#is every wednesday when they vote people off?

[dlwritings]

November 6, 2024 | Rafe Cameron

masterlist found here

pairing - Rafe x reader word count - 1,827 warnings - political talk, anti-T*ump rhetoric A/N - Who would've thought the shit show state of our world would inspire me to write again. I know for a lot of us everything feels really broken right now, and I know it may seem silly to some, but for me, writing feels like healing, even if it's just something like this. So here you all are. Rafe probably votes red, but here's a world where he doesn't. Also, if you're a T*umper, go ahead and unfollow me. I can't have any of that in my life. I'm so serious.

summary - The results of the 2024 election hit you pretty hard, and you end up taking your rage out on Rafe. Turns out, Rafe's hopes for the future looked a lot like yours.

You and Rafe didn’t talk about politics. You knew better than to broach the topic with him, because you weren’t naive. One glance at him and anyone could guess how he voted.

But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

The two of you had been dating for about six months, and for the most part, it was smooth sailing. It was gossip fuel for most people on the island for a few weeks -you being a pogue and Rafe being … who he was- but like most drama in Kildaire, it didn’t stay at the forefront of people’s minds for long before another thing came and stole back everyone’s attention.

And the thing on everyone’s mind right now was the election. The election that had you donned in blue on your way to the polls, a huge smile on your face as you filled in the bubble that would make history. Hope filled you in a way you were sure it never had before.

Until the next day.

Waking up and opening social media to see the results had already come in was enough to break your spirit completely. How could this have happened? How could the country have failed so many people?

Then again, how had you been so naive to believe in the possibility of any other outcome?

You shut yourself off from the world for most of the day. You went to work and gave polite smiles and nods to your coworkers as needed, but you did your best to spend the majority of your time locked in your office, alone. You didn’t dare to open social media, knowing every MAGA post from the bigots of the Figure 8 would bring tears to your eyes.

It wasn’t until you were at home on your couch that you decided to brave Instagram. Before scrolling through your feed, you added a black screen with a simple blue heart to your story and wrote the words, When we fight, we win.

You thought it was harmless. A simple story that showed your feelings without being overly dramatic. The last thing you wanted to do was act irrational by doing something crazy like storming the capitol. Because that would just be insane.

Unfortunately, the people who followed you saw it as anything but harmless. They saw it as an opening to send you the most heinous, revolting messages you had ever read. Your notifications blew up within minutes, and some of them were so borderline terrifying that you locked your phone and threw it across the room, once again leaving you in a puddle of tears.

You heard your front door open, and you cursed to yourself. In all the chaos of the news, it escaped your mind that it was Wednesday, and Rafe always brought pizza to your apartment on Wednesdays. You had once mentioned in passing that you liked a pick-me-up halfway through a week, and Rafe took it upon himself to provide you with that. Normally, it was one of your favorite parts of the week. Today, Rafe was one of the last people you wanted to see.

“Babe!” he called out upon his entrance. “I got your favorite!”

You met him in the kitchen, and by one look at your face, Rafe’s own expression dropped. “What’s going on?”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat. “I think you should go.”

“What?” he said, dropping the pizza on the counter and walking over to you. With each step he took toward you, you took one step back. He stopped quickly, a frown painted on his face. “What’s wrong, baby?”

The words made something snap inside you, and your fists clenched at your sides. “What’s wrong?” you repeated. “What’s wrong? How about fucking everything, Rafe! Everything’s wrong, and you not seeing that is part of the problem! You are part of the problem!”

Rafe was, in a word, flabbergasted. He ran through the past 24 hours, trying to think of something he had done wrong, but he was coming up short. “Okay, I’m-” He let out an exasperated laugh. “I’m trying to understand, but you’ve got to give me something more here. What did I do?”

“You-” You let out a huff of a breath and ended up speaking through gritted teeth. “You and your stupid fucking MAGA Kook friends voted for a convicted felon to run our country! You voted for a man who wants to throw away my rights. You voted for a man who has raped a multitude of women and brags about it!”

Rafe’s eyes were wide as he held his hands up and shook his head. “Hang on-”

“No, Rafe!” you shouted, pushing him back as he tried to get closer to you again. “For the entire time we’ve dated, I’ve danced around the talk of politics, because I knew better. I knew a rich ass white guy from the south would vote for another rich ass white guy to run our country, but I guess I naively thought it wouldn’t matter. That the poor guys would get a win for fucking once this time. For once I thought the good guys would win and that a white man would have to face the consequences of his actions. But you-” You laughed bitterly. “You of all people know that privileged ass white men never ever have to face the consequences of their actions.”

You were hitting him where it hurt, and you knew it, but you were hurt. You and every woman like you had been holding in years of pain and hurt, and for you and many others, today was the day it was all going to come out.

“Baby, if you just let me-”

“Let you?” you laughed incredulously. “You and your fellow MAGA guys have clearly shown me I don’t have to let you do anything anymore.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

You fished your phone out of your pocket, unlocked it, and shoved it in his face to show him all of the nasty messages you were receiving. Things like, “Your body, my choice,” “whomp whomp go make me a sandwich,” and “Guess what? Men win again” had flooded your DMs, and while you didn’t know it, Rafe was clocking every username and making a very specific list in his head.

“So maybe you can understand why I’m angry, Rafe,” you said, taking the phone back out of his hand and putting it in your pocket again. “I thought I could cancel out your vote, but I guess I forgot that meant you could cancel mine.”

“Ba-”

“I want you to leave, Rafe.”

“But I didn’t-”

“Fucking, go, Rafe!” you shouted. “Let me be angry and let me be alone!”

With a clenched jaw, Rafe gave a short nod. “Okay,” he whispered. “Fine.” It looked like he wanted to say more, but he refrained, instead turning around and heading out the door, leaving you in a mess of tears.

The next day, you called off from work. Maybe it was dramatic, but you didn’t care. You knew if one person even looked at you in a way you didn’t like, you’d lose any composure you had, and you couldn’t afford to lose your job for yelling at your boss.

You had the full intention to stay in bed all day, but the relentless knock at your door around 10AM proved that to be impossible. You felt some sense of relief, knowing it at least wouldn’t be another political petitioner.

Instead, perhaps just as unfortunately, it was Rafe.

You let out a heavy sigh. “What do you want, Rafe?”

He held out his hand which had a coffee cup in it from your favorite shop. “I went to your work, but your boss said you were sick,” he said. “I bought you coffee.” You took it, but didn’t say anything -just looked at him with raised eyebrows, as if to say, Anything else? “Can we please talk?” he said.

“I don’t know what there is to say, Rafe,” you sighed. Still, you stepped aside and let him in, not wanting your neighbors to bear witness to whatever argument was about to ensue. “I know we’re different -I’ve always known that- but I don’t think I can handle being this kind of different anymore.” You plopped yourself onto the sofa, expecting Rafe to sit next to you. Instead, he crouched in front of you so he was just slightly looking up at you.

“Baby, I didn’t vote for him.”

Your lips parted slightly in shock, and you felt tears instantly pool in your eyes.

“What?” you whispered.

“Yeah, of course I didn’t vote for him,” he said. He reached up to turn around the hat he was wearing backwards to reveal a Harris-Walz cap, and you let out a noise that was a mix of a gasp and a little laugh. “I know I’ve fucked up before baby,” he said. “And in other elections, yeah, I usually vote red. But this-” He shook his head and squeezed your knees. “This is different. And I know that. And I’d be an absolute moron to think that tax cuts for me are more important than basic rights for you.”

You moved to kneel on the floor next to him and held his face in your hands before leaning forward to place a soft kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, you kept your forehead against his. “I was so mean to you yesterday,” you whispered. “I didn’t-”

“It wasn’t anything I didn’t deserve,” he said. “I know that I am living in a world that was pretty much tailor made for me. And I know I should be in fucking prison for all the shit I’ve done, and so should he. And I know that none of what I’m saying right now changes the bullshit I’ve done, but I figured I should at least use all this fucking privilege I have and try to help people who don’t have it. Because you-” He paused to press a kiss to your lips. “-have taught me so much about being a good person. And I’m not going to vote against that.”

“I wasn’t a good person yesterday,” you mumbled.

“You were reacting to an unfortunately historic event,” he said. “You had every right to lose it. And you can keep losing it, and I will be by your side for every minute of it, okay?”

You nodded and gave him a soft smile. “Okay.”

He smiled back and nodded. “Okay.”

You and Rafe decided to spend the rest of the day together, sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting in the quiet. When you suggested putting on a movie, Rafe agreed. He let you choose, no complaints, and watched as you searched for the Barbie movie. You cried at all the usual parts, sometimes a bit harder than normal, but Rafe understood.

It is literally impossible to be a woman.

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

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 6: I'm The Resident Leader Of The Lost And Found]

A/N: Be sure to vote in the poll pinned to the top of my blog AFTER you finish reading! It will be available for 1 week 🥰

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

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

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “St. Jimmy” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.2k (she's a little chonky)

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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What happens to the people who turn? You know because you saw it back at Saratoga Springs, an EO from Oklahoma named Greg Flurry—Equipment Operator, he spent his days driving a forklift, everyone called him Snowflake—who returned from weekend liberty with a bite on his left wrist that he said was a gift from some drunk girl who attacked him outside of a 7-Eleven. You had all laughed and taken turns poking at the wound, making him wince: a ring of tiny bruises, not deep at all, the skin only punctured in a few spots, corporeal gemstones of trapped-blood amethysts and sapphires and rubies. Snowflake rubbed it down with a splash of Grey Goose vodka—the same kind your Mama always drank—and didn’t think of it again for the rest of the day.

On Tuesday, he felt fine; but the bite mark, paradoxically, was not healing. On the contrary, it was turning dark and angry, maroon trails along the paths of veins that shuttle blood back to the heart. Snowflake got a shot of antibiotics at the med clinic and was back in the driver’s seat of his forklift before lunch.

On Wednesday, he had a headache and nausea that wouldn’t go away. Snowflake attributed this to particularly questionable chicken fried steak from the chow hall. At night he tossed and turned in his bunk, and when Rio went to check on him, Snowflake was burning up with fever, sweating through his sheets, staring blankly through pupils like pinpricks. You, Rio, and Parker carried him to the med clinic.

On Thursday, in the early hours of the morning, Snowflake began to decompose. But he was still alive. His skin turned grey and sloughed off, his body purged itself: vomit from his throat, diarrhea from his intestines, blood beading out of his pores like sweat. His corneas went cloudy. His lungs flooded with decay-dark mucus. Snowflake sobbed and shrieked as you and Rio sat with him and held his disintegrating hands, as the corpsmen phoned every hospital they could to try to get him transported. All the ambulances were unavailable. All the hospitals were already overwhelmed. They gave the corpsmen peculiar guidance: Palliative care. Prepare to restrain him if he becomes a danger to others. The virus appears to be transmitted via bite wounds.

“Virus?” Rio had said, dropping Snowflake’s hand. “What the fuck kind of virus does this to someone?”

The corpsmen had shaken their heads—We don’t know—and attempted to administer narcotics intravenously. Snowflake received no relief. His blood vessels were collapsing, dissolving, turning to a noxious soup beneath what was left of his skin. Becoming a zombie is not unlike radiation sickness. It rots you from the inside out, and you can feel everything.

