Christopher Columbus.” Santi mocks, acting tough to try and hide the pink blooming in his cheeks.

“I like Mackenzie. I think it’s cool.”

There’s something about the way he says it that you know he means it, wondering why the way hearing your name fall from his lips churns your stomach in a sensation you’d never felt before this moment.

“Yeah, well, just so you know, Frankie is short for Francisco.” Santi interrupts, trying to find a way to get a jab back at either you or Frankie, at this point he doesn't really care which.

“Well, last time I checked, there wasn’t a Francisco, Chile.”

That one sends Frankie into full blown hysterics, boyish snickers taunting his friend, whose attempt to save his namesake has left him the butt of the joke.

“Will the two of you clowns just shut up and throw the ball? If you’re gonna let her play, Frank, can we at least make sure she can throw?” Santi whines, using every ounce of prepubescent strength he has left to play into his unbothered facade.

“You can use your ball if you want.” Frankie suggests, shrugging at his indifference to the ball held in your hand compared to the one held in yours.

“No! If she’s playin’, she’s usin’ our ball!” Santi’s voice trails further away with each step back he takes, settling himself in the middle of the street a few feet down from where you and Frankie stood, not willing to take any more risks when it comes to you, even if it’s something as stupid as a football.

“Fine by me.” You shrug, happily obliging to his request, Frankie giving you a silent nod of reassurance as he passes his football off to you.

It’s only now you notice he’s nervous again, one hand back in his pocket as he wriggles his toes in the ends of his worn sneakers while you size up your toss, knowing he’s worried that Santi will never let him live it down if the ball can’t make it more than three feet in front of you.

Neither of you would know it then, but the silent exchange you make with Frankie as you line up your throw would be the first of many unspoken promises you’d keep to him. What seemed like a simple task, to prove worthy of his friendship by throwing a football, would turn out to be the most important promise you'll ever make to Fransisco Morales.

You weren’t ever going to let him down.

“You can go further back.” You shout, almost offended by the distance Santi had chosen to stand away from you.

“If you can make it this far, I’ll be impressed.”

“You promise you’ll go get it after I throw it past you?”

“I promise, Joe Montana, throw the damn ball.”

You shrug at Frankie, like he’s supposed to know what comes next. He’s too scared to question either of you, all he can do is let his eyes dart back and forth between you and Santi, knowing there’s no world where both of you can prove your point. What scares him more is that he trusts you more than his friend.

You line your fingers up on the laces, gripping the leather like your life depends on it. In a way, it does. With a step forward, your arm hurls the ball, two of the three of you standing dumbfounded in the street as you watch it soar further and further past its intended target, spirling through the sky until it bounces off the cement with an acrobatic roll, three times the distances of where Santi had placed himself.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. You just smile and shrug- it's the best “I told you so” you could give them.

“Fine. She can stay.”

To this day, it’s the closest you’ll ever get to a compliment from Santi.

“Nice work, Kenz.”

Your stomach flips. You try to blame it on the adrenaline of it all, that there was no way a compliment so simple had you wiping your sweaty palms over the denim of your shorts, trying your best to erase any evidence that he was the reason your heart was racing out of your chest.

Now it’s 15 years later, and as much as you hate him, you still can’t get that goofy, brace faced smile out of your mind.

Frankie, Present

There’s a reason he shows up at 1 A.M. Everyone’s asleep. If the world is asleep around him, he’s safe from having to deal with anyone, at least until morning. There’s a part of him that wishes he would have parked his truck down the street, tricking you into thinking that he wasn’t even there.

It’s hard to justify when you’re the reason he’s back home in the first place.

When he got the call from his mom, he knew he had to come. He didn't want to, but he knew he’d hate himself forever if he didn’t.

“Hey, Mamá.”

“Francisco, how quickly can you make it home?”

“Mom, I told you, I’m not-”

“It’s Doug. He’s in hospice.”

“Fuck. How um- how much longer do they think he has?”

“When I talked to Michelle, she said they were hoping for a few more weeks. But I’m not sure. He doesn’t look good, mi amor. If you want to say your goodbyes, now’s the time.”

“O-okay. I can probably be home by tomorrow. Gonna be late though. Is uh- is she, um-”

“She’s here. For about a week or so already. She keeps looking over at your empty spot in the driveway just like she did all those years you were away. Waiting for you, Francisco.”

It’s the lump in his throat and ache in his chest that gets him home an hour and fifteen minutes faster than what his GPS said it would. He’s not sure what delusional part of his mind thinks that maybe you’ll be waiting for him when he pulls into the driveway. Maybe it’s the same delusional part of his mind that pictured you sitting there, cross legged on the concrete, staring up at the sky to count stars like sheep, waiting for him to come home all those years ago.

He’s also not sure why it hurts so bad when he shows up and you’re not there.

Frankie feels like he’s 16 again, sneaking into his own house in the wee hours of the night, digging the spare key out from under the doormat, attentive to the practiced pattern of how to avoid squeaks in the hinges as he turns the lock behind him, careful not to wake a single sleeping soul. He tiptoes over the 4th stair to the second floor and barely taps the 7th before he finds shelter in his room, successful from his journey.

Every time he comes home, he can’t help but laugh at the fact his mother refuses to change anything about his bedroom. Everything is in the same place it was the day he left for the Air Force, down to the pile of unfinished homework from his Senior year of high school stacked on his desk. Each time he sees it, he’s never sure if the source of his laughter is nostalgia or irony. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

When he looks at the picture frames scattered across his nightstand, a 17 year old Frankie stares back at him, tall and gangly, arms too big for his own body, an awful haircut he begged his mom to let him get. It was the year he discovered how much he couldn’t live without a hat, simply out of necessity for the 6 months it took for his hair to grow back out. You were the first one to tell him how cute he looked in the one hat he already owned. He bought three more in the weeks to come.

He wonders what the 17 year old in those pictures staring back at him would think of him now. If there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that high school him would have beat the shit out of him for the way things turned out, scrawny limbs and all.

It seems like the military has taught him how to sleep anywhere besides his own home, keeping company with the shadows dancing on his ceiling in the moonlight, tossing and turning in the tattered sheets of the twin sized bed his mom promised she’d upgrade when he got big enough. To this day, he and his mom both know he was never begging her for a new bed because he had outgrown it, he just always wanted to make room for one more person.

He clocks 3 and a half hours of sleep as good enough, creeping out of his house the same way he had come in, making the 5.4 mile trip to Benson Park to watch the sun rise. Frankie’s always hated running, it’s just as much of a surprise to him as it is to everyone else that he keeps doing it. It makes his knees hurt like shit and his lungs feel like they’re being strangled by rubber bands, a cruel cycle of self punishment he can’t seem to shake his addiction for.

He’s sat on the same side of the bench underneath the ancient Blooming Dogwood since the first time he came here. He tried one time to sit on the other side. He’s superstitious enough to believe his one time fuck up has had a lasting effect. The bench is so hidden at the back of the park, he likes to think that the two of you are the only ones to have ever found it. No one else has ever burst through the bubble of secrets shared between the two of you there, leaving the wood grain to be stained with memories and moments that have shaped the both of you, good and bad.

It’s the first place you ever told him about your dad. It’s the first place he ever told you about his. His dad was already nothing but memories by then. It makes him sick to his stomach that soon, that’s all you’ll have left, too.

Frankie, Fall of 1999, Age 11

“How much longer do we have, Frankie? I feel like my legs are gonna fall off!”

“Quit being such a baby, you’re fine!”

“Next time we have to ride our bikes this far, I’m pulling an E.T. and riding in the front basket of your bike.”

“Perfect, you look just like him.”

“Frankie!”

“Kidding, kidding!”

Frankie’s never had a friend like you before. Sure, he’s got Santi, but it’s not quite the same.

Santi took some easing into- five years ago, when Frankie moved onto Everett Street, he became a friend by force, not choice. Santi staked his claim on him, seeing Frankie as a gift sent straight from heaven, finally having another boy his age to play with after too many years of being sentenced to dress up and tea parties from his 3 older sisters.

Santi was everything Frankie wasn’t- loud, assertive, the kind of friend who grabs you by the hand and drags you along with them whether you liked it or not. There’s times now, after a half a decade of friendship, that Frankie still questions the way Santi’s brain is wired, but Frankie’s too good of a friend to ever make a fuss about it.

You, on the other hand, needed no easing into. From the moment he met you, watching you toss that football so far past Santi that he was convinced it would disappear on the other end of the street, Frankie had been mesmerized by you.

There’s something about you that makes him feel a weird thump in his chest every time you’re together. Everything about you gives him comfort in a way he can’t describe, a safety he’s felt with very few other people in his life until now.

There’s just something about you. He still hasn’t been able to quite pinpoint what it is.

Whatever it may be, it’s enough to invite you on a bike ride to the back of Benson Park instead of Santi.

“Do you even know where we are? I don’t think there’s any more park left past this point, Frankie.” You huff, slowing the wheels of your bike behind him as you come to the edge of a steep rolling hill, nothing left in front of you but acres of empty land and tall grass.

“Yeah, I do. Maybe we just passed the trail on the way in. We’ll just- We can just find it on the way back.”

He knows you know he’s fibbing, but he wants your trust that he won’t lead you astray more than he wants to tell the truth.

“Okay. There’s a bench underneath that tree. Can we just sit for a little bit before my legs turn to jello?”

You’re already halfway off your bike before he can respond. Even if he had said no, there’s no way he’d leave without you.

“Fine. What flavor jello?”

“Whatever flavor is your least favorite so you don’t eat my legs, Francisco. That’s just weird.”

The two of you laugh, tossing your bikes to the ground as you bottoms find the wood of the bench you’d pointed out, you on the right side, Frankie on the left.

“My mom only ever gets the red kind. I don’t even really like it that much. Don’t worry, you’re safe, Kenz.”

“I don’t really like it either. But we have every flavor at my house ‘cause that’s like, all my dad eats.”

Frankie starts to laugh like you’re playing a joke on him, trying to pretend your dad’s diet exists exclusively of artificially flavored gelatin, but your sudden silence and the way your voice drops to the ground right with your eyes tells him he’d better stop snickering.

“Your dad only eats jello?”

“Well not only, but a lot of it, I guess.”

His face scrunches with a mixture of confusion and concern at your sadness. He’s never heard you this quiet before.

“Um, w-why?”

The silence is almost deafening. He’s not sure why he should be so concerned with asking about jello, but he’s too curious to let it go. He selfishly wants to know what about it makes you so upset, because he just as selfishly hopes there’s something he can do to make you feel better.