As the sun was rising, Snowflake died. And by then you were glad; it was the most merciful outcome. The corpsmen covered him with a sheet and called around for a morgue. They were full too. As you all stood in an exam room trying to understand what had just happened to Snowflake here, what was going on in the world outside Saratoga Springs, the fresh corpse sat up on the table. You had screamed and clutched for Rio; he shoved you behind him. The corpse, still covered with the sheet stained with black and brown and red, followed the noise of your voice and staggered towards you, snarling and groaning, arms outstretched, teeth clicking as they gnashed beneath the sheet. The corpsmen tried to grab him, then shrank away when the ghoul clawed at them, putrefied fingers peeking out from beneath the linen. The zombie lurched closer, and Rio struck out: colossal knuckles to a soft skull, the monster sent hurtling headfirst into a wall. The body plunged to the floor and, enveloped by a puddle of its own bodily fluids, died for the second time.

And Rio had glanced down at where Snowflake had been bitten—now indecipherable on his black, gangrenous wrist that jutted out from beneath the sheet—then turned to you and said: I guess it only takes once.

~~~~~~~~~~

You doze against Aemond’s shoulder as Baela drives the Honda Odessey across Indiana, goldenrods and dogwood trees, green weeds growing tall and wild, red bloodstains on pavement. Visions of the past come to you in spider-thread thin fragments of dreams.

Building dams of sticks and pebbles in the swamp-colored creek that runs along Kentucky State Route 1087. Balancing atop rusted railroad lines that once connected coal mines like ligaments link bones, bare feet, box turtles and milk snakes, autum leaves falling into your hair. Scratching black-ink battleships into the pages of your fifty-cent Walmart notebook as teachers drone on about things that mean nothing to you, things that will not take you away from here, Shakespeare, the Krebs cycle, the Tet Offensive, Spanish words for colors and animals. Mama glancing up at you as she scrubs dishes in a sink nearly overflowing with bubbles, too nonchalant to intend to be cruel: You’re lucky you ain’t too beautiful. Do you know what happens to beautiful women? Marilyn Monroe, Jackie Kennedy, Natalie Wood, Anna Nicole Smith? Horrible, horrible things. And then they die.

Once in a while you pass a car or truck or SUV coasting east as you roll west, strangers who wave and give you nods of grim, transient greeting. Good luck. I’m sorry you’ve lost people. I hope you live. At a Speedway outside of Kokomo, Aemond, Aegon, Rio, and Luke draw Uno cards to see who will attempt to siphon gas from the three vehicles you find there with closed fuel caps. Aegon loses with a blue four. The Kia and Toyota are empty; there’s almost a full tank left in the Ford. You refuel the Honda Odessey and scrounge through the convenience store for supplies. Helaena seems to have developed a sort of fixation with pain pills, hoarding Advil and Tylenol. Aegon finds a few more packs of Marlboro Golds. He puffs on them, windows down and breeze blowing, neon green plastic sunglasses shielding his eyes, as Baela skirts around Indianapolis. Even from fifteen miles away, you can see the billowing smoke from the fires, hear the manmade thunder of explosions.

“Bet people are having a great time there,” Aegon murmurs as he takes a drag, embers glowing and blonde hair thrashing in the wind.

Baela follows the course he plotted, swinging just south of Peoria, Illinois to avoid the nuclear power plants between there and Chicago. You cross the Mississippi River and into the southern tip of Iowa over the Fort Madison Bridge, the toll booth occupied only by a carcass that buzzards are pecking apart, a zombie that someone else already put a bullet in…or perhaps the man did it to himself. Maybe he didn’t see a point in sticking around to watch the dead inherit the earth. You cannot agree. Each day you find more reasons to stay alive in this treacherous new world. It’s like when you were back in Soft Shell, Kentucky. You can’t give up, you can’t surrender. The only way out is through.

The black Honda Odessey—a good soldier, having taken you six hundred miles and into the vast flat vacancy of the Midwest—at last runs out of gas as you are approaching Bonaparte, founded in the 1830s as a lumber mill on the banks of the Des Moines River. You unload the minivan and trek into town; you will find somewhere to spend the night and then in the morning head south to Route 2, which you will follow all the way across Iowa to the Nebraska border.

The first house you try is at the edge of town, eggshell-colored vinyl siding and an empty gravel driveway. Rio tries the front door—locked—then tells everyone to back up. He kicks it once, no dice, gets ready to try again. Then the door opens. A woman with wide fearful eyes stands there with two boys cowering behind her, maybe ten and twelve.

“Please don’t break the lock,” the woman says softly. “We need it. Sometimes they try to get in.”

“Oh hey, lady, I’m sorry about that. We didn’t know anyone was home. You okay in there?”

Her voice is so quiet you can barely hear her. “Please leave us alone.”

Aemond climbs the steps of the front porch, taps Rio’s shoulder to tell him to back up, and kneels in the doorway so he isn’t so tall. He asks the woman: “Do you need supplies? Food, medicine?”

“Please leave us alone,” she says again.

“My name is Aemond, and those two are my brothers Aegon and Daeron, and that’s my sister Helaena, my cousin Luke, and then Rhaena and Baela. The big guy is Rio, and the girl over there…” He smiles as he gestures to you. “We like to call her Chips. Everyone is healthy, and everyone is here by choice. We’re going to the West Coast, Oregon and California. Do you want to come with us?”

But the woman shakes her head almost violently. “We’re safe in the house. We have to stay. My husband is a long-haul trucker, but he’s on his way back to us.”

“How do you know he’s still alive?”

“Go away. Please just go away. Before they see you.”

The woman shuts the door and you hear her throw the deadbolt. You leave like she asks you to; but not before Aemond collects an armful of supplies you can spare and places them in a pile on the porch for them to take inside once you’ve vanished.

The sun is sinking into the west as Helaena lights candles in Bonaparte Baptist Church and Rhaena shakes out dusty, mothball-smelling tablecloths to use as blankets. Luke finds gallons of grape juice and bags full of tiny flat bread wafers in the cabinets of the kitchenette, once used for sinless communions. It’s Daeron’s turn to stay awake for first watch. If Jace was still alive, it would be his too; instead, Aemond takes his place and refuses all offers of relief. You lie down on a pew with thin violet cushions and are thinking that you’ll never get comfortable enough to fall asleep when you are abruptly swallowed by omnipotent, black nothingness.

You jolt awake sometime in the middle of the night, a bad dream you don’t remember and don’t want to. Daeron is perched on the altar and using a hunting knife from the cellar back in Distant, Pennsylvania to sharpen the sticks he’s gathered into arrows. Baela is sitting with Aemond, their backs against the wall and voices hushed so as not to wake the others. Aemond is telling her that everything is going to be okay, that he’s still here, that Jace is gone but he’s not going anywhere, and candlelight is flickering across his scarred face, and he’s afraid but he doesn’t show it. He can’t. Too many people need him.

Oh, you realize; and it doesn’t feel awful at all, doomed or apocalyptic, a curse or a plague. It feels better than anything you knew existed. I might fall in love with him after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Aemond, take a look at this,” Luke says, offering him the binoculars. You have walked several miles on Iowa State Route 2, an asphalt atoll in an ocean of emerald green flora, buffalograss and prairie roses, ash trees growing over defunct power lines.

Aemond peers through the binoculars. It’s a small farmhouse about a quarter mile off the road, rugged and weatherworn, besieged by a flock of zombies. There is something large and rectangular flapping in the wind like a white flag of surrender. “Hm,” Aemond hums sympathetically. “It’s a shame. Poor guy.”

“What do you see?” you ask, and he gives you the binoculars. The zombies, approximately thirty of them, do not appear to have breached the interior; they shuffle through the yard and up and down the steps of the porch, smack their palms against the wood siding, leave stains of gore on the boarded-up windows. None appear to be aware of you yet. The bedsheet that hangs from the attic window has a message painted on it in something dark and viscous, perhaps motor oil:

One alive inside

I can hunt, fish, and fix things

Please help me

God bless you!!!

“We should be able to get to Cantril before dark, it’s about twelve more miles,” Aegon mutters, pondering his map. “Boner-party. Who names a town something like that?”

Aemond stares at him. “Bonaparte. Like Napoleon.”

“Who?”

You pass Rio the binoculars, then say to Aemond: “We’re going to help him, right?”

“We sure as hell aren’t,” Rio replies as he studies the farmhouse. “You want to risk our lives killing all those bastards? I don’t.”

You turn to Aemond, incredulous, but he concurs with Rio. “It’s too dangerous.”

“What’s going on?” Baela says testily from where she’s sprawled on the pavement sipping a half-full plastic gallon of bruise-colored grape juice. She’s already exhausted, but you have no way of transporting her.

Rio points across the field. “There’s a sign saying someone’s trapped inside that house. Tough fucking luck, ain’t it?”

Baela stares at the farmhouse uneasily, her brow furrowed. Rhaena fans her with a paperback copy of Catching Fire. Daeron has wandered off the road to collect more sticks to sharpen and fill his quiver; Helaena is with him picking wildflowers.

“That was us,” you tell Rio. “We were stranded on that transmission tower and we would have died if we’d been left there. But we weren’t. Someone saved us.”

“Things were different then,” Aemond says, unemotional, uncompromising. “We had the Tahoe. Now we’re on foot, and we’d have to kill each of them individually. And there’s no way to make a fast escape if something goes wrong.”

“So we’re just going to leave him?” Aegon says doubtfully, his large ocean-blue eyes flicking between you and Aemond. He stuffs his map back into his shorts pocket and scratches at the tattoo on his forearm: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

Rio groans. “Come on, man, we don’t even know if anyone’s still alive in there! What if he’s dead already? What if he got bit or starved to death or fell down the steps and snapped his neck or something?”

“What if he’s not a good guy?” Aemond adds.

“There’s a Trump 2024 sign in the front yard,” Luke says. He has the binoculars again. Aemond opens his hands, an I told you so sort of gesture. Luke amends: “Not that anyone deserves to get eaten alive or transformed into a walking corpse. But, you know. I figured I’d mention it.”

You are not swayed. Had you stayed in Soft Shell, Kentucky, you might have believed the same things. “People deserve to have the chance to start over.”

Aemond’s eye is on you, narrow and seeking, desperate to understand. “Why are you so fixated on this stranger?”

“He hunts, he fishes. What are we going to do when we get out into Wyoming and Nevada where towns are fifty miles apart and there’s hardly anywhere to scavenge for food? What are we going to eat when the beef jerky and Skittles run out?”

“You said everyone hunts where you’re from.”

“Not literally everyone. I don’t hunt.”

“You can shoot.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how to track animals. And even if I killed a deer, I wouldn’t know how to dress it.”

Aegon blinks at you. “To what?”

“To remove the skin and organs and everything.”

“Oh. Okay. That makes more sense.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Aemond repeats. Rio is nodding in agreement. Baela’s lips are pressed into a thin, thoughtful, rigid line. Daeron and Helaena have returned to the road to see how the discussion unfolds.

“There are about thirty zombies out there,” you say. “I can take fifteen. I just need you guys to do the rest.”

“Everyone here is my responsibility.” Aemond is severe, but he isn’t angry.

“Then you’re responsible for their humanity as well.”

“I can’t justify risking our lives for this.”

“I’ve killed people, living people, and I didn’t like how that felt. Make no mistake, this is killing too, just by omission instead of with bullets. We’ll all have to carry that weight. The man in that farmhouse hasn’t threatened us. He’s helpless, and he’s trapped, and if we don’t save him, who else is going to do it? What if it was you in there? What if it was me?”

Aemond, frowning, contemplates the house that has become a prison. Rio looks at you, one eyebrow raised. You gaze stoically back. He sighs. “Okay, what the hell, let’s rock,” Rio says.

Baela holds up her Ruger in one hand, slips her hammer out of a belt loop of her shorts with the other. “I’m on board.”

“You shouldn’t be on anything except bedrest,” Aemond tells her.

“I can take fifteen of the zombies myself,” you say again. “I have two M9s, thirty bullets total. I won’t need more than that.”

“I can take ten,” Daeron says.

“Shut up,” Aegon replies, though his tone is gentle. “You can’t even donate blood.”

“I can take ten,” Daeron insists, clutching his compound bow. “At least ten.”

Aegon swings his golf club around. “I can take…like…probably approximately three.”

Rio grabs his face and squeezes his sunburned cheeks as Aegon giggles and slaps at him. “You won’t get the opportunity, Honey Bun. Stay in the kitchen and bake apple pies until Daddy comes home from work.”

“You really think this is the right thing to do?” Aemond asks you. It’s not a challenge, only a question. He’s at war with himself, you can tell. He’s trying very hard to treat you like someone he’s not terrified to lose.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

He pulls his Glock out of its holster. “The gunfire will attract more of them.”

“Then we’ll have to move quickly.”

Aemond turns to Baela, still wilted on the pavement. “You, Rhaena, and Helaena will follow behind us with Luke and finish off any zombies we missed.”

Baela gives him a weak, acquiescent thumbs up, breathing heavily. “Got it.”

“Helaena, you still have your Ruger, right?”

“I won’t need it,” she murmurs, wildflowers tucked into her long blonde hair, watching a ladybug skitter across her knuckles. Aemond is exasperated.

“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Luke promises. He’s using his binoculars to scout for any threats on the horizon, additional zombies or approaching strangers. Evidently, there are none.

“The grass,” Helaena says. “It makes it hard to see the snakes. Watch your step.”

Aemond replies distractedly: “I think we have bigger worries at the moment, babe.” As Rio pumps his Remington and Luke fumbles nervously with his Marlin .22 to make sure it’s fully loaded, Aemond walks a few yards away from the others and gestures for you to follow him. Aemond’s voice is low, the blue of his eye river-clear and blade-sharp. “I want you to stay near Rio.”

You give him a small, teasing smile. “So you won’t worry about me?”

“So I’ll worry slightly less.” He brushes a piece of buffalograss from your hair, his fingers lingering there longer than they need to. “Rio’s the biggest, he’s the best fighter. And if one of those things catches you by surprise, he’ll be able to crack its skull no problem. So keep close.”

“I’ll try, but sometimes it’s more complicated than that.”

“Please work with me. I’m giving you what you want.”

To be useful, to be merciful. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Thank me by not letting anything bite you. Not today, not ever.”

“Well, except you of course.”

He laughs, the tension in his face breaking; he skates his thumbprint over your cheek and kisses your forehead, swift like a reflex, unthinking, instinctive.

“Good to go?” Rio asks with a grin, holding his Remington with both hands.

Aegon’s golf club is resting across his shoulders, and you have a sudden vision of Jace doing the same thing with a baseball bat, a vengeful ghost peering out from beneath his curls with cunning dark eyes and a smirk. “Yeah, Chipotle, you’re leading the charge here.”

“No she’s not,” Aemond says, striding to the edge of the road. Across the field is the farmhouse, the white bedsheet S.O.S. still whipping in the wind. “I’m in front. Everyone else is behind me.”

“Oh yeah? Then who’s gonna watch your blind side, huh?” Aegon jogs over and whacks Aemond’s left shoulder with an open palm, beaming up at him. “Don’t worry. You’ll still get to be the hero. I was born talentless.”

“You have talents, Aegon,” you say. “You can sing.”

“Not relevant in a zombie-riddled apocalyptic hellscape, Cow Chip.” He and Aemond start across the field, then you and Rio, then Daeron, darting around in your peripheral vision, nocking sharpened sticks like arrows. Luke, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena trail at a distance.

You have closed half of the gap between the road and the farmhouse—and Daeron has already felled several zombies—before the beasts begin to turn around and notice you. They do not understand danger; they only understand hunger, and they lurch towards you with teeth gnashing and claws outstretched, strips of decaying flesh hanging like sleeves from their arms. You hate the way they move, like they’re trying to imitate life, like they are receiving some sinister transmission that reverberates inside them, like they are soulless vessels to be used in the darkest ways.

You stop, plant your feet in the earth, and raise one of your Beretta M9s. Your eyes find the sights; your finger settles on the trigger. You are rusty at first: a miss, a bullet in a rotting shoulder instead of a skull. Then you click into a rhythm and the zombies drop as they stumble towards you, infected dark blood spewing, brains pouring out onto the soil. When your clip is empty, you shove the first M9 back into its holster and pull out the other.

Daeron is putting his makeshift arrows through eye sockets, Aemond is firing his Glock, Rio is erasing entire heads with the grotesque power of his Remington. Aegon is swinging his golf club around wildly. His Marlin .22 hangs from its strap across his back, but he’s hopeless with it; his aim quite literally could not be worse. You hear other gunshots too, maybe Luke. A stranger appears from the front door of the farmhouse: red flannel shirt, roomy jeans, tan work boots, long messy russet hair pulled back in a man bun, almost as big as Rio. He is carrying an axe and begins helping to cut down the remaining zombies. Rio realizes you’re no longer with him and turns around to find you.

“I’m good!” you shout, waving him forward. “Go, go!” Rio nods and takes off again towards the farmhouse, blasting his Remington 12 gauge like a cannon.

Your ankle snags on something, a gnarled root, an old piece of farm machinery. You fall hard, hitting the ground and knocking the air out of your lungs. Your M9 is flung from your grasp. You roll onto your back and sit up to see what you’re caught on. It’s the grasping hand of a zombie, an old man, long white hair and dead milky eyes, only a torso, nothing below the ribcage except a tangle of dirt-coated intestines. It is scrambling towards your legs, jaws rattling, teeth covered in the blood of the other people it has eaten.

You shriek and try to kick it away. You reach for the empty M9, rip it out of its holster, and hold it by the barrel so you can use the grip, the heaviest part of a pistol, to bash the zombie’s skull in. But you aren’t Rio; when you strike the zombie’s head, it keeps hissing and scrabbling towards your flesh that sings to it like a siren, irresistible, divine.

I can’t let it bite me, I can’t let it bite me—

There is a boom and the zombie drops face-down to the earth. You are saved; you are free. You turn to see Rhaena standing beside you, clutching her tiny Ruger in trembling hands…but her eyes are closed. Slowly, petrified, they come open, one after the other.

You gape up at her. “Did you aim?!”

Rhaena shrugs guiltily. “I don’t remember how.”

“Jesus Christ. Well thanks, I guess. Glad you missed my pelvis.”

She laughs shakily. “Yeah. Me too.” Rhaena holsters her Ruger and helps you to your feet. By now, everyone else has realized you’re in trouble and are sprinting over, including the new guy.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you say, holding up your arms and skimming your palms down your bare legs to show them you haven’t been bitten. “No need to despair. Rhaena rescued me.”

Aemond gets to you first. “Can I see?” he asks breathlessly. You give him your hands and with his fingertips, he reads you like Braille: palms, forearms, throat, jaw, gingerly turning your face away from him and then back again. He exhales, relieved. “Good job, Rhaena,” Aemond says, and she smiles. Baela uses her hammer to smash the skull of a zombie that’s still squirming. Aegon yanks a snarling toddler to its feet—Pokémon t-shirt, left leg missing, wearing one of those child leashes—and swings his golf club so hard its whole head pops off and rolls away into the buffalograss with sick wet thumps.

“I thought you couldn’t kill the kids,” you say.

Aegon spits on the corpse’s collapsed, headless body. “It’s different now. These monsters ate Jace. Fuck ‘em all.”

“I can’t thank y’all enough,” the axe-wielding stranger says. “I was sure I was going to die in there like a rat in a trap. There’s a hog farm on the property behind mine, and I think the…you know…all the meat attracts zombies. A pack of them saw me in the yard and followed me to the house, and when they’re in a group like that, they seem…well, I just couldn’t get rid of them. Alone they wander wherever, but a hoard has structure, it has a mission, and they were waiting me out. I didn’t have my guns, I didn’t have my truck…”

“What happened to them?” Rio asks.

“I got robbed, that’s what happened.”

“No!” Baela says. “Really?”

“A week ago, five men I’d never seen before broke in while I was sleeping. They must have drugged my dog, who knows with what—she slept for twenty hours, have you ever heard of something like that?—and locked me in my bedroom. By the time I kicked the door down they were gone, and so were quite a few of my earthly possessions. It was nice of them not to murder us, I guess. I have a couple boxes of ammo left, but that’s all. Mostly 9mm.”

“That’s exactly what I need,” you say.

The stranger gives you a curious, appraising glance. “I’m very glad to be able to assist you, ma’am.” Then he finally gets a good look at Aemond, who is glaring at him. “Lord almighty, what the hell happened to your face?”

“A piece of sheet metal fell on me.”

“He stitched it up himself,” Luke says. “I watched. It was wild.”

The man is impressed. “You’re a doctor?”

“No, no, no,” Aemond amends. “Just an intern.”

“He’s basically a doctor,” Baela says.

“Well, you’ll be useful to have around, I expect.” The stranger offers his hand and Aemond, somewhat unenthusiastically, shakes it. “I’m Cregan Stark.”

“Aemond Targaryen.”

“Targaryen?! That’s a heck of a name, sir.”

“It’s Greek,” Aegon says.

“Where are y’all headed? Not all the way back to Greece, I hope. That’d be a hike. And a swim too, I guess.”

Aemond smiles tightly, polite but guarded. “Not that far away. We’re on our way to the West Coast, California and Oregon.”

“And you’re on foot?! You need horses.”

“We haven’t come across any that are still alive.”

“Do you want to travel with us, Cregan?” Luke asks amiably.

“I reckon I would, for now at least. I got nowhere else to be and no one to care for.” Cregan looks to Aemond. “That alright with you, doc?”

“Sure,” Aemond replies ungenerously.

“My folks got a trailer over towards Cantril, and a truck parked out back too if nobody’s stolen it yet. We can stay the night there if you want and then drive west in the morning.”

“Cantril! That’s on our route!” Aegon exclaims, he of the map and the gel pens.

Aemond narrows his eye at Cregan, suspicious. “If your parents are so close, why aren’t you staying with them? Why didn’t they swing by to check on you and see you were in trouble here?”

“Well, ‘cause they’re dead,” Cregan says, and Aemond is abruptly remorseful. “When all this started, I went over to get them and they were out in the front yard, just bones. All the flesh was chewed right off. But I found their wedding rings in the grass, and Mama’s pearl necklace that her Grammie gave her when she got married, Mama never took it off as long as she lived. It looked like a string of rubies.”

Aemond swallows noisily. “I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t nothing I can do about it now,” Cregan says, staring out over the field and biting his lips so they don’t quiver.

“Did your parents have guns?” Rio asks hopefully.

Cregan chuckles and shakes his head. “No, that’d be swell, wouldn’t it? Daddy got all his guns taken away when I was in high school.”

“Taken away…?” Baela echoes.

“Yeah,” Cregan says casually. “After the methamphetamine conviction.” He whistles, and a dog comes loping out of the front door of the farmhouse. It’s huge and mean-looking, fur the color of ashes or smoke. It goes directly to Cregan and noses his hands; you are reminded of how Aemond searched you fearfully for injuries. “She’s half-German Shepherd, half-grey wolf. Her name’s Ice.”

“Does she bite?” Aemond asks tentatively.

“My little princess?! Hell no! I wish she did, then maybe those robbers wouldn’t have gotten what they wanted. But she knows when those things are around.”

Aegon pats her angular, steel-colored head. Ice puts back her pointy ears and closes her eyes, basking in the attention. “Hey, fuzzball. I’m going to call you Blue Raspberry Icee.”

“You can call her whatever you want to as long as she’s allowed to come with us.”

“She’s welcome if she sniffs out zombies,” Aemond says.

Baela is struck by a thought. “Cregan, what kind of truck did your parents have? I hope it’s big. We’re a lot of people.” She’s resting her hands on her belly. And we’re about to add one more.

“A Chevy Tahoe,” Cregan says. You all begin chattering excitedly, then have to explain why.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Y’all like fishing?” Cregan asks. He’s cooking dinner for everyone with his dead parents’ Coleman butane camping stove, only one burner, each course prepared individually. You are all seated around him on the living room floor, sipping cans of Coke and Sprite—what Cregan calls “pop”—and eating turkey-flavored instant stuffing that came out of a cardboard box. Now Cregan is working on Hungry Jack mashed potatoes, tiny white flakes like snow that puff up in boiling water. Rhaena is staring at the pot with horror. Baela scarfs down her stuffing like she’s been starving to death. Flashlights illuminate the room in dim ocher like a setting sun, the roof vents open to let in cool night air. The trailer smells like cigarette smoke and dust and mildew. Piled haphazardly in corners are old newspapers, mounds of unfolded clothes, empty boxes and plastic bags, VHS tapes—Star Wars, 80s rock concerts, Clint Eastwood movies—and unwashed cups.