“My dad has cancer. He’s really sick. He can’t really eat a lot, but jello’s the one thing he can keep down most of the time without, like, throwing up or whatever.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, like you’re worried someone else will hear and spill the rest of your secrets right along with this one. You say it like he’s the only one in the world you want to hear it.

“I’m- I’m sorry. That sucks.”

Frankie blames it on his instincts, the way his hand finds yours, outstretched on the bench. He touches you like he’s handling a baby bird who’s fallen out of its nest, delicate and careful, calculated, hoping you won’t try to fly away in fear. Instead, your hand welcomes his, scooting closer to the weight of his palm resting on top of it. He feels you give in as you let him carry you back to safety of the tree you’ve descended from.

“It’s okay. That’s why we moved here. The doctors in Michigan said that there were even better doctors here who could maybe help make his cancer go away.”

“And then maybe he won’t have to eat as much jello.” He takes a gamble with the joke, but it pays off with your surprised snort, “Sorry, that was stupid. I shouldn’t be joking about it.”

“I mean, it was, but it was funny. It’s okay, my dad jokes about it, too. He always says, one day, it’ll be funny, so might as well make that day today.”

His heart warms as he watches a small smile return to your face. It heats the pink in his cheeks when he realizes he was the one who helped bring it back.

“Your dad sounds nice.”

“He is. Even though he doesn’t feel good a lot of the time, he still always tries to come to my soccer games and stuff. I know he can’t be like what he was before he was sick, but he tries to be. What about your dad?”

Frankie prays you don’t notice the way his heart sinks like he noticed yours. He chews on the inside of his lip so hard, he thinks it may bleed. He wants to lie, but he knows that you’ll know. You always know.

“Um, I don’t- I don’t really see my dad.”

It’s you now who's grabbing his hand, offering him the same type of safety net he’d made for you. He’s barely known you two months. He’s known Santi for five years and all he knows is that his dad doesn’t live with him. Frankie didn’t want to tell him, he’s not sure he’d understand. There’s a strange sensation that swirls in his gut, because he wants to tell you. You’d laid the first brick in the foundation of trust between the two of you. The least he can do is help you keep building.

“Oh. Why don’t you see him?” He sees you’re prying, but not in a way that hopes to expose him. He knows you’re prying because you want him to let you in, to get a peek at what's behind the curtain. It’s a locked door most people in his life will ever get access to, but he’ll let you have a spare set of keys.

“I never really knew him. My mom said he left when I was a baby. She says she’s always been happy it’s just me and her. That it was easier to live with one less person than to live with someone who was mean.”

“Your mom sounds like a wise lady.”

He appreciates the fact humor was your first response, too, it makes the sting of ripping the stitches off a still-healing wound hurt just a little less.

“Yeah, I guess so. Still kinda wish I had a dad, though, ya know?”

“You can borrow my dad whenever you want. As long as you don’t mind super embarrassing, stupid jokes.”

“Are they as bad as mine?”

“No. They’re worse.”

Neither of you would have minded staying just a little bit longer, but the bright reds and yellows of the setting October sky remind you both that the parents you’ve opened up about are expecting you back before night washes over the quaint suburbia of your town. The bike ride home is much quieter than the one there, but the simple silence seems to speak louder than anything he’d have to say.

The next day, Frankie would raid the cabinets of his kitchen for every last packet of jello he could find and bring them all to your front door.

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ausetkmt · 1 year ago

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The alerts from groups representing Black and Latino Americans come as the state’s Republican governor, Ron DeSantis, is expected to enter the 2024 presidential race with a campaign built on tenets of the conservative agenda he’s fostered in Florida.

The NAACP issued a travel advisory for Florida “in direct response to … DeSantis’ aggressive attempts to erase Black history and to restrict diversity, equity, and inclusion programs in Florida schools,” the group said Saturday in a statement.

“Beware that your life is not valued,” NAACP President and CEO Derrick Johnson told CNN on Monday. He cited a new DeSantis-backed law allowing gun owners to carry a concealed weapon without a permit, as well as education policies that include a ban on teaching about gender identity and sexual orientation through 12th grade.

The announcement came days after LULAC – the League of United Latin American Citizens – issued a travel advisory for Florida after DeSantis signed a new immigration law that will go into effect in July.

Both LULAC and the NAACP say actions under the DeSantis administration are “hostile” to their communities.

“Florida is openly hostile toward African Americans, people of color and LGBTQ+ individuals,” the NAACP said. “Before traveling to Florida, please understand that the state of Florida devalues and marginalizes the contributions of, and the challenges faced by African Americans and other communities of color.”

Under DeSantis, Florida has banned the teaching of critical race theory, which acknowledges systemic racism is a part of American history and challenges the beliefs that allowed it to flourish. The governor said the concept would teach children “the country is rotten and that our institutions are illegitimate.”

DeSantis has supported legislation barring instruction that suggests anyone is privileged or oppressed based on their race or skin color. His administration also blocked a preliminary version of a new Advanced Placement course for high school students on African American studies, with Florida’s Department of Education saying it “significantly lacks educational value.”

The NAACP said DeSantis’ actions are “in direct conflict with the democratic ideals that our union was founded upon.”

“Let me be clear: Failing to teach an accurate representation of the horrors and inequalities that Black Americans have faced and continue to face is a disservice to students and a dereliction of duty to all,” said Johnson, the NAACP president.

CNN has sought comment from DeSantis’ office.

After the DeSantis administration rejected the AP African American studies course, the NAACP distributed 10,000 books to 25 predominantly Black communities across Florida in collaboration with the American Federation of Teachers’ Reading Opens the World program, the NAACP said.

The majority of the books donated were titles banned under the state’s increasingly restrictive laws. The NAACP continues to encourage local branches and youth councils to start community libraries to ensure access to representative literature.

The NAACP also decried Florida’s new concealed weapon law, which also states gun owners no longer have to take any training before carrying a concealed weapon outside the home. It goes into effect July 1.

The NAACP president said such measures are “not business-attractive policies” and urged members to consider holding conventions outside of Florida.

“The policies that he has put in place are harmful policies to far too many individuals,” Johnson said.

This isn’t the first time the NAACP has issued a travel advisory for a state. In 2017, the NAACP warned people of color about traveling to Missouri after the state passed Senate Bill 43, which made it more difficult for employees to prove their protected class, such as race or gender.

While the governor said the new law put Missouri’s standards for lawsuits in line with other states, the NAACP said it allows unlawful discrimination.

#florida #desantis #racism #white supremacy #white hate in florida #Black LIves Matter #‘Beware #your life is not valued’: NAACP travel advisory warns Florida is ‘openly hostile toward African Americans’

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boreal-sea · 8 months ago

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For everyone who has the luxury to feel like they can afford to let Trump take office instead of Biden to “teach the Dems a lesson “…

I can’t afford it. My LIFE is at risk if Trump regains power. I am visibly trans and nonbinary. I do not and will never pass as a cis person. I want to get an X on my next driver’s license, which at this point may mean it’s legally risky for me to travel to visit my parents in Florida, since Florida law views ID cards that do not reflect a person’s birth sex as “invalid”. Theoretically I might not be able to get back through airport security, for example. I may not be able to legally drive in Florida. I might not be legally able to rent a car in Florida.

And Trump is Ron DeSantis, but for the whole god damned country.

And that’s just from the perspective of a white trans person. The things Trump did to every minority in this country should not be forgotten. The things he WANTS to do to minorities should not be underestimated. His presidency was just as bad as we all warned you it would be, and his next will be worse.

#uspol #Trump

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rafeandonlyrafe · 9 months ago

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pizza night

words: 2.2k

warnings: mentions/implications of sex but no actual smut, best friend!rafe, jealousy, angst but happy ending, friends to lovers, rafe with another girl, reader sleeps with kelce

“PIZZA NIGHT!” you shout, rafe letting out a whoop as you carry in the two boxes, plain cheese for you, and a mess of toppings for rafe.

“was worried you weren't gonna show up.” rafe glances at the clock. you're only about five minutes late, only running behind because the pizza place was busy and your order wasn't ready on time.

“as if i would miss our weekly pizza night.” you roll your eyes. you've had to shift times around occasionally to make sure you get the pizza night in, like for rafes football schedule, or you having to help your parents out at a fundraiser. for the past three years, it's been every thursday night, even both getting pizza from your respective locations while you facetime when you're not both in the outer banks.

“come here.” rafe opens his arms up to you. you step into his familiar hold, strong arms wrapping around you, tugging you against his chest. you inhale his scent, so uniquely rafe.

he's been your best friend for as long as you can remember, your parents being friends when both became pregnant around the same time. you did everything together. pizza nights started as plum puree, as your mom loves to joke.

“what do you wanna watch tonight?” rafe asks, knowing whatever you put on will soon become background noise to your chatting, rafe happy to listen to any gossip you have to say.

“umm…” you tap your finger against your chin as rafe plates your pizza for you, loading his plate with three slices for himself. you know he's already got your preferred drink sitting on the coffee table. “mulan.”

“sure.” rafe nods. he used to argue when he was younger. you'd want barbie swan lake or a romcom while he prefered superheroes and action. he learned throughout your friendship to just not fight it.

you immediately start to tell rafe the latest gossip, filling him in on everything he's missed since you saw him last, even though it was only two days ago.

“oh and you'll never guess!” you squeal. “callie, my friend from florida?” you see if the name jogs rafes memory, which he quickly nods. how could he forget. the one other friend that competes with him, despite you only seeing her for weeks at a time when you went to visit your grandparents in florida. “she's coming to the outer banks! she's gonna stay with us for the summer while her parents travel.”

“oh, nice.” rafe nods. he's happy for you, he really is, but he hopes she's not going to get in the way of his time with you, especially pizza night.

“girl, why didn’t you tell me rafe is hot as fuck?” callie giggles, looking out the window where rafe and a couple of his friends are chatting on the patio.

“ew.” you scrunch your nose up. you mean the criticism about callie finding him attractive, not about rafes looks, but callie doesn’t take it that way as she rolls her eyes.

“seriously, he’s so fine.” she slices into another lemon, handing one half to you as you squeeze it to make fresh lemonade.

you just frown. you don’t want callie to find rafe attractive and you’re not sure why the jealous feeling builds in your gut, so you quickly change the subject.

“wanna come to a party friday night? at kelces.” you question.

“oh my god, yes.” callie nods, helping you carry out cups while you bring out the pitcher of lemonade, pouring a glass for yourself and whichever one of your friends also wants one before sitting next to rafe.

callie takes the open spot on the other side of him as the conversation instantly strikes back up. you remain quieter than normal, eyes flicking between them as you watch them interact. you’re glad they’re getting along, truly, but you feel like gouging your eyes out when callie laughs and places her hand on his bicep.