Aemond chuckles like it’s preposterous. “No.”

“Garth Brooks?”

“No.”

“NASCAR?”

“Who watches NASCAR?!” Aegon says.

You smile. “Everyone’s got a driver where I’m from.”

Cregan, vindicated, thumps a closed fist against his chest. “I was a Jeff Gordon guy. His car reminded me of a box of Froot Loops or something.”

“My brother Denver covered the inside of the garage with Dale Earnhardt Jr. stuff. I got obsessed with Juan Pablo Montoya for a while, he was cute.”

“So you chase the dark-haired fellas,” Cregan says, grinning, still stirring the potatoes. Everyone else’s wide, perplexed gazes fly between you and Cregan as they eat their Stove Top stuffing from Styrofoam bowls.

You titter nervously. “I don’t usually chase anyone.”

Aegon notices a taxidermied largemouth bass mounted on the wall, approximately fifteen pounds. “What the fuck,” he whispers, dismayed.

“WWE?” Cregan asks you.

“Oh, Rey Mysterio, no question. He was cute too.”

Cregan snorts. “He literally never took off his mask!”

“He was cute underneath it. I could tell, I have a sense for these things.”

“I’ll let you live in delusion.”

“I thought wrestling was real back then. When he’d get beat up and covered in fake blood, I’d start crying because I figured he’d die. Who was your favorite?”

“John Cena.” Cregan waves an open hand back and forth in front of his face. “You can’t see me!” You both burst out laughing. No one else gets it.

“It’s John Cena’s signature move,” you explain.

“Hm,” Aemond says, but he’s watching you and Cregan with deep grooves in his forehead and a solemnness in his lone blue eye, tapping his chin restlessly.

“Now, we might not have any butter…” Cregan picks up one of the containers scattered around him, a plastic jug of Great Value powdered coffee creamer. “But this makes for the best potatoes on the planet.” The others watch, stunned, appalled, as he adds several heaping spoonfuls to the pot.

You smile wistfully. How is it possible to be so nostalgic for a place you once believed was killing you, wringing you dry until all your blood dripped onto the floor and you were left a husk, a ghost, a myth? “My Mama always did that. She put it in mac and cheese too.”

Cregan serves you first, taking your empty stuffing bowl and returning it nearly overflowing with Hungry Jack instant potatoes. “Here’s a taste of home.”

And he’s right; you take a bite—hot enough to burn your tongue, smooth, rich, soupy in texture—and it’s just like being five or ten or fifteen again, when this was your idea of luxury, a good day, lounging on a sagging couch torn to hell by the cats and watching The Simpsons or Malcolm In The Middle with your brothers. Cregan scoops Hungry Jack into all the bowls. Baela digs in enthusiastically. The others, following your lead, take cautious tastes, shrug, and decide it’s tolerable for one night. Cregan grabs a new pot and dumps a box of Rice-A-Roni into it, along with the packet of seasoning, a bottle of water, and a single spoonful of coffee creamer for good measure. As the rice cooks, he distributes one can of barbeque-flavored Vienna sausages to each guest. Rhaena pops hers open and immediately begins retching. Aegon feeds his to Ice.

After dinner, Cregan compiles all the extra blankets and pillows he can find, then supplements with bath towels and bedsheets from the closet in the hallway. The trailer is small, only one bedroom; you all agree Baela should get it. She will share with Rhaena and Luke, as she always does now. She doesn’t like sleeping alone. Cregan offers to take first watch, a gift in return for being rescued from a slow death by deprivation. Aemond agrees, but only because Rio—with a wink and a knowing smirk—volunteers to stay up too. Rio will keep tabs on this almost-stranger; Rio is the only one big enough to knock Cregan around if such an occasion ever arose. Aemond tells them to wake him up halfway through the night so he can take over and let them rest. You say you want to do the second watch too, and this time Aemond doesn’t argue.

Helaena gets the couch and Daeron curls up on the olive green carpet beside her, Aegon claims the tattered old recliner, you arrange your pillow and blanket—thin, scratchy, a weak blue mottled with dark stains you can’t identify—against the wall on the other side of the living room. Rio is teaching Cregan how to play Uno on the small plastic folding table by the kitchen, only spacious enough for two. Ice is stretched out beneath the table with her grey muzzle resting on her paws. At the moment, Aemond is supervising; he’s still trying to decide how much he can trust Cregan.

Aegon wanders over to you then bends down, his hands on his knees. “This place is revolting,” he whispers.

“It’s alright.”

“Where did you grow up? Alcatraz?” You laugh, and Aegon gives you his pink CD player, Ava still written across the top in rhinestones. “Just in case you need to get away for a while. It’s wasted on me. I’m going to be unconscious about two seconds after my head hits the pillow.”

“I’ll take good care of it.”

“If you see any meth lying around, you let me know. I’m always in the market for new ways to shorten my life expectancy.”

“I’ll keep any such discoveries to myself. I enjoy you too much.”

Aegon recoils, lets that sink in, then beams as he saunters back to his creaking recliner.

“Hey, Chips?” Luke says, approaching you shyly. He’s holding his Marlin .22. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but my rifle was shooting way to the left today, and I don’t think my aim’s that awful.”

“No problem.” You take it and remove the remaining bullets so there’s no chance the gun will accidentally fire, then examine the sights. “Can you get me Baela’s hammer?”

“Sure.” Luke dashes off and then returns with it moments later.

“You said it was skewed to the left?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

You take the hammer and tap the rear sight a few times. Luke watches you, fascinated, troubled. When he speaks, his voice is soft and miserable.

“I’m sorry I’m so bad at everything.”

“You know, this is the only possible scenario in which someone like you is worth less than me.” You give him an encouraging smile. “I didn’t go to a fancy school. I work with my hands.”

“But you’re smart, Chips. You could have gone to college if you wanted to.”

How would I have paid for application fees, or to take the SAT? How would I have gotten Mama to fill out the FAFSA? What school would have given me a scholarship with my mediocre grades in standard-level classes? Who would have driven me to school and helped me move in? How would I have bought books, shampoo, tampons, a laptop? Where would I have gone if I had trouble finding a job after graduation? What if the people there saw through me? What if they shrank away from the frayed threads I’m built of? There is no point in saying these things. The gulf between you is too great; it will only confuse Luke and hurt you. “I wouldn’t have known where to start.” You reload the Marlin .22 and pass both the gun and the hammer back to him. “I think it’ll work better now.”

“I bet you wish Jace was here instead of me,” Luke says, and it shocks you. “Everyone does, except maybe Rhaena.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jace was a good fighter, and he was smart, and brave, and capable, and I’m just this…this weak scared loser who only knows how to write screenplays. And what goddamn use is that? Hollywood doesn’t even exist anymore! Scraps of Tom Cruise are probably stuck in some zombie’s teeth right now!”

“Luke, I’m glad you’re here.”

“I shouldn’t have left Jace,” he whispers, distraught. “I betrayed him. He was always protecting me and I couldn’t even save him once.”

“We did everything we could. And we all left Jace, not just you. It was me and Rio who said it first. You haven’t earned the blame.” If Jace’s ghost comes knocking, it won’t be your door he opens, Luke.

“Okay,” Luke replies softly.

“Baela is very, very grateful to still have you and Rhaena, Luke. She told me.”

Luke stares at you, doubtful, hopeful, wanting to believe. “Really?”

“I swear she did. I think you two are keeping her sane. The world, the baby, Jace…sometimes what’s most valuable to people are simple things, kindness, gentleness, compassion, support. I can kill zombies, sure, but I’ve never been good at knowing the right thing to say. You are.”

“Okay,” Luke says again, but he seems more at peace now; perhaps even the tiniest bit proud. “I guess I should go make sure Baela has everything she needs before I go to sleep.”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

Luke walks a few steps, then turns back towards you, smiling. “I think you know the right thing to say once in a while.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Luke insists, then disappears down the shadowy hallway and into the bedroom.

Aemond arrives at last with his blanket and pillow, arranges them beside yours, then joins you where you sit cross-legged on the floor. “You didn’t stay with Rio today when we rescued Cregan,” he says; not an accusation, a statement, a surrender of sorts.

“No. I didn’t.”

You must be visibly preoccupied. Aemond asks: “What are you thinking about?”

You decide to tell the truth. “How you were never supposed to meet me.”

“What do you mean?”

You point to him. “Rich boy with a beach house on a cliff.” Then you tap your own heart. “Poor girl who grew up playing with sticks and box turtles.”

“And that’s why you like Cregan so much.”

“It’s nice to have someone around who speaks the same language, sure. It’s nice to not have to explain things or think up lies so I can fit into other people’s idea of what the world is. But I don’t like Cregan more than I like you. Not even close.”

Aemond smiles, a warm glow like fire from under his scarred skin. “I’m glad I met you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Even if it wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I’m sorry I’m not…” Someone sophisticated, seductive, experienced, bewitching. “I’m sorry I don’t already know how to do everything.”

“I don’t care. I would have liked you however you were when I found you.”

You look up at him skeptically. “Really?”

“Yes. Zero boyfriends or ten or twenty, I would want you the same way I do now.”

It hits you so suddenly you can’t stop the tremor in your voice, the shimmering tears in your eyes. “Aemond, please don’t die.”

“I’ll do my best.” He lifts the CD player from your lap and offers you an earbud. You accept it and slip it into your right ear as he puts the other into his left, then clicks the play button on Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman. What you hear are the opening ukelele plucks of Riptide, and you are spirited back to 2013: middle school, oversized hoodies and ripped jeans, hair you have no idea what to do with, the librarian letting you browse music videos on YouTube during lunch because you never cause any trouble, taking bites of your sandwich—one piece of Wonder Bread folded in half, a glob of Skippy peanut butter—and chewing slowly to make it last longer.

Aemond lies down and you rest your head on his chest as he covers you both with his blanket, circles his arms around you and pulls you in closer; and through the music you hear him mutter: “I wish this disgusting Hoarders trailer had two bedrooms.”

You laugh, burrow deeper into him, let his warmth and the drumming of his heartbeat lull you into darkness, still and serene, a place that exists beyond the world and the fear that it is ending.

When you open your eyes again, Aemond is up and speaking in hushed voices with Cregan and Rio in the kitchen, but he hasn’t tried to rouse you yet. I shouldn’t be awake, why am I awake?

Because someone is shining a flashlight directly into your face. You blink and swat at the blinding yellow-white gleam, your eyes aching, your vision hazy and distorted.

“He must check below the racks,” Helaena says. She is on her hands and knees and peering down at you like a bird of prey, like a goddess on Mount Olympus.

“What…?”

“He’s tall, so he won’t look, but that’s where it is. Below the racks. He must see it. Promise me you’ll make him see it.”

“Who’s tall…?” Aemond, Rio, Cregan?

“Promise me!” she hisses fiercely.

“Okay, Helaena! Okay. I promise.”

She crawls away without another word, climbs onto the couch, clicks off the flashlight, and tumbles back into the abyss of sleep with her back to you.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Chevy Tahoe—2001 instead of 2023, a dull rusty red instead of glossy dark blue—barrels down Route 2 past fields of soybeans ravaged by deer and rabbits, high feral weeds, tree branches entombing power lines and houses and barns, leaves freckled with cicadas and caterpillars, hay bales and archaic churches, life in shades of peridot and malachite and bloodstone and jade. Baela is driving, Ice has her big shaggy head hanging out of an open window, Cregan is examining Aegon’s map…and meanwhile, Aegon and Rio are singing along to the Enrique Iglesias song blasting through the speakers as one of the mixtapes spins in the Tahoe’s CD player, pretending to serenade and propose marriage to each other.

“Bailamos, let the rhythm take you over, bailamos

Te quiero amor mío, bailamos

Gonna live this night forever, bailamos

Te quiero amor mío, te quiero!”

Up ahead there is something in the middle of the road. No, not something; someone, parked across the double yellow lines on a small black motorcycle. As you approach, this person—made blurry by the distance—removes their helmet and seems to wait for you.

“What’s up with that?” Baela asks apprehensively, slowing down from her previously brisk eighty miles per hour.

Aemond frowns at the figure and then scans the fields on either side of the road. “I don’t know. Luke?”

Luke stands up through the sunroof to get a better look with his binoculars. “Oh my God, it’s…it’s…”

“Jace!” Baela screams, and slams on the brakes. She bolts out of the Tahoe before remembering to put it in park; the SUV rolls along sluggishly until Rhaena yanks the gear lever into the proper position. Now everyone is pouring out of the doors and rushing to him. Jace is laughing; he embraces Baela as she crashes into him and sobs into the curve of his neck. Jace is wearing jeans and a leather jacket despite the heat, safety precautions for the motorcycle. If he were to fall off, he’d keep most of his skin.

“I was hoping I’d run into you guys. I didn’t know if I was too far ahead or falling behind.”

Aegon gawks at him, sputtering. “How did…? How are you…?”

“You showed me your map, idiot,” Jace says; but he sounds relieved. “Route 2 all the way across Iowa, that part was pretty easy to remember. I figured if I could get here, I might be able to find you. If not, I’d just surprise you in California.” He grins, huge and teasing, ecstatic tears glittering in his eyes.

“The river,” Luke says, thunderstruck. “We thought you were dead…we left you…Jace, I’m…I’m so sorry we left you…”

“Hey, I get it. The bridge situation was fucked, there was no way you guys could fish me out. The river washed me miles downstream, way too fast for the zombies to keep up. I eventually got dumped on the shore near where some people had set up camp for the night. They were living out of a school bus, about fifteen of them. They heard me coughing and moaning, hunted me down, and dragged me back to the bus. Super nice, right? I told them about the zombies, and we relocated in a hurry. They were headed for a town up near Chicago, Rockville or something, so they took me with them and then one guy gave me his bike and taught me to ride it so I could go west. It’s a Honda Rebel 300. It can get 70 miles to the gallon. I’ve barely had to siphon any gas! And the siphoning hose my new friends gave me is the kind with a pump. No more Uno roulette, bitches!”

“I can’t believe you’re okay,” Baela whispers, tears flooding down her face.

“Don’t cry, I’m here, I’m back, everything’s the way it should be again. Now how’s my baby doing…?”

You, Aemond, and Rio exchange astonished glances. Luke snaps out of his shock and runs to hug Jace and Baela, and Rhaena follows him. Daeron searches the horizon for movement, for danger. Helaena rips the pristine white petals off a bloodroot blossom one by one.

For the first time, Jace notices Cregan. Ice stands beside the flannel-wearing Iowan on the pavement, wagging her long grey tail. She barks at Jace uncertainly. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Oh yeah, that’s Cregan Man Bun Stark,” Aegon says. “And his anti-zombie wolf Blue Raspberry Icee.”

[wolfjackle-creates]

Answer My Call Chapter 3 part 1

Happy WIP Wednesday! Answer My Call won by all one one vote last week. I was a bit nervous since I'm starting a new POV and I wasn't sure if I wanted to write from Tucker's POV or Tim's, but I settled on Tucker because it would let me dive into the action a bit sooner.

Story Summary: Danny's missing. The GIW have taken over Amity. Jazz, Tucker, and Sam are under constant surveillance and have been scattered across the country.

When Jazz's messages to Danny go to the wrong number, Red Hood decides to step in.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.6k

-----

Tucker was alone in his dorm room working on homework. His desk was in the corner in a way that meant his computer screen faced the wall. It meant he had barely three feet of space to sit in, but after everything that had happened, he couldn’t let anyone sneak up behind him to spy on his work.

His roommate hated him for it because it took up so much extra space in their small room, but he was never around anyway, so Tucker didn’t really care what he thought.

He jumped when a loud knocking sounded on his door.

“Coming!” he called out as he took the time to save everything he had open and close all programs. He slammed it shut and squeezed out of his chair, half running to the door. “Sorry ‘bout the wait. Tyler isn’t here right now, I think he said something about spending time with Liz?”

Then he actually looked at the people at his door. The one was a broad boy wearing a spiked leather jacket over jeans. The other had a bulky sweatshirt on and a baseball cap. His face was shadowed as he was looking down at a tablet, typing away.

The bigger one was grinning at him. “You’re Tucker, right? We’re here to see you, not Tyler.”

Tucker blinked at them. “Why?” he asked, confused. People had given up on being friendly with him weeks ago.

The boy with the tablet huffed. “We’re here to invite you to our club.”

Tucker looked between them in confusion. “What?”

Tablet guy still didn’t look up. “We heard you like ghosts. We’re the officers of the student horror club and wanted to offer you a spot. Mind letting us in so we can tell you about it?”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not interested in joining any clubs right now. Thanks, but no thanks.” He went to shut the door, but leather jacket stuck out his foot, keeping it from shutting.

“Just hear us out. We think you’d be perfect for it as an expert on ghosts.”

Tucker clenched his fists to hide their shaking. What did they know? Who sent them? He glared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tablet boy raised his head slightly, revealing a domino mask covering his eyes. He grinned, more a baring of teeth than anything. In a tone just loud enough to be heard, he said, “One of my associates is currently in Boston. I decided to come here instead.” In a normal ton he added, “Let me tell you about the horror club.”

Tucker’s mouth fell open. How? Boston? What had Jazz done? His eyes flitted down the hallway. But they were blocking his path and he wouldn’t be able to get past them. Dumbly, he stepped back, opening the door further.

Leather jacket grinned at him. “Thanks, dude,” he said.

Behind them, Tucker shut the door. His hand fell to his pocket where a lipstick laser was hidden.

Tablet boy was already pulling the blinds down over the window. When done, he handed his tablet to Tucker. It was open to a message that said: “We’re on your side. Turn off your devices. I’m going to set off a EMP and signal jammer.”

Tucker nodded and handed the tablet back.

Leather Jacket cleared his throat. “So, with the horror club, we meet once a week…”

Tucker only half-listened to his spiel. He used his phone to send a coded warning to Dani before turning it off. Then he went through his belongings and did the same to every laptop, PDA, tablet, and gaming system. If he turned on a ghostly recording device hidden inside an action figure, however, no one would know.

As soon as he was done, he nodded to Tablet Guy who pulled out a black cube from his backpack and pressed a button. The he pulled out another device and turned that on as well.

“That’s enough, Kon,” he said, pulling off his cap.

Leather Jacket—Kon?—grinned. “What, you don’t want to hear about my favorite horror movie, Rob?”

“I introduced you to your favorite horror movie. I know it as well as you do.”

Kon just laughed. Then he unzipped his jacket, revealing a blue outfit with Superman’s “S” on it.

“Holy shit,” breathed Tucker. What had Jazz done?

Tablet guy followed, pulling off his cap and removing his hoodie, revealing a red costume with a gold bird medallion in the center of his chest. “Nice to meet you, Tucker. I’m Red Robin, and this is Superboy. I’ve got some questions for you.”

Tucker’s eyes jumped between the two. “Holy shit,” he repeated.

Superboy laughed. “Didn’t expect to see us?”

Tucker could only shake his head. “You said Boston?” he asked.

“Red Hood is with Jazz as we speak. She asked for our help in rescuing Danny. We agreed.”

Tucker tensed. He was lying. They’d talked about reaching out to the Justice League dozens of times, but had decided they couldn’t be trusted. Jazz wouldn’t have gone to them. He reached into his pocked and pulled out the lipstick.

Both heroes tensed, though their wariness turned to confusion when they saw he only had a small lipstick tube.

Good, let them underestimate him. “Jazz wouldn’t go to the Justice League. We agreed it wasn’t safe. Why are you really here?”

Red Robin grinned at him and held up his hands. “All right, you’re right. I simplified for time’s sake. Jazz has been sending messages to a phone number she thought belonged to her brother Danny. But really, they were going to Red Hood. He’d been getting them for ages now, but was…out of town. As soon as he got back, he began looking into Amity and the GIW. When he couldn’t find anything, he brought me in on the case. When that still didn’t work, we called Jazz back. She decided to take a chance on us since Red Hood doesn’t work with the government. And, honestly, I’ve done quite a bit outside the law, too, even if I’m not as public about it.”

Tucker’s grip on the lipstick tightened and he stuck his nail under the cap, ready to flick it off at a moment’s notice. “Prove it.”

Red Robin pulled up his tablet again and tapped a few places. An audio recording started to play.

Tucker stopped breathing when he recognized Jazz’s voice. He closed his eyes and just listened. When he heard her demand a picture and the pose she asked for, he huffed out a laugh.

The recording ended and he slid the lipstick back into his pocket and wiped at his eyes.

“Okay, I believe you. What’s the plan?”

“Right now we want to make sure you, Jazz, and Sam are safe and find out as much information as we can.”

Tucker nodded. “I’m not as closely watched as Jazz. The school keeps close track of us students and the Guys in White rely on their records. Though they do have an agent stationed in admin who checks up on me at least once a week. I don’t keep my most sensitive belongings in this dorm as it’s searched every other week.”

Red Robin grinned at him. It sent shivers down Tucker’s back. “Does that mean your real stuff is kept somewhere else?”

Tucker smirked. “Of course. Cover yourselves back up; we need to go.”

Red Robin did something with his jammer and EMP and then began talking excitedly about the horror club again. “So glad you’ve agreed to come to our next meeting, Tucker! We’ve been trying to build the club.”

Superboy winked at him. “What do you say we get to know each other a bit before then? Want to come play video games with us?”

Tucker bit his lip and looked towards his desk and laptop as if he were undecided. “I should get back to my homework…”

“Oh, come on, it’ll still be there tomorrow,” said Red Robin. “Let’s go.” He looked back down at his tablet and headed towards the door, grabbing Tucker’s hand as he did.

Tucker looked over his shoulder one last time, but let himself be pulled along. They kept conversation light as they exited the building. Red Robin was an expert at angling his baseball cap to hide his masked face from every camera they passed.

Would he be willing to teach Tucker how to do that?

Once outside, Tucker took the lead. One of the first things he’d done after he’d been enrolled was memorize blueprints for every building on campus. On top of that, he’d made himself a good dozen different IDs. Three of those were copies of other students’. Those students he kept close track of to make sure their records didn’t show them in two places at once. Other ones belonged to various faculty and staff members. But his pride and joy was the one that belonged to Gabriel Carter. Gabriel was a janitor at the Academy and so could access any building. Gabriel also didn’t exist.

It was Gabriel’s ID that got them access to the basement level of one of the buildings. Hidden deep in the building was a set of rooms currently not in use. And in one of those rooms was a closet.

Tucker had built the locks on the door himself and, even having all the keys and codes, it took five minutes to get in.

He smirked when Red Robin himself let out a gasp of surprise at his set up.

-----

Hope you enjoyed!

Now, how did Kon get involved? Easy. Tim used the zeta tube from the cave to Titans Tower. Kon happened to be there. When Tim said he was working a case with Red Hood, the guy who tried to kill him once, Kon insisted on coming along. I debated having other members of the Young Justice, but I'm actually trying to keep character counts down for this one, so...

Check out the subscription post if you want a notification when I update!

[theminecraftbee]

alright, so I’m gonna pass out and PROBABLY be asleep for when the vote rolls over unless I set an alarm. so, let me make one last propaganda post, this time of a different ilk!

hi, I have heard the campaigning or seen his posts and am curious. who’s joe hills and how do I watch him?

hi and welcome! whether you be an ally or an enemy or anything else, I hope you stick around after the voting is done! joe hills is a very cool guy and I hope you like watching him. he’s one of the hermitcraft creators, described as the “original new guy”, as he was the first new hermit added in season one. he’s been here for that decade since! joe was added to be a “wild card” and plays that role well, often having a reputation for doing weird things. when it comes to his in-game build style, he’s a big fan of scale models of things, as well as helping out on any and all community projects!