“you okay?” rafe asks after everyone else had gone home, callie having taken your car back to your place to shower while you plan on asking rafe to drive you home.

“yeah.” you put on a wide smile. “whats up?”

“you just seem quieter than usual.” rafe watches your face carefully, noting the way your face falls before you perk back up with a shake of your head.

“nope, im fine. just glad you're getting along with callie!”

“speaking of…” rafe pulls his phone out, handing it to you. “can i have her number?”

“oh… yeah.” you nod quickly, grabbing his phone and typing in her number. you have it memorized along with rafes and your mom and dads, the only ones you’ve typed in enough to know by heart. “why do you want it though?”

“i thought i’d get to know her a bit.” rafe shrugs.

“okay.” you force a smile on your face before standing up. “im gonna walk home. see you thursday for pizza night!”

“y/n, wait-” rafe tries to call you back, but you’ve already disappeared into the house.

you struggle to knock on the door with the pizza boxes in your arms. usually its unlocked, or rafe is there to open it for you the second your car pulls in the driveway.

“shit.” rafe opens the door, his face pale.

“what?” you shove past him, needing to set the cardboard boxes down.

you walk into the kitchen, going to place the boxes down on the counter when you realize there is already a box sitting there, opened up with a couple slices missing. you carefully slide the boxes out of your arms onto the marble before looking at rafe.

“i-i forgot-” rafe says as you look into the living room, seeing callie sat on the couch, her eyes on the television screen as she takes a bite of pizza.

“you forgot about our pizza night?” you question, not even trying to hide your tears this time as they form in your eyes.

“i just didn’t realize it was thursday, y/n i-”

“its fine.” you shake your head, heading towards the door. you need to leave before your emotions explode.

“y/n, please.” rafe grabs your hand right as you reach for the doorknob.

“no.” you turn around to look at rafe, knowing that there are tears streaming down your cheeks, yet you still attempt to force a smile. “no, go. have fun with her.”

you pull out of his grasp and leave, rafe standing on the front porch watching you drive away.

“coming to the party?” callie asks, wearing a tiny dress with high heels, showing off her flawless legs.

“nah.” you shake your head. “im feeling kinda tired.”

“alright.” callie frowns, but doesn’t push you any farther as she walks towards the front door, looking back once before leaving.

you are genuinely tired. you stayed up all last night waiting to hear callie arrive back at your house from rafes. she didn’t get home until 10 in the morning the next day. you know rafe has slept with girls before, but usually when he’s way too drunk after a party, and never with a girl you considered your friend.

you turn the tv on to a random channel, just needing something to distract yourself and stop you from crying again.

hours tick by as the sun sets, your eyes burning from staring at the television and holding back tears when a sudden knock on the door makes you jump.

you stand up, hoping its rafe, hoping he’s coming to apologize and to put all his attention back on you. you feel bad when you open the door and see its topper, your face no doubt giving away your disappointment.

“y/n, are you okay?” he asks. “you aren’t at the party.” he states the obvious as you stand in your sweatpants and a flimsy tanktop.

“just not feeling it.” you shrug.

“is it… callie and rafe?” topper asks. he doesn’t need you to confirm as tears well in your eyes.

“i-i like him. i didn’t even realize until i saw them together.” you finally admit it to yourself why you’re so upset.

“shit.” topper pulls you into a hug as you cry into his shirt, glad for his comfort as he rubs his hand up and down your back, hoping he can help you feel better.

“i shouldn’t be telling you this…” topper sighs. “but kelce has a crush on you. if you want to go to the party and… i don’t know, make rafe jealous back.”

“he won’t get jealous.” you shake your head. “he likes her.”

topper just stares at you with a look of pity. so in your head about your friendship that you can’t even put together the pieces that rafe likes you back.

you look down at your outfit. honestly, you can’t even manage to put on anything other than your crocs, you’re not going to change into a dress and heels just to dance up on a guy you don’t even really like.

“just come wearing that.” topper says, sensing your apprehension. “im serious, you look good. it’ll show how different you are then all the other girls there.”

you look back into your house at your couch, the tv still turned on before looking back to topper. he nods at you with encouragement.

“i need to get drunk immediately.” you tell him as he laughs, pulling you out the door.

you let out a groan as you turn over, snuggling into water warm body is wrapped around you as sleep slowly clears from your head.

“good morning, beautiful.” kelce says, making you blink your eyes open as the memories of last night come back, of ignoring rafe and callie dancing together as you move to kelce. topper was beyond right about the outfit as you captured the eye of most of the guys there, especially rafe as he tried to get your attention, but you were up in kelces room before he could steal you away.

it felt good to sleep with kelce, but not completely right.

“morning.” you smile. kelce is handsome, especially with the warm morning light shining in on the two of you, but your heart hurts as you wish it was rafes face you were looking into.

“can i have you again?” kelce asks, reaching down to grab your ass.

“yeah.” you nod with a smile. another distraction won’t hurt.

“where were you?” rafe asks as you arrive home, not expecting to see him snuggled up to callie on the couch.

“sleeping with kelce.” you say with a shrug. if rafe isn’t gonna hide his relationship with callie, you certainly aren’t going to hide what you were doing either.

“he doesn’t care about you, y/n.” rafe stands up, callies face shifting to one of worry as she looks between the two of you, realization sinking in. “he just wants to sleep with you.”

“okay, and?” you laugh, a bitter, spiteful laugh. “he’s got a big dick, and maybe i just wanted to sleep with him too.”

you stomp away towards your room, blaring music from your speaker the second you’re inside. you don’t want to hear any noise rafe and callie might make as you flop down on your bed, quickly falling asleep despite the blaring music.

the music being turned down wakes you up as someone sits on your bed. you groan and turn onto your back, expecting to see rafe.

“callie?” you question, glancing at the bag slung over his shoulder and the suitcase sitting in your open doorway.

you sit up quickly. “are you going to stay with rafe?”

“no.” she says with a gentle laugh and shake of her head. “im going back to florida.”

“what?” you question.

“i didn’t mean to come between you and him. i thought you didn’t like him. i… i don’t want this to ruin our friendship, so i’m leaving. he was fun to be with, but it was never serious for either of us. he’s serious about you.”

the words sink in as you look to her with hope in your eyes. “you talked to him about it?”

“i did.” she smiles with a gentle nod, glancing towards the clock on your nightstand. “the taxi is waiting outside to take me to the airport.”

you shoot forward to wrap your arms around callie, pulling her into a tight hug. “thank you.”

“of course.” she holds you back just as tight. “come visit me in florida, okay?”

you nod enthusiastically before she gets up to leave.

“finally.” topper sighs with relief as he opens the door to tanneyhill. “i’ve been trying to get him to go over and talk to you for the past four hours.” topper pulls you inside before you can even react. “seriously, you guys just need to date already. he slept with callie, you slept with kelce, and now you’re even. go make out.” topper shoves you into the living room before fleeing.

it takes a second for rafe to look up, his eyes red with tears.

“i had no clue.” rafe shakes his head. “i had no clue you liked me. i never would have done anything with callie if i knew. i thought i’d never get to have you, so i thought settling for your friend would be the next best thing.”

“i don’t like you.” you say before quickly clarifying. “i love you, rafe.”

rafe is standing and making his way towards you so quickly that you don’t even process his movements until his lips meet yours in a fierce kiss.

you hesitate for a moment before kissing back, feeling his arms wrap around your body, holding you tight to him, not allowing you to escape or leave ever again.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @sourkittie @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @drewsephrry @1aarii1 @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

Word count: 8.3k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cregan shrugs. “Probably not.”

“Probably?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s ableist,” Aegon replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Briar,” Baela echoes, intrigued.

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

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

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

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

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

Aegon says without hesitation: “Marijuana.”

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

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

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

“It means I have to cut it out.”

“Cut it?!”

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

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

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

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

I got the right temperature fi shelter you from the storm

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

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

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

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

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

“You are so racist, man…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Talking would be a nice distraction.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I trust you.”

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

“And how far is that?” Rio asks.

Aegon deflates. “About fifty miles.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got it.”

“Baela—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aemond perks up. “Really? What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

“There’s no reflex,” he says numbly.

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

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

“Aemond?” you say softly.

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

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

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

“Aegon?” Aemond says.

“What? What do you need?”

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

“I get it, I’m here, I’ll help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

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haddonfieldwhore · 1 year ago

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i miss you, i’m sorry - matthew tkachuk

matthew tkachuk x fem!reader

summary: you go with your bf to a hockey game; he is unaware of your history with one of the players (please read warnings!)

warnings: abusive bf, violence, strong and derogatory language, angst, a few uses of y/n

word count: 3k

you felt like you hadn’t been able to breathe properly in hours, sitting rigid like a stone next to mike, who’s mood has only deteriorated as the night went on. mike was a diehard coyotes fan, and had brought you to the game with him last minute when his friend had cancelled last minute.

“are you sure none of your other friends would want to go? they would probably have more fun than i would,” you had offered, desperately trying to get out of going.

“they’re all busy,” he replied. “i know you hate hockey, but can you try to have a good time, for me?” he asked sweetly, pulling you into his arms. you weren’t fooled by his tone; you would go and you would enjoy it, you didn’t have a choice.

“okay,” you smiled, and he kissed you softly before going to your shared room to get ready. you sighed, trying to figure out how you were going to make it through this game. you didn’t hate hockey - you used to love it actually, but when you started dating mike you chose to keep that part of your life a secret. it seemed silly at face value, but there was a bigger secret you were hiding from him, and you asked the universe why it had to be the panthers that arizona was playing tonight.

a little less than two years ago, you had dated their star player, matthew tkachuk for almost a year, before the travel and hectic schedule got to be too much for you, and you decided to leave; the hardest thing you had ever done. the relationship had been kept pretty quiet thankfully, no traces of it online except for one or two group photos from when you were together still floating around instagram; though you had done all you could to erase any evidence.

if mike found out, you honestly weren’t sure how he would react; but you knew it wouldn’t be good. you had met mike a few months after you and matthew broke up, and he was nice enough, until he wasn’t. he kept up the good guy just long enough for you to move in and become dependant on him, and suddenly you found yourself trapped. things were okay most of the time, but if he got angry, sometimes you got caught in the crossfire. he had only actually hit you once, but he yelled, and would sometimes grab you too hard, leaving you with bruises to cover before he could see them; he had the audacity to say that they made him upset.

he had been in a good mood when you got to the arena, and you were thankful that your seats weren’t too close to the ice, though you shuddered at the possibility of matthew seeing you in the crowd, despite how slim the chance was. you hadn’t seen him since they day you broke up, and as the familiar head of curly hair came out from the tunnel, skating on to the ice as part of the starting line up, your heart felt like it was being twisted in a vice.

you missed him. you missed your friends on the team, having grown pretty close to some of the guys, as well as their girlfriends. you hadn’t heard from any of them since leaving; it was too hard at first, and then it became a safety concern. any connection to your former life meant more risk of mike finding out about matthew, and that couldn’t happen.