joe’s hermitcraft videos tend to be much lower-key than some of the others, normally with minimal-to-no music. they’re largely recorded on stream, though they’re edited in such a way that they don’t feel like stream clips, but more like “he uses his stream to film video clips”. he enjoys wordplay, intentionally taking storylines and ideas in unintended directions, and marching to the beat of his own drum. if you’re used to the pacing of people like grian (or, for that matter, a dsmp stream), joe’s style can take time to get used to, but if you miss the lower-key days of let’s plays, he’s a great option for exactly that!

this season, he’s making a giant model pinball machine for his megabase! it has pixel art of the jwst deep field on it, and will have scale recreations of pinball parts inside. he also participated in the king ren storyline, has built elvira’s house of horrors (and changed the landscaping to match the seasons twice), and participated in the crossover! give it a shot!

joe streams five nights a week, with his days off being tuesday and wednesday. his usual stream start time is 9:30 PM EST. however, he usually has an afternoon hhh bonus stream on mondays (around 2 EST), a morning crafting stream on wednesdays with cleo (around 9:30 AM EST), and recently, a thursday morning bonus stream with his sister, quinn hills, a musician (also around 9:30 AM EST). he also does other bonus streams depending on the day and his energy. as you may be able to see from this schedule, he’s streaming like, all the time, so feel free to stop in! he streams simultaneously on twitch and youtube, so choose whichever platform is easiest.

joe hills streams are of basically whatever he needs to do on hermitcraft; they can best be described as “hermitcraft behind the scenes”. they’re also weird but in a specific, ritualistic way. his face camera will get bigger and more transparent for every 20 dollars in tips. the first time this happens it can be disconcerting but you do adjust pretty quickly, and it’s part of the charm to me! additionally, he has specific songs he plays during his streams, from the album he and his sibling made! they’re often parody songs, but there are also several original ones, and they’re all original lyrics and recordings. you’ll hear “lay your head down and dream” specifically after the first two songs while he’s setting up; that’s effectively his nightly stream’s theme song. you’ll also hear the songs during hydration breaks.

if anything you’ve seen us say about joe intrigues you, I strongly recommend you give him a shot! I’d recommend either a nightly stream to get the sense of the “average joe hills content”, if you’re considering becoming a regular, or to check out his first episode from this season to get a good sense of what a joe hills episode looks like.

we’d love to have you around, whether you did the right thing and VOTE JOE HILLS or not! but, uh, still vote for him. for me, okay?

[diazsdimples]

Several Sentence Sunday

So Wednesday's poll overwhelming voted for Single Dads AU as my next wip to focus on, and I've managed to write a few thousand words on that since then! I also did a couple of thousand for Frostpunk AU too, so we're gonna be tag teaming those two I guess 💀 I love both these fics so much and can't bear to leave them alone so I'll be working on/ sharing bits of both over the next few weeks 💙

Here's a snippet from Single Dads, right before we introduce an important character! It's not great atm but it's gonna be reworked when I can string together a sentence askdjhsa

“Lily!” Buck exclaims, sprinting across the driveway and up the steps before he knows what he’s doing. “What happened?” “She fell through the door,” Carrie supplies helpfully. Buck kneels next to his youngest and gingerly helps Lily up off the floor, pulling her into his lap where he proceeds to check her over. She’s holding her arm loosely and tears stream down her face as she hiccups miserably, which Buck figures is likely more due to shock than anything else. “The door was unlocked, Daddy!” Lily whimpers as she tucks herself further into his chest. “Fell on my arm.” Buck takes her arm gently in his hands, feeling up and down the length for any deformities or crepitus. She winces slightly as he prods at the delicate bones of her wrist, but there’s no swelling and she seems to be able to move it fine. Not broken, then. “Dad, why’s the door unlocked?” Carrie asks, voicing the very question he’d been thinking. There’s no way he forgot to lock it this morning, it’s a part of his many-step routine to get him and the girls out the door on time for work. Unlocking the door always comes after closing it, and before the full-body pat down to make sure he hasn’t forgotten his phone, wallet, or car keys. It’s routine. “I don’t know, honey,” Buck replies as he stands up, lifting Lily onto his hip as he does so. Lily lets out a shuddering sigh as her tears slow, and rests her head on his shoulder, her thumb making its way into her mouth. “Stay behind me, okay?” Buck takes an apprehensive step inside. The house is seemingly empty, every little knick knack and toy still exactly where it was left this morning. Lily’s sparkly shoes are still kicked in the middle of the hall, the door to the girls’ bedroom is still only slightly ajar, and none of the drawers in the cabinet in the front hall have been opened. Buck leans and places Lily on the ground, beckoning Carrie close to him so he can circle an arm around her too. “Go into your room, shut the door, and sit on Lily’s bed please. I’m going to have a look around and I’ll come get you in a minute, okay?”

Been tagged through the week by many people, thank you for bearing with me as I navigate my new schedule.

Tagging @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @puppyboybuckley @bucksbackwardcap @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks @aroeddiediaz @daffi-990 @jesuisici33 @tizniz @steadfastsaturnsrings @wikiangela @buckbuckgoose @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @wildlife4life @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @evanbegins @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @rainbow-nerdss @elvensorceress @epicbuddieficrecs @smilingbuckley @actuallyitsellie @spagheddiediaz

[radioactive-earthshine]

Thad/Preston: Preston visits his extremely homophobic maternal grandparents for a week and is terrified, cue protective Thad who shadows him while Preston grapples with his conflicted feelings around his mother, being a closeted bisexual teen in a relationship and his shaky relationship with his father. Meanwhile Thad also experiences his own introspection on family, rejection, love and rage. Content Warnings will be extreme queer phobia, conversion therapy and general domestic horror. Preston POV fic: This is a lighthearted fic following a day in the life of Preston as he attempts to make a documentary about Impulse... with Bart as his help. He already got Impulse to agree to an interview (a quick one) and Waid was supposed to help him, but when Waid gets an allergic reaction to a sheet cake gone wrong it's up to Bart to help his best friend. Surely he can be in two places at once, right? Right?

Bart and Thad make a tree house: It was a tree house that technically should have been for Bart's friends but every time they all tried to do it, something went wrong and they had to stop. Not this time. Who would have thought that building a tree house would have been so bonding with your twin brother. Kon and Bart as camp counselors: Bart and Kon made a list of all the things they missed out on not having a real childhood, over the course of two years they slowly began scratching them off and have come to one that is foiling them; go to summer camp. They're both too old to attend one as themselves, but they're not too old to have the experience as counselors to a bunch of rambunctious pre-teens in the middle of Kansas. Oh, by the way, there's a monster or something in the woods that they need to deal with on the down-low.

KonBart Angst Fic: Bart was in a coma for weeks after his scout died and Kon blamed himself. Basically this deals with more of his grief and guilt and rage at the situation while Bart is unconscious. Bonus: a hard talk with John Henry. Farmboy Punk: Kon finally has a civilian ID so now all he needs to do is learn how to keep his mouth shut and be normal. Who would have thought that was so hard, if only there was someone else who went through the same thing as he did... Involves Bart and Kon bonding as two people who recently were displaced and are now both living in Kansas and grow closer in ways they might not have ever thought they could as friends... or maybe something more? I want to start working on one of these by Wednesday so only 24 hours of voting.

Final vote does not guarantee I will work on it etc etc etc

[sp00kymulderr]

WIP Wednesday but it's Thursday

thanks for the tags @chronically-ghosted @perotovar @wannab-urs!

Step one: post snippets of the fics you're working on (can be a summary if there's no snippet)

Step two: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on

Step three: every vote is one minute you put on a timer to work on that fic (ex. 15 votes = 15 minutes of writing)

feel free to send me asks about any of these!

Picture You (QZ!Joel x sex worker f!reader)

The system was easy; a ration card dropped in to the disused mailbox, the next day they would come back to collect the polaroids you chose for them. A note with them, in your best handwriting, with a wishlist - things they could leave, what they'd get in return. Food for a photo of you in your prettiest lace set, cigarettes and booze would get them a topless shot, pills promised them a full nude. Rarer finds meant they'd get to see more of you. You always knew when the offering was from him. At first he'd just leave the payment, but as he returned again and again he'd give you notes - scribbled handwriting complimenting you on the colour of the lingerie you wore, on how perfect you looked in it. Eventually, he'd leave more and ask for something else - a pair of your panties, worn. Then he asked for more.

lost, found pt 2 (Dieter x reader x Ezra x non-binary oc)

Dieter had met Faye first, years ago. They had worked on a production of The Cherry Orchard with him. They had bonded over vodka martinis and their shared hatred of Chekov. Nights on stage, days in bed. They'd been a constant in his life for so long Dieter didn't know what he'd do without Faye now. You had come along next. Someone new, intriguing to him. You'd sat at your table at a fundraiser looking bored out of your mind, but when Dieter came to speak to you the smile you had given him had practically knocked him off his feet. He'd taken you home that night, and you'd never really left after that. Ezra. Now Ezra was never expected. You knew him, had had your dalliances with him in the past. Dieter was aware of him, Ezra was a prolific stage actor who never ventured in to film. When you'd first introduced the two they had butted heads. It had taken a while for them to realise just how much they liked each other.

you play the part, i'll be the art (no outbreak, moms ex!Joel x f!reader)

"Thought I told you to stay out of trouble?" Joel grunts, pulling you away from the group and around the corner towards the bathrooms, out of sight from both them and his date. "Thought I told you to stop watching me?" You retort, riled up and full of adrenaline. You're a little tipsy, a little horny, and massively fired up - they way he holds on to you doesn't help, practically pinning you against the wall. "Or is your date just not exciting enough for you, Joel?"

Cherry chapter 2 (Dieter x ofc x f!reader)

You're three cocktails in and giggling with Eva. Just like old times. Her smile lights up her face, lights up the whole room. The whole world. She's just as perfect as she always was. Dieter's there too.

np tagging @covetyou @5oh5 @alwaysmicado @morallyinept @morning-star-joy @whatsnewalycat @sweetercalypso @schnarfer @ozarkthedog if you haven't done it yet

[the-scaredy-crow]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you @eccaiia for the tag!

I honestly had no idea what to do for this one. Since 'Damsel not in Distress' is my high fantasy baby, it has a lot more world building than I think I have ever done for a book. I focused a lot on figuring out the culture, history, and even mythology of the world.

So, here's a bit of an info dump on two conflicting kingdoms that are most central to the plot of the story- including some possible phonetic spellings, though, like pretty much everything I write, different interpretations are always welcome.

Bershar - (bur-shar)

Leadership

Rulers are selected through a recurring vote. One ruler or set of rulers can be in power for life, if they are selected every election, but they can also step down any time.

Removes pressure of producing heirs from royal family.

The current rulers are Mayra and Elton Delgado, and their adopted son, Roque Delgado, is already favored for the throne. They are not related to the previous rulers, queens Isobel and Manola Suarez.

Random

Lots of farming; mostly a working class kingdom

Drake racing is super popular, and when there are battles, many fight from atop a drake.

Dragons are ethereal beings to the people of Bershar. While no one else seems to remember what Parlotte did for humanity, the Bersh remember him as a savior.

Most known for being dragon sympathizers and often considered the weakest kingdom.

It is the only kingdom in which dragons and drakes are protected and where products made from either are also forbidden.

When dragons were being killed off, Bershar sent its best warriors to protect them. Many Bersh died alongside the final dragons.

Even after the last dragons were slain, the Bersh waged war over their bodies so they could be laid to rest with the respect they deserved.

Castanum - (ka-stuh-num || cuh-stan-um)

Leadership

Complete monarchy - ruled by a royal family, throne passed down through the generations with no input from the public.

Marriage has been used to secure alliances, and even offspring not in line for the throne are often married off to other royal or upper class families to keep the bloodline ‘pure’.

They have never fostered a union between one of their own and a Bersh ‘ruler’. They look down on the leaders from Bershar and don’t believe in elected royalty.

Robert and Eloise Ostler are the current king and queen. They had plans in place to arrange a marriage for their daughter- and sole heir- Leanne, before she was stolen away by a dragon.

Random

Founded by one of the largest settlements of dragon slayers.

When dragons were easy to find, Castanum was a thriving city, with most of its population wealthy and high class and money always flooding in after the latest kill.

Since dragons were hunted to near-extinction, the kingdom has lost its biggest source of income, and has begun a downward spiral.

Far more people leaving than coming into the kingdom now.

Gently tagging:

@seastarblue @the-inkwell-variable @words-n-chaos @aether-wasteland-s @trixierosewrites @flock-from-the-void

+ Open tag

Happy writing<3

[bookishtheaterlover7]

I’m going to counter your anon who says AB isn’t getting karma.

I think she is. A Little bit already.

First, her “husband’s” fanbase despises her. Not all, but I’d say a loud minority that’s also out there ready to snatch her wig for anything she tries to do (lol).

Anytime she does something remotely embarrassing there’s a group of people waiting to out her - remember Liberia? 😂 and they have receipts and keep screenshots. She can’t hide unless she goes private but then she’ll never get more followers. 🤣

And if she thinks these people will stop if she has his baby? She can think again. That’s never happening. I think she burned all opportunity to make peace with his fan base and people want to see her gone. There are a ton of crazy fans that go way too far, yes, but unfortunately shes made enemies for life. Should have thought twice before having your soulmate mock and troll your fans on your behalf and then posting yourself showering to the world as an FU. Now when you try to claim you’re so shy your posts will be spammed with your own nudes.

The general public still does not notice or care about her. She’s so uninteresting and irrelevant her name is still getting spelled wrong. By people in her own country 🙈

Her movie backed by the largest US talent agency made no noise at all in any of the box offices and especially not in the United States of America. She was only only in it briefly and the reviews don’t even mention her. Not really going to help her future IT girl case because in comparison, like Jenna Ortega gained 10 million fans in like two weeks. I’m sure a bunch of them were bots too but let me tell you EVERYOne was watching Wednesday back in Nov-Dec 22. So her gaining that much really isn’t that far off the bat. Not to mention, AB’s big moment to shine was around the same time as Jenna and Jenna beat her and didn’t have to date anyone famous. 🙊

Even Chris back in 2019 - his peak popularity and then 2020 - he was trending at times daily, weekly. He was trending #1 on twitter for at least 24-48 hours during his oopsie weekend. His tweet after that telling people to go vote got millions of likes. He used to get crazy engagement just for breathing. I remember after endgame and then knives out people were talking about him like he had just popped up on the scene…this man had been in the industry at least 20 where at that point. lol

Chris came on IG and I’m pretty sure he gained a million followers in about 24 hours. Yes, there are celebs that did it faster than him but remember he’s always been more of an under the radar celebrity and he never really tried to be otherwise. So for the fact he was hitting 40 years old and joined IG ten years after everyone else and got 1 million the first day is impressive. So yes, he had star power. Jenna has it now.

And yes, CE has lost that star power and in part it’s due to him being with AB. So yes, he’s losing due to his decision to be linked with her, which could be called his karma…

But miss wannabe IT girl? Whew.

Try as she might, Her followers….basically capped at 840K and I will bet Elon musk’s entire net worth she was hoping to hit 1 million the night she went public with her now husband. People on tumblr even saw that she went and pinned her Mrs Harris movie post like the same day their pap pics came out. That’s how you know old girl was waiting and hoping to see her numbers go up.

Lastly, her “husband” is still more popular than her. Even though his fanbase has deteriorated she hasn’t gained more popularity’s I think this may really really grate her (don’t ask me why, I just have this feeling) because she’s the young and vibrant one. She wants to be adored and no matter what she tries to do, photoshopping herself in every picture she posts, she’s not outgaining him in terms of recognition. People will only know her if his name is added first.

So…yeah. Maybe you think she has it all and she’s not getting anything bad. But I would say karma works in mysterious ways. Sometimes it’s not as obvious as you think.

OH! THANK YOU, AN🫶N!!!

God, this really made me feel so much better after reading all the shit Elijah posted on Medium. 🥹

Especially when you mentioned "Karma isn't as obvious as you think". It's something I made a realization recently. Because I truly believe in Karma, I just wanted Karma to be more obvious, but sometimes, it just isn't.

And honestly, that makes it better 😆

Anyway, back to what you said about Albitch's Karma... Ohhhh, the number of laughs you gave me is PRICELESS!!!

I would seriously pay to see the screenshots of HER posts being filled with her own nudes 😆 Reap what you sow!

And I know it will not get any better for her. She's dragging Chris through the mud, and let's just say, that the fans that love Chris, definitely hate her. Beyond her "marrying" him.

Also, how Chris seems to contradict everything he used to say whenever he's with her. Hell, she doesn't even have THE ASS that Chris would be into 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 so, that's a VERY BIG contradiction. And, regards to their marriage... PRIVACY, MY ASS!!!

That said, I love how clearly you can see everything, once you get a level head. That means... Karma is definitely real.

Also, lemme just tag @blue-ice715 because it's her post that I reblogged, and she would definitely love to read this. 😊

[houseofbrat]

Today is 28 February 2024. There is one day left in this month because it's leap year.

William has done less than ten engagements for the year. He's not going to reach double digits by tomorrow. Wimpy William hasn't worked "full time" since last December before the kids got out of school.

It's Wednesday, and as of this writing, The King with cancer has done more work this week than William. Because King Charles met with PM Sunak today while William was at home sucking his thumb.

Did William travel to Namibia last week for the funeral of former President Hage Gottfried Geingob? Nope. Is funeral duty part of the heir to the throne's job? Yup. But we all know that The Will & Kate Cult will tell you it isn't because William is never to blame for anything. Because Princess Anne will take up the slack and do her nephew's job when she should have been attending a rugby match with her husband. Because Anne is a chip off the ol' block, aka Philip, while William is proving himself to be more and more Spencer with every day that goes by.

All you have to do is look at all the excuses made by The Will & Kate Cult when it came to William's comments at the BAFTAs. William admitted he hardly had seen any of the nominated films, even though most if not all were released in theaters and available via streaming before the nominations were announced.

Oh, but then the complaint was that Prince Philip and Princess Anne didn't watch all the nominated films each year when they were presidents of BAFTA either. Guess what? Streaming wasn't available back then. Philip was president from 1959 to 1965 while Anne was president from 1973 to 2001. Guess what? When Philip was president, he would have had to see a movie/film in the theater or by special request at Buckingham Palace. Availability by VHS wasn't necessarily a thing for the first part of Anne's presidency because most films didn't come out on VHS until more than six months after they were out of the theater. When Batman (1989) was released on VHS in the same year of its initial release prior to Christmas, it was a HUGE deal. It was still playing in theaters when it was released on VHS, which was considered a quick release. DVDs didn't start being prominent until the end of Anne's presidency.

But really it brings it back to Anne and Philip being either president or patron of tens or hundreds of organizations, which neither Will nor Kate are. Will and Kate have said that they aren't going to do the ceremonial-type thing and would instead be more "involved" with their patronages, which--if people actually stop and think about it--is why most people assume William has an interest in film beyond meeting Tom Cruise. Except he clearly doesn't.

But then The Will & Kate Cult want William to be judged by the same standard as those who actually work in the film industry. Because they complained that even those who work in the film industry don't see 100% of the movies. Interesting how the standard always changes according to The Will & Kate Cult. There are people within AMPAS, who will be voting for Robert Downey Jr. for Best Supporting Actor for Oppenheimer, who haven't seen that film. And you know what? They're allowed to. Because they may have worked with him in the past. Or they might have voted for him before when he was nominated for Best Actor for Chaplin when he was up against heavy weights such as Denzel or Pacinao. But, you know, AMPAS members actually work in the industry, unlike The Prince of Wales who has a different job that he doesn't seem all that intent on doing.

But we're not supposed to mention that because William puts his "family first." Or whatever the new excuse is. The last one was "personal matter." Uh huh.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Thom Hartmann at TNR:

Republicans don’t want women to vote. They now think they may have a strategy that could prevent them from doing so. House Speaker Mike Johnson and former President Donald Trump were pushing the Safeguard American Eligibility, or SAVE, Act, demanding it be part of must-pass legislation to fund the federal government for another year (the funding runs out at the end of this month, and then the shutdown begins).

It died in the House Wednesday night, but, like a bad penny, you can bet it’ll return.* Trump, on his failing social media site, ranted Tuesday that Republicans must get “every ounce” of the SAVE Act passed or shut down the government “in any way, shape, or form.” He said it was necessary because Democrats are “registering Illegal Voters by the TENS OF THOUSANDS, as we speak,” adding the vicious lie that “they will be voting in the 2024 Presidential Election.” Trump, Johnson, and J.D. Vance claim that the SAVE Act is necessary to prevent people who aren’t citizens from voting, but they are entirely unable to prove that any meaningful number of noncitizens have ever illegally voted in any American election. After all, it’s a felony for a noncitizen to vote, and few are stupid enough to take that sort of a chance. Republicans love to point out that occasionally noncitizens end up on the voting rolls of various states. Oregon, for example, just found that 306 noncitizens were on the voting rolls because they were incorrectly added when they renewed their drivers’ licenses; two had voted because they were mailed ballots and didn’t know better. The state has fixed this error.

But Republicans have absolutely no evidence of any election, anywhere in America, at any time in our history that was ever changed by noncitizens voting. Or of any conspiracy to encourage noncitizens to vote.

[...] So why is this the hill Republicans are willing to die on? Why would Johnson, Trump, and Vance (and so many other Republicans) put so much effort into a lie that will, if acted on, create chaos for American voters?

And why try so hard to force it into a must-pass bill when it has already passed the House of Representatives on a stand-alone vote? The question contains the seed of its own answer. The SAVE Act is a proposed federal law, so, first off, it would put a future president (say, Trump) in charge of enforcing it, taking that power away from the states. Millions of voter registrations in any states the president decides are problematic could be removed until those voters “cure” their registrations, and state authorities would have no say in it. And what will the law require citizens who want to vote do? Lacking a passport or other proof of citizenship with their married names, they must produce both a birth certificate (with the seal of the state where it was issued; no copies allowed) and a current form of identification—both with the exact same name on them. That could instantly disqualify about 90 percent of all married women without passports or other proof that matches their birth certificates or proof of a legal name change.