“can you at least look like you want to be here?” mike whispered in your ear, and you knew it wasn’t a suggestion. you put on a smile, and thankfully it was good enough, as he turned his attention back to the players on the ice.

the game started off a bit slow, however the panthers had a 1-0 lead at the end of the first, and through the second as well. the coyotes were playing pretty rough, getting quite a few penalties for some dirty hits, all while mike cheered them on, booing the refs anytime they called a penalty on arizona. you watched as one of floridas players, nick cousins, ran into one of the coyotes while he was low on the boards, the hit landing on his shoulders or maybe his head, you couldn’t really tell. another coyote skated up and checked nick face first into the boards; hard. he hadn’t been looking that way and had no warning to protect himself, and you watched in distress as he crumbled to the ice, and you were worried he was unconscious.

nick had been one of your closest friends while you were dating matt, and your heart pounded as you watched him struggle to his feet.

“that pussy folded like a piece of paper!” mike laughed, enjoying every second of him getting hit. floridas players jumped on the guy who had laid the hit on nick, defending their fallen teammate as a fight broke out, sending players from each team into the penalty box. mikes mood dropped with each second of the refs deliberating passed, the officials eventually awarding nearly 20 penalty minutes to forsling for florida, as well as enough penalty minutes to arizona to give the panthers a man advantage.

“that��s fucking bullshit!” he screamed, the crowd of arizona fans not happy about the decision either. you said nothing as mike spilled some of his fourth beer on your lap, just thankful it hadn’t got on his spare coyotes jersey that he had insisted you wear. as the players got ready to continue the game, you looked across the ice, locking eyes with the one person you hoped you could avoid more than anything. something flashed in his eyes as he saw you, but his attention was quickly back to the game as the whistle blew, and soon the second period was over and he was gone down the tunnel for intermission.

the coyotes scored in the third to tie the game, but the panthers got the lead back, scoring twice in close succession. matthew looked to you after putting the puck in the net, and it took everything in you to ignore him. mike was livid at this point, the alcohol not helping in the slightest, and you cringed internally as he grabbed your hand, holding it way too tight.

forsling finally came out of the penalty box after serving 17 minutes, and immediately scored an empty netter, solidifying a 4-1 victory for florida. with 2 minutes left in the game, mike dragged you out to the concession area. matthews eyes noticed your empty seats, and his heart dropped, wondering if he had imagined you even being there in the first place.

downstairs, mike pushed you against the brick wall next to the restroom.

“wait here. i gotta piss before we leave,” looking at the long lineup already formed outside the men’s room. the arena was small, and there were limited washrooms, so you had a feeling this was gonna take a while, but you dared not move from your spot against the wall.

you could hear the final buzzer go, and the florida players began walking out from ice level, and you realized that they had to walk through the main area to get to the visitors locker room, and your blood ran cold. most of the panthers paid no mind to you, but you held your breath as you saw matthew approaching, praying that he ignored you like the others had.

he thankfully didn’t say anything, but your eyes locked for the second time that night as he passed by, disappearing down the hall and into the locker room. your foot tapped anxiously on the floor, grinding a small piece of gravel under your shoe as you willed mike to hurry the fuck up.

10 minutes went by, and you exhaled in relief as he finally appeared, not even caring about the death grip he took on your wrist as he literally dragged you behind him towards the exit.

“y/n?” a familiar voice called, and you hoped with all you had that mike would ignore it and keep walking. “wait- y/n.” mike stopped, causing you to bump into his back with how fast you were following behind him. he turned around, and you were sure he was quite confused as to why matthew tkachuk was calling after you.

“what the hell do you want?” mike asked, looking matt up and down before turning to you, still holding you tight. “do you know this asshole?”

“no, let’s go home,” you pleaded, but he wasn’t budging.

“you got the wrong girl.” mike shrugged. “shouldn’t you be circle jerking with the other guys in the locker room right now?” he spat, still bitter about his team losing the game.

“i told them to start without me,” matthew joked dryly, and you could feel his eyes on you, however yours were glued to the floor.

“funny,” mike replied. “let’s go,” he pushed you in front of him to leave.

“wait, y/n - please.”

“i’m sorry, you have the wrong person.”

“yeah, chucky,” mike laughed. “you must be thinking of some other whore. i’m sure there’s a lot of desperate chicks around here that would suck your cock though, so stop talking to mine.”

“you really shouldn’t talk about women like that,” matthew threatened, and while his tone sounded calm, you knew he was furious.

“or what? what, you want to fight or something?” mike asked. you noticed a few people gathering to watch, either out of concern or just to see matthew, but you knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“baby, can we please just-“

“shut up!” he shoved you and you fell to the floor, landing hard on your ass, before punching matthew in the face. matthew swung a fist at mikes face, hitting him square in the jaw. your eyes widened in horror as mike swung more drunken punches back at matt, and people backed away from the fight. you looked down the hall to see a familiar face, and you called out to your former friend.

“carter!” his eyes snapped up from his phone and he took out an airpod before he noticed the fight, and he quickly pulled matthew off of mike with the help of security guards that had come to help break up the situation. you stared at the ground in front of you again, feeling like the room was spinning and wishing that the floor would open up and swallow you. security handcuffed mike and escorted him out of the building, while carter and another security officer took matthew back down the hall towards the locker room.

an officer asked you to come with him, and he took you to an empty office room to take a statement about what happened. you just hoped matthew wouldn’t get in too much trouble.

•

when you left the office, there were thankfully little to no fans left in the arena, the hallways eerily empty as you walked towards the door. before you could reach it though, something - or someone - made you pause. you looked back down the hall to the locker room, and with a sigh walked towards it. you knocked on the door, your heart hammering against your ribcage as it opened, one of the team staff looking at you.

“i’m sorry, you can’t be back here-“

“it’s fine. she’s a friend,” carter interrupted her, opening the door to let you in. the room was empty, the team having already left, and you forced yourself to look at carter.

“are you okay?” he asked, and you nodded.

“thank you. i’m sorry-“

“don’t, it’s not your fault.” he opened his arms and you fell into them, hugging him tightly. “chuckys just getting patched up in the medic room. mostly procedure that they have to check him after a fight - usually it only happens during a game though,” he joked, and you found yourself smiling for real for the first time that night.

“is he in a lot of trouble?”

“no more than he normally gets himself into. it’ll be fine, y/n,” he assured you, but you were still worried there might be some legal repercussions. deciding there was nothing you could do about that right now, you managed to push the thought away and sat down on a bench in the locker room.

“you waiting around for him?” verhaeghe asked, and you nodded, eyes on the floor again.

“yeah. i think i’d be a shitty person not to.”

“you could never be a shitty person,” he smiled. “we miss you. chucky especially.” you looked up at him sadly.

“i miss you guys too.”

the medic door opened with a creak, and matthew walked out. you kept your eyes on your feet, counting the laces on your shoes over and over again.

“i’ll see you later,” carter said goodbye to both of you before leaving the room. you didn’t dare look up as matthew walked over slowly and sat down next to you, leaving space between you as his gaze lingered on you.

“you waited,” he said softly.

“yeah…. i don’t think i should have, but i wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“you wanted to make sure i was okay?” he laughed softly. “yeah, i’m okay.” he said, and an awkward silence filled the room. “was he always like that?” he asked gently, and you shook your head sadly.

“nope,” you said bitterly, eyes growing wet with tears. “he was perfect at first. until he wasn’t.”

“i’m sorry.”

“don’t be. it’s not your fault.”

“i still am. you don’t deserve to be treated like that.” you didn’t reply, knowing he was right. “y/n, you haven’t even looked at me.” he hand touched yours on the bench next to you, his touch so soft and gentle it was unfamiliar.

you turned your head towards him, and his heart broke at your sad expression. his lip was split open, red and forming a bruise already. you reached for his face without thinking, pulling your hand back before you went too far.

“what do you want me to say?” you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek. with the carefulness of someone touching glass, he brushed it off your face, and you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

“do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” he asked, somewhat ignoring your question. he didn’t want you to say anything, he just wanted to make sure you were safe.

“i can figure something out,” you said, going through the options in your head; likely a hotel or sleeping in your car.

“please, i would feel a lot better if i knew you were somewhere safe. i have an extra bed in my hotel room-“

“no, matthew. i can’t do this.”

“do what?” he asked.

“this,” you gestured between the two of you. “thank you for protecting me, but i can’t let myself be near you. it’s too hard.”

“please,” his blue eyes looking in yours. the smell of his cologne wafted to your nose, filling you with a sense of safety that only he could ever bring you.

“okay,” you nodded.

•

the drive to the hotel was short and silent, but you felt at ease for the first time all night. the more time you spent with him, the more it felt like no time had passed; like things were back to how they were before. matthew held your hand the whole drive, his thumb drawing little circles on the back of it gently, his touch like a feather.

you got up to the hotel room and he grabbed a t-shirt from his suitcase for you.

“you a coyotes fan now?” he teased, and you laughed. matthew hadn’t realized how much he missed the sound, but did he would do anything to hear it again and again.

“not by choice,” you laughed, pulling mikes jersey over your head, putting the t-shirt over your undershirt you had on.

“did he know about -“

“no,” you shook your head, dropping the jersey in the small garbage can, and matthew cracked a smile. “he probably wouldn’t have liked it very much.”

“i’m sorry, i don’t mean to -“

“it’s okay. i know. how’s your lip?” you asked, still feeling guilty about it.

“it’s not my first split lip. i’ll live,” he smiled.

“is nick okay?” you asked, remembering the nasty hit during the game.

“he wasn’t feeling too hot after that. i’m not sure yet,” he admitted, and you nodded, before covering your mouth as a yawn slipped past your lips. “come on, sleepyhead, let get you to bed.”

you nodded, dragging your exhausted body into the nearest of the two queen sized beds. matthew tucked you into bed, leaning down to kiss your forehead, and you reached for his hand before he could walk away.

“lay with me?” you asked sleepily, knowing it was selfish to use him as a safety net right now; but you felt you would fall apart without him.

“are you sure?” he asked, and you nodded. he crawled into bed next to you, letting you cling to him like a life raft. “you’re safe now. i won’t let anyone hurt you, baby, i promise.”

“i know, matty,” you snuggled into him, everything about him bringing you comfort you hadn’t felt since you left; his scent, his voice, the feeling of his arms around you. “i missed you.”

“god, i missed you to. i don’t want to let you go again.”

“please don’t,” you begged, your eyes wet with tears that fell onto the fabric of his shirt, your fingers gripping it so tight your knuckles hurt. “don’t let me go.”

“i won’t.”

you felt like you were dreaming; what had started as a nightmare turning into the first time you had felt safe in months. you were scared that you would wake up and it hadn’t been real - you would be next to mike in his apartment, the cold draft from the window on your side of the bed would prickle you skin like it always did and you would have to apologize for not having his lunch ready for work.

but instead you would wake up in the arms of someone who actually cared about you, the sun peeking through the cracks of the blinds, casting warmth onto your skin. along with it, matthew brought a light to your life that had been missing for so long, you thought it was lost for good.

matthew pressed another soft kiss to your forehead as you felt yourself falling asleep, knowing you were protected as long as he was next to you.

“thank you matty,” you murmured, barely awake as you nose brushed the side of his jaw, your face tucked into the crook of his neck.

“anything for you.”

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

#nhl #nhl fic #nhl imagine #real person fiction #nhl players #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #matty tkachuk #matthew tkachuk #tkachuk #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey player #hockey #florida #panthers #florida panthers

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cleolinda · 3 months ago

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The Category 4 hurricane, bordering on Category 5 [as of Tuesday Oct. 8], was expected to reach Florida's Gulf Coast between 10 p.m Wednesday and 2 a.m. Thursday, according to the latest forecasts.

“You have time today. Time is running out," Gov. Ron DeSantis told reporters on Tuesday. "But you do have time today to heed any evacuation orders and do what you need to do to protect yourself and our families.”

Sarasota Mayor Liz Alpert said she's confident her constituents understand the consequences of not evacuating. "What everyone has been saying is, you have to evacuate, it is not survivable, to survive a 10- to 15-foot storm surge," Alpert told NBC News on Tuesday. "It just simply isn't."

Mr. Biden said he pre-approved emergency declarations in Florida and had sent FEMA administrator Deanne Criswell to Florida on Monday. He also called on airlines to provide "as much service as possible" and "not engage in price gouging."

Mr. Biden said he had spoken to "all political leaders" in the region, "some of them more than once," and he said he told them "anything they ask for, they can get."

I don’t want to add to people’s anxiety about this if you’re already safe or following the story from afar, but if this kind of warning convinces anyone to evacuate or make sure their loved ones do, it’s worth it. If you want to evacuate now but you don’t know where to go, lists of shelters by county are over here.

More about the predicted path:

It’s also been pointed out that you can travel north OR south—the hurricane is cutting across the state. Ideally you would get out of the path entirely, but any distance from the direct line of impact and/or the coast would help, even a little:

Scroll way, way down for the interactive map, which I have screenshots of below (again, accurate as of midday Tuesday October 8th). The hurricane will weaken as it hits land, but it’s still wildly intense, considering:

I wasn’t online much the week of Helene, or I would have posted then too. But Helene also gave us an idea of how bad things could get, and a baseline for “even worse,” so that’s one of the reasons I’m posting all this now. (I also have the luxury of being in a different state. I’m not someone to worry about.) I’ll look for disaster relief resources and post those when the time comes. I hope people are still helping Asheville and NC, but this is gonna have to be my lane for now.

#hurricanes #hurricane tracker #forecast maps #shelters #hurricane milton #florida #I have eight news apps and I’m dry; I might as well be the one

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arcane-vagabond · 1 month ago

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Meet Me at the Sea: Prologue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the at his family's summer home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but now there are bodies washing up on shore and you're starting to lose pockets of time. Bob and his friends are acting strange. Is it fear, or do they know more than they're letting on?

Content Warning: Nothing major. Allusion to neglectful parents, Death of a grandmother. Please let me know if I need to add anything!

Word Count: 1.5k

Series Masterlist

Music poured out from the music box that sat atop your dresser, the sweet melody filling the room easing some of the tension from your shoulders and neck. It was a small thing, something your grandmother had found while on one of her many antiquing trips. Luminescent shells decorating the sides, edges traced in gold, gave the illusion of something magical. It reminded you somewhat of the mermaid figurine she kept placed atop her mantle. She had left it to you when she passed a couple years prior, and it sat proudly on your desk for all to see as they entered your room.

Finals had been stressful, but they were finally over and you had the diploma waiting safely at your childhood home along with most of your belongings. Your parents had driven out to North Carolina for your graduation ceremony, celebrating with you for the weekend before heading back to the Midwest. They had announced their intention to travel for the summer, an announcement you were more than familiar with by this point as they had taken every opportunity to travel since you had been old enough to stay with family over the summer. Once you were eighteen and off to college, they had taken to traveling throughout the year as well. It didn’t bother you all that much—not really, anyway.

You were an only child, and while you knew you were loved, you often wondered if your parents considered you a burden rather than a beloved child, and you had spent most of your summers with your maternal grandmother. Grandma Madge had been so fun and full of life, and you had been closer to her than any of her other grandchildren, though you had fond memories of playing on your grandfather’s boat with your older cousins in the Florida heat, the ocean spray hitting your face and easing the sting of the summer heat. You had been closest with Bubbles, your cousin closest in age to you, and the two of you had been attached at the hip during those summers, calling each other often during the months apart. Of course, Bubbles wasn’t her real name, just like Skipper wasn’t yours. Names given to you by older family members, Bubbles because of the nervous tick she had of blowing bubbles into her drink while lost in thought, Skipper given to you by your grandfather because of the way you commanded your cousins around on the boat.

You may have been the youngest, but you were a natural born leader according to the older man.

You and Bubbles had drifted apart during high school, preoccupied with friends you saw every day and the different dreams the both of you pursued. Bubbles chased a dream of writing the world’s best-selling novel, and you chased a dream instilled in you by your grandmother.

You supposed it was natural to be drawn to the ocean. How many people do you hear lament about their yearning for a beach vacation? You weren’t just interested in the beach, however. No, you were fascinated by the fauna that called the body of water home, wanting to know all you could about it. You begged your parents to buy you every book available on the different creatures living beneath the waves, taking nearly weekly visits to the aquarium. You loved all the creatures, but your favorite had always been the stingrays. The little cow-nosed rays glided through the water, racing up to you for pets. They were like little water puppies, and you spent hours with your hand in the water petting them until your parents had to drag you away to finish looking at the rest of the exhibits. It was on one of those early trips that you procured your closest confidante, Rusty—a stuffed cow-nosed stingray who you kept with you as much as possible.

Rusty had been with you during every embarrassing moment, every bad test, and had even moved with you halfway across the country to attend Duke University in North Carolina. He hadn’t been your only friend for long, as during that first week of classes you met a boy who you would know as your greatest friend four years later.

Bob Floyd was a North Carolina native, having come from the small, island town appropriately named North Island. Bob told you all the stories about growing up in that small, island town, even inviting you to spend holidays with him, but you had politely refused. You still spent that time with your grandmother, keeping her company as much as possible after your grandfather had died your sophomore year of high school.

Grandma Madge had passed at the beginning of your final year, and you had considered taking time off to grieve. It had been Bubbles of all people who had called you up to remind you that your grandmother would have wanted you to continue and finish earning your degree, and so though it pained you to push on, keep going you had.

Now, you were at a loss with what to do for your final summer before starting your PhD program at Duke’s graduate school. Finals were wrapping up, and you found yourself confronted with the possibility of returning home for a summer spent alone while your parents were god only knew where.

“When are you gonna take me up on my offer to just spend the summer at my folk’s place?” Bob huffed in a laugh. You rolled your eyes playfully at him from where you lay sprawled out on his bedspread, several textbooks scattered around you. Bob was seated at his desk, textbooks also cracked open as the two of you studied for finals. “I’m serious, Skipper. It’s senior year, and I’d really like if my best friend would come hang out with me for the summer.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you started, stopping when Bob scoffed, shooting you a scowl.

“You’re never a bother. And where’s that same attitude when you’re over here eating all of my poptarts?”

“That’s different,” you giggled.

Bob glared playfully at you. “I beg to differ. Besides, you’d be doin’ me a favor. I’m always so bored when I’m at home. I could really use the company.”

“Wow, what a ringing endorsement,” you joked, Bob rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have friends?”

“I do,” he conceded with a grimace, “but Nat and Mickey are the only two that are at least somewhat normal, and I always feel like a third wheel. It’d be nice to have another person there to even things out.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, pen tapping against your notebook as you considered his proposal. It would definitely beat a summer in the Midwest. Bob scooted forward, putting on his best pleading look, blue eyes dark and round as he pleaded with you.

“C’mon,” he urged, lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. “Pretty please?”

You sighed. “I’ll think about it, alright? I want to see what my parents have planned.”

As it would turn out, your parents had planned a trip abroad for the whole summer, and you were left with no other option but to accept Bob’s proposal.

“Don’t sound so happy,” he had laughed. “You love the ocean, and the house is right on the beach.”

“I am happy,” you countered, loading your bags into the back of his car. “But, I’m worried that I’ll just be an imposition.”

“For the thousandth time,” Bob said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “you are not an imposition. My parents love you, remember? Sometimes I think they like you more than they like me. Do you really think they would have let me invite you if they didn’t? Hell, I had to fight’em to keep’em from inviting you themselves.”

Bob’s parents were a sweet couple. Susan was a stay-at-home mom turned entrepreneur, while Richard was a tech developer, and both absolutely adored their only son. They had latched onto you the second Bob had introduced you to them during one of the home football games they had driven up to see, and now they considered you the daughter they never had.

“How did they react when you told them I was coming?” You asked him with a grin. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Pretty sure there’s a mountain of balloons waiting for us when we get there,” he mused, closing the door to the trunk. The two of you rounded the different sides of the car before getting in. Once your seatbelt was fastened, you looked up to see Bob giving you a peculiar look. You returned it with a confused one, and he looked down pointedly at your lap.

“Rusty does not sit in the back,” you said, hugging the stuffed ray closer. Bob let out a little laugh as he held his hands up in surrender.

“You sure you remembered everything?” He asked you as he started the car. You nodded, shifting in your seat to get more comfortable.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright then,” he grinned, turning to you. “Let’s get goin’.”

A/N: Here it is! I told y’all I was gonna rewrite it lol But I’m finally getting around to it!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do tag lists, but you can follow my side blog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications for all updates! You can also find my stories on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

#mmats #meet me at the sea #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x y/n #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x y/n #hangman x you

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desiresiwant · 2 months ago

Text

Something About You Chapter One

pairing: Seth Clearwater X Black!OC

word count: 6.4k~

warnings: strong language, usage of alcohol, non-con kiss, a pretty much tamed 1st chapter…for now

description: Seth Clearwater finally imprints on Diamond Hicks, someone who just isn’t looking love. While she struggles with her feelings and promises, Seth struggles to find a balance between his new and old self so he can become the wolf his imprint needs.

a/n: Been very excited and impatient to bring this fic to life, so here it is!!! I’d recommend checking out the masterlist before reading, given much has changed from the story we know. If there’s a warning I skipped let me know. P.S The beach scenes were written when it was originally taken place in a warmer month, but changed my mind and didn’t wish to rewrite anything aside from slighty changing minor details. Trust I know how cold 60 can be but it’s fiction.

MASTERLIST | NEXT ->

Chapter One | Stolen Kiss

Seattle, Washington | February 9, 2024

𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧 how Diamond wished to spend her weekend—seven weekends in a row stuck at a family-owned restaurant, cleaning chicken masala between the floor cracks because parents weren’t watching their children who have a tendency to throw whatever in their direction on the floor.

This was NOT the adult life Diamond looked forward to when finally leaving home to attend the University of Washington (U.W). Built in one of the cloudiest cities surrounded by endless beauty of mother nature, miles from Orlando, Florida. One of the hottest cities in one of the hottest states, cluttered with people and flashy attractions. The only similarity that felt most like home was rain.

Never once did Diamond imagine herself so far from home, but unfortunately, U.W was the only institution to offer a full ride for track and field. She accepted immediately and officially became a Husky.

But it didn’t cover food, travel, personal expenses, and bills. Diamond’s mother could only send so much with other mouths to feed, being a foster mother to five other children. She knew soon enough the responsibility would be hers to bear as it normally had been.

The easy one, her mother would describe Diamond.

The one who never cried, never asked for much, never made life too difficult. The one who always had to make a way because there was no one else to do it for her. And in a household filled with children every few months or years, it’s easy to forget the easy one when schedules were packed with appointments, drama, and school—which left Diamond to fulfill not only the role of an only child, which that she was, but a parent too.

Moving to an unfamiliar environment added to that lonesome feeling, but it was also a fresh breath of air. Therapeutic even.

Diamond tossed the last thick lump of sauce-covered napkins in the bucket filled with the rest of the meal. Apparently, the mop was broken and the owner’s hard-headed son left to buy a new mop, yet it’s been hours since he returned. It seems he prioritized his Friday night plans, which his parents were heavily against. Something about catching a movie with friends, a harmless movie Mr. Devgn feared would install unhealthy mindsets.

Something Diamond should’ve been doing if she hadn’t canceled plans to pick up an extra shift.

Mrs. Devgn caught sight of Diamond heading back and perked from her seat behind the register, pausing the drama she was watching on her phone. “Thank you for handling that mess and staying a bit late. When it gets crazy on the weekends, I know we can count on you to come through.” She said and then frowned at her sauce-covered fingers. “I’m sorry you had to clean bare-headed. Karan should be back any second now with that mop.”

Diamond bit back her scoff. That boy wasn’t coming back and everyone knew it too. “It’s not a problem. At least it wasn’t piping hot.”

“Oh, god, no! That would be a disaster!”

Ayra, the Devgn’s third child, appeared through the red curtains with a scoff. “Karan’s not coming back, ma. You picked the wrong child for errands. We all know he’s watching that R-rated movie Baba said no to.”

Mrs. Devgn smacked her shoulder, knocking out the AirPod hidden beneath her hair that she was secretly listening to music on. “Don’t let your father hear.” She whispered, peeking over her shoulder for her husband nowhere in sight. “He’s already in a pissy mood dealing with your other brother and his costly habits. Go take make yourself useful and take them drinks to table three.”

“You said I could ring!” Ayra pouted.

“Go!”

Ayra couldn’t defy Mrs. Devgn stern look, daring her child to challenge her authority. She flung her head back with a dragged groan before taking the tray of drinks to table three.

“Don’t let me hold you up, Diamond. You wash up and take your lunch. I warmed you a plate. It's in the break room since I didn’t trust David and his sticky fingers.”

“You don’t have to make me lunch every time, Mrs. Devgn. I appreciate it but I don’t want you overworking yourself.”

Mrs. Devgn waved her off. “All my employees must eat. Plus you’re an athlete and so far from home, I know you’re not eating enough home-cooked meals. Now go, wash wash and eat.”

She sat comfortably in her chair and resumed her show.

Diamond knew this wasn’t a fight she could win and Mrs. Devgn was right; she hadn’t eaten enough home-cooked meals. Mostly takeout and cheap ramen. Between classes, practices, and work, exhaustion remained a constant component when it came to cooking and oftentimes cleaning.

After dumping the bucket and washing her hands, Diamond sat at the mini table in the break room and ate her lamb and chicken bowl mixed in silence. She scrolled through her phone catching up with everyone else’s life on Instagram, imagining herself in their shoes. Taking weekend trips out of the country, getting front-row seats at a concert, splurging money on shopping sprees with friends, and going on cute little dates with a significant other.

The kind of thrill Diamond should be experiencing especially during her sophomore year in college, away from her mom and her old life. This was the time to start a new life and create new and better memories outside her usual routine…yet had no idea where to start. And was nearly two years late.

A call paused the story Diamond was currently watching and saw it was her roommate Renesmee calling. She quickly swallowed what was left in her mouth before picking up. “Hey, what’s u—”

“What are you doing and please don’t tell me you’re working?” Renesmee asked as soon as the line connected.

Diamond looked around the small room that smelt heavily of her food clashing with other scents from the kitchen. She debated lying to her friend, but what’s the point when she somehow always knew when she was lying?

Her shoulders fell with defeat as she confirmed, “I’m working. I picked up an extra shift so I won’t be home until eleven-ish, maybe midnight.”

“God, no, Diamond! Why did you say yes to working late on a Friday night?”

“I…need the money,” Diamond replied as if it wasn’t obvious in the first place. “Some people aren’t born with golden spoons like you, Nes.”

From the time she’s known Renesmee since Diamond’s previous roommate dropped out two weeks within the first semester—who was quite literally the nicest and selfless person ever met, whose grandmother occasionally cooked meals and stuffed the pantries with everything found in a grocery store—it was clear her wealth was out of the question. She was always seen with the latest technology, the rarest edition of purses and shoes, and clothes from unheard-of brands, made from raw material that needed to be washed a certain way. Her side of the room was straight out of a Pinterest board compared to Diamond’s side which had all that she needed and a poster of her favorite movie. She had pictures in her gallery from all over the world. She even owned an expensive car that would take Diamond two generations to pay off, and could only imagine the price of her house she goes back to every break.

Working wasn’t a word in Renesmee’s vocabulary, but she was a hard-working student. Always up studying while Diamond crashed out in bed. Sometimes it felt like Renesmee was wasting her time in college by how quickly her mind soaked up information. When she’s bored, she’s reading. When she’s about to sleep, she’s reading. When she’s in a good mood, she’s reading. And it wasn’t silly romance or epic fantasies, but thick nonfiction books that gave Diamond a headache, she enjoyed for regular entertainment.

“You’re right. I should be mindful of others' situations and I apologize if I came off ignorant.” Renesmee’s apology would’ve caught Diamond off guard if it wasn’t a usual occurrence. Being wrong and taking accountability was nothing she feared. “But I really needed you off today or at least out by six.”

Diamond paused. “How’d you know I was originally off today?”

“You write your schedule color-coded on the calendar pinned above your bed, silly. Quite literally hard to miss.”

“Oh…right.” Her face heated in embarrassment and picked at a piece of shredded lamb before plopping it in her mouth. “So what’s happening at six?”

“Technically it happens later, but remember my aunt I told you about? The psychic one? Yeah, well, I asked her to look into your future—“

“Now why would you do that?”

“You’re my roommate…and my first college friend. I wanted to make sure you’ll stay in my life forever, or however long life gives. Soft spoiler—I overacted over nothing.” Her nervous chuckle failed to comfort herself, admitting words Diamond found hard to believe.

Her first college friend? Renesmee was always surrounded by people on campus. Of course, when her boyfriend Jacob wasn’t there to scare everyone away with one look.

But the feeling was mutual. Although Renesmee wasn’t Diamond’s first friend in college, she valued their friendship and wanted it to last. The soft spoiler confused her though.

Renesmee’s chippy personality came back to life. “Anyway, I asked her to look into your future and she told me something life-changing will happen tonight.” She mused.

“If it’s Karan coming back with a mop, tell her it’s already too late.” Diamond said into another bite.

“I have no idea who that is but he has nothing to do with tonight.”

“You know I don’t believe in that shit, Nes. I gave up wishing on a star and learned to accept reality, or whatever form of reality I choose to accept.”

She sighed. “I know, but you gotta trust me on this one.”

“Why?”

Silence filled the line but not for too long.

“I can’t say just yet, it’ll spoil the future but trust me. You’ve been ranting about how boring and lonely your life has been since moving to Seattle, wanting to spice it up and meet new people. And I get it, it's not like Florida, but this will change everything. It’s exactly what you need and have been searching for.” She said and there was noise in the background. Faded music, shouting voices, and lots of thick wind. “Come down to La Push. There’s a bonfire happening with lots of hot guys from university and drinks, and the beach—which you’ve said you miss. I can also really use the company of my friend. Please come! Please, please !”

La Push?

That was the exact plan Diamond turned down when a few members on the track team asked if she would pop out. Because Mrs. Devgn asked first about the shift, she declined the outing. This had to be a coincidence. A crazy one that was four damn hours away.

“La Push is nearly four hours away for one. Two, It’s cold as hell. Three, I don’t have a car and Ubering there in this economy is probably over two hundred dollars. Money I’m not tryna spend over she-say.”

“Not a problem! I’ll Venmo you the money. The cold never bothered you anyway, the bonfire will keep you warm if you get cold.”

“I can’t take that from you.” Diamond shut down quickly.

“Why not? There’s more where it came from, remember? Golden spoon.”

“I don’t wanna be indebted to you.”

“What debt? I’m inviting you so I should be the one to take care of the expenses. I promise it’s okay. You don’t need to pay me back.” There was a short pause on the line because Renesmee came back. “Scratch that—pay me back by coming. I’ll hold it over your head if you don’t.”

Diamond never met this aunt Renesmee constantly brought up and chatted with on the phone, or maybe she had and didn’t know with the many people her roommate attracted like a moth to light. But one thing was certain, she made one hell of a case.

Her life has been boring maintaining the same sleep-work-practice-homework schedule, and never felt more alone than she had when first arriving in Washington. Diamond wouldn’t consider herself a borderline introvert, but she would never go out her way to introduce herself to strangers unless it was necessary. Unlike those fortunate enough to link with another upon first meeting, Diamond needed time to warm up to someone. Only then could she be her unfiltered self. But because of those limits she was hesitant to push has caused her life to spiral into uncertainty and unfulfilled satisfaction.

Aside from her job, Diamond had nothing to lose. If her roommate’s supposedly psychic aunt swore down this night would change the trajectory of her sad life, then the risk—including the freezing weather and the four-hour long drive—was worth it.

“Fine. I’ll come to this stupid bonfire and see what the hype is about.” Diamond agreed and had to hold the phone away from Renesmee squealing with excitement.

“Thank you! I’ve already sent the money. Come as fast as you can, I’ll see you here!”

————————————-

𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗢𝗢𝗞 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗔𝗜𝗗 𝗕𝗘𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘. The cost to Uber to La Push wasn’t worth the risk and she dreaded the price of heading back to U.W. Even though Renesmee didn’t mind covering the cost, two hundred was still a lot and four hours spent on the road for a word of mouth was delusion at its finest. Hopefully, she could catch a ride back with Renesmee since they were roommates; anything to save money and the installed mindset of feeling indebted even toward genuine acts of kindness.

The parking lot was overfilled with cars packed with party-goers like sardines, dragging their friends to race across the sand and meet others dancing around multiple lit bonfires and scattered tents. Diamond removed her shoes and socks to bury her toes in the cool white sand. She closed her eyes and inhaled the salty dry breeze. It reminded her of Florida aside from the cold, home she missed very much.

“Diamond! You made it!”

Diamond opened her eyes to Renesmee running toward her in a royal blue two-piece bathing suit with a black sheer cover-up tied around her waist. Her long brunette hair danced with the wind, and she had the biggest smile on her pale face with her arms stretched out, knocking Diamond slightly off her feet when she came crashing against her.

Diamond hugged her back with a warm laughter as she balanced herself and Renesmee apologized. She was almost convinced her friend matched her height until she realized Renesmee was lifting on her toes. Not that she was much taller, only an inch or two apart.

“I’m so happy you’re here! You’re in for one hell of a night.” Renesmee pulled away from the hug first, radiating indescribably youth and beauty.

“I would hope so since that’s why I’m here.”

She shook her head with a knowing smile. “How were you able to get off early? I thought your boss was strict on busy days?”

“They are, but I lied. Said I was feeling queasy. My boss offered ginger tea and wanted me to wait it out and see how I felt after a while, but ultimately let me go home. Speaking of which, I am riding back with you right?”

“Of course. I would never leave you here stranded though, I doubt you’ll leave with me after tonight anyway.” Her dark arched brows wiggled, hinting at whatever her supposedly psychic aunt saw in Diamond’s future.

A gift she still refused to believe as it was impossible to see the future and Renesmee had a weird sense of humor. Anything said out of her mouth couldn't be trusted on rare occasions especially when speaking about her insanely wealthy family. Aside from that, she’s very honest for the most part.

“Oh, I definitely will be leaving with you without a doubt.”

Renesmee shook her head, chuckling. Then she wrapped an arm around Diamond’s and pulled her toward the coolers near the grills flipping over burgers and hot dogs. They popped open two cool bottles of strawberry seagrams. The fizzled fruity taste was more like soda than alcohol, a drink easily finished and grabbed for another round. Mango flavor this time.

“I know that’s not Diamond all the way out here? Outside and at a party?” Before she could turn and see who called her out, an arm threw itself around her neck, pulling on her braids. “You said you were picking up an extra shift and couldn’t make it. You lying bitch!”

Diamond knew it was Kimi, her track teammate. She had rich russet skin and wide-set expressive eyes. Her dark loose curls were thrown in a messy bun, dressed in jean shorts and a hot pink bikini top, showing off her athletic figure. Next to her was Tayen, also another track teammate. She had dyed her hair pink but the color had dulled and her roots were growing in black. Neither opposed the chilly weather and treated it like a regular sunny day.

Renesmee spoke up before Diamond could. “That’s because I convinced her to put herself over her job. It’s also her first time in La Push so treat her nice.”

Tayen clasped a hand against Diamond’s shoulder after she was freed from Kimi as if commencing her first experience. “Welcome to La Push and our humbly reservation home to the Quileute tribe, which is open to all who respect our land, culture, and people.”

Kimi leaned forward, covering her mouth as she whispered, “between me and you, this is only a step into the reservation. If you truly want a taste of our enriching culture—my culture as a Makah, I would speak to the elders. God knows they love sharing a good story about our guiding spirits, ancient legends, and whatnot.”

“I’ll consider it, thank you.” Diamond said, sipping her drink and tightening her tote bag on her shoulder. She had no idea where her tribe was located but it didn’t dull the excitement to learn about it and more.

“Don’t pressure her, Kimi,” Tayen chuckled. “She’s always migrating people to her grandma so she doesn’t have to sit and listen to her talk off her ear.”

Kimi playfully shoved Tayen aside to defend herself and this vile accusation that gave Diamond and Renesmee a good laugh. “Hey, she loves fresh new faces! She’s practically forcing me to bring people home even if I gotta kidnap them and drag them across the damn border.”

Renesmee threw out a protective arm, guiding Diamond behind her. “No one’s kidnapping my roommate so don’t even think about it. I promised to get her home in one piece.”

Kimi lifted her hands in defeat, finally backing off.

Renesmee turned to Diamond and took in her attire. “I hope you’re not planning on getting wet in jeans?” She asked and her brows furrowed in confusion.

“It’s sixty degrees…?”

“That’s what the bonfire and alcohol is for, track star. We've ran in colder conditions. You’ll warm up in no time.” Tayen said, which was true. This weather was nothing to her but a different kind of cold compared to Florida. Shorts were still acceptable clothing during Florida’s chilly days, but in Washington, shorts was basically signing a death wish.

“You did bring a bathing suit, right?” Asked Renesmee. “Where’s your bag?”

“What bag? I left work straight here,” she chewed her bottom lip, motioning toward her plain black jacket, t-shirt, and jeans. “This is all I have.”

Renesmee kissed her teeth. “I told you to bring a bag. It’s beach night! Every couple of months the reservation hosts a beach party open to the public. There’s fun activities, movies, music, games, and the only few opportunities we can stay on the beach and sleep in cute tents without being fined.”

“That’s not what you told me.” Diamond said. “You told me to show up so I assumed this was a few hours type situation then we drive back, not an overnight thing. Why didn’t you tell me all this when we were on the phone? You know I know nothing about this state besides U.W. let alone bonfire night in a city I’ve never been to.”

Her eyes narrowed with guilt. “Oh. It must’ve slipped my mind when I got too excited about you coming. I’m sorry.”

Of course, Diamond wasn’t mad at her roommate. It was an honest mistake. “It’s fine. I just don’t have anything else to wear, and I’m not particularly fond of swimming in ice-cold water. I’m unprepared which I don’t like being. But I guess I can participate for the night.”

Another risk she was willing to take.

“Okay, don’t panic ladies, I brought extra bathing suits. You’re free to borrow either one and any other stuff needed for tonight. There’s also plenty of shops in Forks too.” Kimi and the rest offered to chip in to ensure a smooth night.

Kimi was already guiding Diamond away from the beach and from Tayen and Renesmee to her small black car in the parking lot.

She changed in the backseat while Kimi kept watched, and talked Diamond’s ear off about various topics. Most were of those she hadn’t met, coach being a pain in the ass last practice, homework due tonight that she hadn’t started on; and had even proposed Diamond should share a tent with her and Tayen since Renesmee would obviously be sleeping with her boyfriend, to which Diamond agreed. She didn’t want to impose on their lovey-doveyness. It would be awkward too. The two were inseparable.

The strapless one-piece was a little loose around the chest area but it was a perfect fit. They wore the same size in clothes though Kimi was more muscular with bigger breasts and wider hips as opposed to Diamond with both the thighs and the ass but somewhat smaller breasts. She tied her small-sized braids back from her face and shoved her clothes into her tote bag before getting out.

Renesmee was spotted with her boyfriend Jacob as they were walking back to the beach. Tayen was nowhere to be found, nothing out of the ordinary. There were a lot more shirtless men than there were before. All long-haired, muscular, with a tribal tattoo on their arm much similar to Jacob's if not the same. And all unaffected by the chilly weather.

Jacob had his arms wrapped around her slim body, reaching over her shoulder to bite into the chili hotdog Renesmee was feeding him. She squealed when chili kept dropping on her, so he struck out his tongue and licked wherever it fell along her skin.

Diamond wasn’t aware of the creepy smile on her face until her cheeks were aching. Renesmee and Jacob were disgustingly cute together, practically meant to be. Their warm interaction highlighted the loneliness weighing her heart. They had the type of love Diamond wanted to experience someday if life allowed it to happen.

She hadn’t the best experience with love. She hadn’t even been in a relationship before or surpassed the talking stage. Most was due to her priorities with track and solidifying her career so she wouldn’t end up like her mother, stuck in the same neighborhood she was raised in. Comfortable with nothing and too afraid to feed on any inner ambition.

But also because the wanna-be men in her life weren’t looking for a partner but a replacement for their mother.

And while Diamond was content by herself with friends, she still hoped to live out that first love fantasy in time.

“Oh, Diamond! Kimi! You’re back already.” With a gasp, Renesmee placed the half-eaten hotdog back on the plate and tried to pull free from Jacob but his arms kept her secure against his broad chest.

She slapped his arms, but it didn’t stop his tongue from grazing up her neck and reaching her earlobe. Her cheeks burned bright red as he muttered something that only she could hear unless it was the fire casting its glow.

Kimi gagged as if she heard him. “You guys are disgusting.”

“Jacob!” Renesmee giggled, hitting him again. “You’re so—let me go! We’re in company.”

“They don’t mind.” He said while kissing along the rim of her ear. Renesmee rolled her eyes, yet didn’t stop him this time.

“I mind. Plus you reek of outside!”

“You never minded it.”

Renesmee said nothing, proving his point.

Kimi looked past the couple and stood straight when someone or something caught her attention. “Hi, Edward!” She greeted the mass of people with a wave Diamond was unable to pinpoint.

Jacob immediately ripped himself off Renesmee and composed himself into a respectable man any woman would bring home to meet her family. No longer the horny man whispering nonsense in his girlfriend’s ear, who also pushed herself from her boyfriend. The quick action caused the hotdog to slip off the paper plate. She adjusted her bikini top before pushing her voluminous hair over her shoulders to cover her chest.

Kimi’s face deepened a dark color of red, her lips pressed tight and her cheeks were inflated with air as she struggled to contain her laughter. It was then when the couple looked back to nothing that she couldn’t hold it anymore and laughed in their faces.

Jacob kissed his teeth while pushing back his short dark hair. “You play too damn much. He’s not even allowed on our land without permission.”

“Yet you still fell for you.” Kimi hugged her stomach, laughing still. Jacob jumped at her and she flinched, but it didn’t stop her laughter.

“Edward?” Diamond questioned while slipping on her jacket. The name sounded familiar but couldn’t be sure since her roommate talked about people often when Diamond’s just getting back from practice so their names mush together.

“My d—my cousin. You’ve met him before, remember? Tall and moody with bright eyes.” Renesmee knelt to pick up the sandy hotdog and placed it on the plate which Jacob took from her to toss out.

“Ah right.”

Diamond did remember her cousin, Edward. He visited every once in a while with his wife, Bella. They often took Renesmee out on weekly dinners that would last for hours or even days and had her coming back to the dorm at odd hours. They were nice and welcoming and Edward even once guessed a thought on Diamond’s mind before she said it.

Though it’s strange because while they weren’t Renesmee’s parents, whom she had never met, as young as they were, their interactions were far from cousins and more parental. Their appearances alone were uncanny especially when compared to Bella. The two of them were constantly hitting her line.

“Jacob, you remember Diamond?” Renesmee changed the subject when Jacob returned with another hotdog.

He extended his hand toward Diamond which she took. “The roommate, of course. We always meet in awkward situations.”

“We do.” Oftentimes when the couple were engaging in sexual activities. Renesmee forgets to give Diamond a heads up or put something on the door, which sucked on days when she couldn’t wait to rot in bed after studies.

“We should change that. I hear so much about you from Nessy, I feel we’re already the best of friends.” It came out as a tease directed to his girlfriend who didn’t mind him. Her attention was fixated on their surroundings, scanning the crowd as if searching for danger.

“Likewise and we should.” Diamond agreed. Her reply sounded as awkward as it was. Jacob wasn’t a stranger in a sense but they weren’t close on any level and their only connection was Renesmee.

“Anyway, I’m glad you could make it. Tonight will be a festive of activities so don’t be afraid to step outside your comfort zone and let loose.”

Diamond was starting to look forward to tonight aside from whatever the future held. The alcohol kept her warm as well as the bonfire they stood by, feeling herself loosen up. She needed a break from her usual routine—fresh air.

“Why you’re back so early from patrol?” Kimi asked out of nowhere and Diamond felt their eyes on her for reasons she didn’t care to analyze.

Her attention was captured by a fifteen year old girl playing in the water with a boy who looked around her age, possibly a bit older. He would howl like a wolf and beat his chest like a monkey, his short curly hair gone with the wind with his tattoo—just like Jacob—on display. The girl covered her face in embarrassment and splashed water on him with her other hand, causing him to rush after her.

They weren’t the only cute couple in the mix of locals and drunk college students, existing as if only they existed. Jacob and this guy weren’t the only ones showing off this particular tribal tattoo, though it seemed those with it were occupied by a romantic partner. It was like it was an initiation before getting into a relationship.

Jacob ran a hand through his short hair, a stressful sigh filling his lungs as he spoke. “Something’s wrong with Seth.” At this, Kimi panicked and bombarded Jacob with hordes of questions that he had to lift his hand to quiet her so he could continue. “Seth’s fine. He’s as healthy as the rest of us, but we had to cut patrolling short because he needed to come back.”

“Why?” Kimi inquired and Jacob shrugged.

“Who the fuck knows. It’s Seth. His mind was distracted and the p—” A quick look in Diamond’s direction was noted. “—the group struggled to concentrate, so I allowed him to return. But I got worried and followed behind to check on him and ensure he hadn’t knocked his head somewhere. He’s acting stranger than usual.”

So were they, but Diamond didn’t question anything outwardly.

Kimi sighed with relief upon hearing this. “That’s Seth for you. My cousin’s always been a little weird since I can remember. He’s probably hungry.” She chuckled and everyone but Diamond, who didn’t know this person or what he was like, agreed.

“Probably so, it sounds like him for sure. But if Seth is in any kind of trouble I’ll be the first to know, so don’t go alerting Sue or your sister Emily yet.” Jacob pulled Renesmee closer to his side with an arm around her waist. She molded against him, a perfect fit. They were like magnets; unable to go a moment without physical contact.

Kimi tilted back her head to drink the rest of her bottle, only to quickly realize it was emptied. “I need another well-deserved drink after breaking my track record by nine seconds. Diamond, let’s leave these lovebirds to their disgusting conversation.”

Renesmee playfully rolled her eyes. “Our conversation is pretty tamed compared to others.”

“Yes, and I’m never free from them when we’re together.”

Diamond did agree to go with Kimi for another drink, leaving Renesmee behind with her boyfriend who wanted her to remain close. She was in need of another drink, unable to put down the seagrams, and in need of food—something to snack on since Mrs. Devgn’s cooking hit the spot. There were more leftovers, tied in a plastic bag shoved in her purse that hung heavy on her shoulder.

Opting for two little bags of chips, Renesmee was overheard telling Jacob something he needed to know regarding Seth. But instead of outright telling him with words, Diamond watched as her hand caressed his muscular arm in a prolonged manner, starting from his wrist. No words were exchanged the entire time but Jacob’s eyes snapped in Diamond’s direction with shock. She tore away her gaze toward Kimi pouring herself a drink from a questionable clothed bottle. However it was too late since they knew she was watching.

“Are you sure?” His question carried far, and Diamond could now feel their gazes burning holes through her head. It made her self-conscious for some reason.

Like they knew this bathing suit wasn’t a perfect fit, or she’s had way too many seagrams and didn’t save any for everyone else, or there was something on her face no one was telling her about, or something worse.

Jacob shook his head with a chuckle. “That explains everything. Sue will faint once she hears of this.” He responded to Renesmee whose voice hadn’t been heard at all.

But the strangest part—which had nothing to do with Diamond—was how they communicated without words. Spot on as if they were reading each other’s minds. It wasn’t the first she caught her roommate conversing in that manner, and by the looks of it, it wouldn’t be the last.

Kimi returned with her red cup filled with a brown-like substance and offered the cup to Diamond. “Wanna sip? This is the real shit you can’t just buy from any local booze store. This batch takes our elders over forty years to brew, traditions that've been passed down for centuries. Could even be called a potion.”

Diamond took the cup and sniffed it. The strong smell forced her head back and cleared her throat as it burned through her nostrils and down her throat. “What’s in it?” She asked while fighting to control her expression so as not to offend anyone. The smell only caught her off guard.

“Never asked, never cared.” She shrugged. The hype music had her swaying her hips and mouthing lyrics to the wrong part of the song. “Fair warning though, it’ll have you so fucked up you’ll be dining with Jesus himself.”

Diamond handed back the cup. “No thanks. I’m not tryna dine with a dead man in a place I’ve never been before with people I’m meeting for the first time. That’s a crime scene waiting to happen.”

“A sip won’t do much but have you light-headed and warm. Few more sips will have you lightly fucked up, but it’ll all wear off in a few hours or so. No pressure though.”

Kimi added the last part in case she was coming off too strong. Diamond didn’t feel like being light-headed for a few hours, but her curiosity got the best of her. She also didn’t want to turn down a drink with history behind it that Kimi willingly shared. It was an experience she wouldn’t have again.

She took the cup and did her best not to smell it while taking a sip bigger than expected. Its bitter taste burned down Diamond’s throat immediately upon contact, forcing her to cough like a mad woman. The alcohol left a strange sweet aftertaste.

“What the fuck?” Diamond heaved.

Kimi took the cup before anything spilled. “Yeah,” she chuckled while rubbing Diamond’s back, agreeing with her reaction. “It gets better after a few times.”

“I’m barely surviving my first time.”

“You’re doing better than most.”

Diamond decided then to stick with her seagrams especially when her environment started tilting. She grabbed onto Kimi’s arm to level herself. She knew what she was getting herself into but didn’t expect one sip to affect her like this. More like she didn’t believe Kimi, which she described as a potion.

Kimi was looking over Diamond’s shoulder when she squealed right into her ear. “Speak of the Devil, there goes little Seth.”

She waved behind Diamond and she turned to see an attractive guy heading toward their direction from what she could make out through her tilting environment. He appeared tall from the distance growing shorter and was one of the few who wore a shirt. A plain sleeveless gray shirt that hung at the side and showcased his tribal tattoo, as well as his well-built figure. Not big and bulky like the rest of the men, neither was he lanky and thin. His curly long hair was tied messily back with loose strands shaping his youthful face, and his russet-colored skin glowed beneath the moonlight.

He was cute.

It didn’t hit Diamond that she was staring him down, unable to look away when their eyes met. Like some weird mystical force refusing her to look elsewhere until she forcefully ripped away her gaze—way too fast that she gripped Kimi’s arm tighter to steady herself from falling over. Fuck this drink was strong.

Kimi didn’t mind being used as a rest stop since it was her drink she offered. She assured Diamond she was okay and her symptoms were normal, but if something didn’t feel right to alert her immediately. She felt fine for now.

But when glancing back at the guy, supposedly Seth, chills scorned her arms because he looked at Diamond, as if she was the only woman to exist in his world. His surroundings weren’t of his concern.

She looked away again.

Kimi stepped forward when he was within feet. “Seth, you alright? Jacob told me you weren’t feeling—” She was pushed passed and Diamond knew he was standing directly in front of her.

“Um…” She stepped back, unsure what this man wanted and why he stopped directly in front of her when his cousin called for him. “Hi? Can I help you?”

A firm arm slid around Diamond’s back, his hand cupping her chin, brushing his thumb along her glossy lips. Diamond flinched at his heated touch, nearly feverish. He lifted her face to meet his strucken gaze displaying a range of emotions. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, taking in every detail of her face. “I love you already.”

Diamond opened her mouth to protest but was fed her words when the stranger leaned forward to capture her lips. Her pulse quickened when he took a chance to deepen the kiss further when her lips parted in shock. The kiss didn’t have a consistent rhythm. In truth, it was sloppy, possibly due to Diamond struggling to participate against an eager kisser taking everything for himself. Though she wasn’t one to speak.

This was her first official kiss. Minus kissing games back in freshman year in high school that were quick and short due to shyness and not having enough players.

And this stranger stole it.

Diamond quickly came to her senses and lifted both her hands—one filled with the bags of chips—and pushed at his broad chest. He was much stronger than he looked, it was like pushing at a rock. He immediately tore himself off once deciphering her attempt.

“What the fuck is your problem?” There was not one inch of guilt on his face and it pissed her off.

So she slapped him.

Hard.

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

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