For women in that situation, they can still register to vote if they can prove that they went to court to change their name when they got married, but most women just start using their new married name without ever going through all those formalities (although a few states recognize marriage as a legal name change).

This New Republic article from Thom Hartmann is a masterclass.

The Republicans’ War On Women has expanded to voting rights, as most women who marry do change their name, and that more women vote Democratic.

The SAVE Act is full of poppycock and a waste of time bill that causes more problems than it solves with dealing the phantom “noncitizen” voter crisis.

[mermaidgirl30]

Wip Wednesday

@burntheedges Thank you for the tag!

Step one: post snippets of the fics you're working on (can be a summary if there's no snippet)

Step two: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on

Feel free to leave me an Ask about any of these!

1.) Love Amidst the Blue (sailor! Joel x mermaid! reader)

Just one touch, that’s all he needs. One touch to make this dream a harsh reality as a mermaid sits right in front of him, right in his grasp.

2) Crimson Tango: A Dance of Diamonds and Revenge

Moulin Rouge au Joel. Joel is told not to touch any of the dancers as he’s hired on at the Moulin Rouge, but he can’t help himself when he sees you up on that stage.

3) Dbf! Joel (Currently working on ch 5 so here’s a snippet!)

“I’m nowhere near perfect,” he chuckles as he keeps his brown eyes on you, “I just know how much the trip meant to you, and there’s no way I’m letting that get taken from you. You wanna go? Then we’re going. I’m not gonna see you disappointed, baby. I’ll take you there myself, and I’m gonna make sure you enjoy every second of it,” he confirms as he drops his hands from your face.

You suck in a breath and slam into his broad chest as you wrap your arms tightly around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you. God, I love you so much,” you breathe into his ear, feeling one of his hands come to cup the back of your head and the other wrapping around your waist.

“You’re so welcome. And I love you, too, sweetheart. Never gonna stop,” he says slowly into your ear, making every part of you completely lose it for him.

You lift your chin up and slowly plant your lips on his, letting the moment move slow, delicately, passionately. You sink into his weight and let him devour your lips, your tongue, your everything.

4. Tear You Apart (Working on part 2) dark! Joel

You stand there frozen, dropping the flashlight as it bangs with a clash on the ground. Joel slowly turns from his crouched position and scowls, flashing his sharp teeth in your direction.

“I said go away,” he growls, turning back to the lake as he claws the wet dirt beneath his hands and sucks in a painful breath.

“Don’t shut me out, Joel. Don’t turn your back on me again. Not after… not after we came so far.” Your voice shutters as a stray tear falls coldly down your cheek, your eyes blurring in the chill of the frigid night.

You take a step forward, and he stops you. “Don’t,” he warns, his voice like a sharp knife pulling down your spine.

“Why not?” you ask frightened, but you’re not scared of him. You’re scared of losing him.

“Because I’ll hurt you!” His voice is hurt, pain filling the void of the space between the two of you.

5. Dark Shades of Innocence Lost (club owner! Joel)

“I thought you didn’t want more. You said this was just hooking up, remember?” he asks blatantly, taking a step towards you out the door of the club, away from the noise of it all.

“I…I….” you choke, your words failing you as you remember that woman sitting next to him at the bar as he flirted back with her.

“You told me this wasn’t more. So tell me now. What. Do. You. Want?” His words are sharp, strict, wanting a clear answer from you now. And your mind is spinning, a messy blur as the words come out slurred.

“I want you, Joel! I want more. I just… I just…” Your words cut off when you see a man in the shadows lurking toward you. When you look up, you freeze. It’s him. Oh my God.

6. Dancing With Fire (Swan Lake ballet dancer x maintenance man! Joel)

“You decide what you want to do yet?” Joel’s words reach through the phone, and you wish he could be here right now with you. You wish he could hold you in his arms as you sink against his warmth, dissolve into nothing as you disappear from the spotlight.

“I have,” you answer back, voice shaking as you stare out onto the calm waters of your favorite childhood beach. You knew the answer, you were just scared to say it aloud.

No pressure tags and for anyone else who wants to do it! @mountainsandmayhem @janaispunk @tightjeansjavi @sweetercalypso @cinnamongorll

[maskedman111]

Kamen Rider tournament

Hello fans of Kamen Rider

I am going to start a special tournament to see which of me selected riders is people's favorite

as you can see on my channel, I did a tournament before but I loved doing it so much I decided to do it again but now with riders.

Over all the Kamen Rider seasons I have picked out my top 82 riders to be in this tournament. In each poll you will vote for your favorite and the ones with the least amount of votes will be eliminated. You will see all of them in round 1 in bits and pieces but the riders will be grouped with the riders in their season in the order the seasons happened. New polls will be posted every week between 1 and 3 pm (at least where I am)

Here is how the tournament will look

round 1: 12 polls, 1-11 will have 7 and the twelve will have 5, for all of them two will be eliminated leaving 58 (two will be eliminated for all the polls in rounds 1-6)

round 2: 8 polls, 1-6 will have 7 and the last two will have 8, leaving 42

round 3: 6 polls all with seven, leaving 30

round 4: 5 polls all with six, leaving 20

round 5: 4 polls all with five, leaving 12

round 6: 3 polls all with four, leaving 6

round 7: face offs-the remaining six will face off in three face offs, winner moves on, loser is eliminated leaving 3

round 8: final-all three in poll, most votes is the winner

There may be times when we have a tie and go to a tiebreaker, I will get to that when it happens for the first time.

The first round 1 polls will be posted next Wednesday so I hope you will take part of this tournament.

[popcornforone]

Teasing & Tweezing

Part of the Attending Mr York Fan Fic Series

Master list

This is all your fault.

You voted for back to back Dave York. I really didn’t think he would win. So here I am. Posting another Chapter to our Dave York universe on a Saturday… you’d better have your pancakes or grapes ready peoples. This is very intense.

Synopsis:- After asking a rhetorical questions, you find out Dave isn’t as squeaky clean & normal as you think. But your loyalty is put to the test a few days after finding out his secret when he arrives at your apartment at 3am.

This chapter is referenced as moments & memories in one week with Dave York. (Defiantly the Thursday & Saturday afternoon chapters).

Word count:8100

Warnings: EVERY WARNING UNDER THE SUN DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18! DAVE YORK COMES WITH HIS OWN WARNING…& I MEAN IT!!!! Cheating, adultery, boss employee relationships, controlling at points but not at others, fingering, anal sex, sex toys, bath sex, oral sex, blood, injury detail, repairs, swearing, angst, anger, alcohol, pain killers (in real life please don’t mix then) This gets grim at points for both injury & intimacy, secrets, assassin work.

Yea you have been warned

Thank you all so much for reading this, it’s always a pleasure writing Dave & thank you all for reading last weeks one off. All feedback is welcome in anyway shape or form. Enjoy peoples.

“Mr York?” You pop your head around the office door on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s not unusual for him to ask to see you on a Wednesday, before you do the grocery shop before getting the girls from school, especially as he likes to cook on a Wednesday night. You’ve never found out why, he just likes to do it. It also means you get more time to paint & curate your art portfolio, your eventual out from being a house keeper one day. Although this is much better than the 9to5 grind you used to have. It pays better too.

“Ahhh perfect timing, quick close the door this won’t take long” he spins round in his chair to face you, man spreading for you to see. He’s not hard but you know you could do certain things to make the man who 75% of the time ignores you in this house, to then turn him into the 25% which wants to plunder & pleasure you.

You notice he’s got shredding going on & lots of printing & a building plan laid out across his sofa, lots of post its notes & red crosses covering it. You grab a pen from his desk & tease it in your teeth waiting for him to tell you what he needs so you can jot it onto a post it note. You tease doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What can I help you with today sir…”

“shopping!”’he abruptly interrupts to make you slightly startled as to how quick his response was “I need the following items please & if they don’t have them in the store please can you go to different stores tomorrow to get them, they are all essential items”

“okay Mr York I understand, I…” he interrupts again.

“I would say today but I know it’s Wednesday & your art time. our deal is still the same, that you can work on whatever it is you make, I don’t want to make my house keeper unhappy, unless it’s tears of pleasure” he smirks facing back to his screen & you dampen your knickers instantly. He has very quickly worked out some of your kinks & weaknesses as to how he can make you feel good. He knows certain words get you going & he can also see your an open book when it comes to him & how he makes you scream. Your ex must have been atrocious, but that is Daves gain. It’s only been a few months of sex, but he’s really enjoying getting his frustrations out on your body & how you respond. Carol doesn’t even put in any effort anymore.

Dave lists off the most random shopping list. 2 fishing lines, sand, bleach, 3 bags of sugar, nail scissors, typex, a towel, hand sanitiser, a pack of metal coat hangers & as many packs of pain killers as you can find.

“Is there anything you think I need?” He asks when he’s done.

“Well that’s quite an extensive list mr York, I mean why fishing lines why not…”

“oooh & cable ties & condoms” he interrupts back to facing you & pointing. You blush. You were now on the pill, so you could feel Dave bare filling his seed inside you. No more rushing to the pharmacy to get the morning after pill or him withdrawing, which was rare of him to do. So who else was he having sex with other than you & Carol? Your face can clearly show your thinking this as he then answers without asking“… this is all for work, your my only discretion” he’s not lying you can tell that, you’ve worked out when Dave lies.

“wow that will be interesting for you to put down as expenses” you chuckle as you read the list back to yourself “I mean unless you plan on killing your boss, that’s the only way you could get away with it” you catch Daves eyes which are darting around the room desperate to check he’s not left anything in evidence out. He then looks at you sternly & you realise your hypothetical question might have some truth in it.

“David?” You ask concerned. You hardly ever call him David unless he really hits the spot inside you & you forget your manners. This breaks him out of his worried trance. He likes it when you say his name. If he wasn’t so controlling he’d let you say his name more often but you calling him Mr York for all situations makes his cock throb with anticipation. “Do… do you…” your voice is trailing. you want to ask but you also don’t incase knowing this will put you in danger, but you need to know. Daves business trips usually are on weird days & a pick up at a weird time. Dave sighs deeply shaking his head before his eyes meet yours.

“What I’m about to tell you is highly classified.” He groans . His eyes are deep. Dave is worried he’s about to lose his nanny, house keeper & fuck toy in the next 3minutes. How will he explain that to Carol. He stands up & heads to the family picture on the wall which has a safe behind it “I need to record exactly what i am about to talk to you about & I need you to consent to everything I am about to say” as the safe pops open he pauses & notices you’ve sat on the edge of his desk. “If you want you can leave now, I will pay you a years salary on the spot & you can go” he says & your eyes meet. A years salary is more than generous & could change your life. He is giving you an out. You can pack up your bags & never see the Yorks again, but could you do that to the 2 little girls who finally get you & are happy you play with them, no. Could you then also sit at home if you did leave even with that money in one go & think about the family if the worst happened to Dave, no.

“Tell me David, tell me everything”

“please don’t call me David…” oh fuck you think “… if your going to call me anything other than Mr York, call me Dave” & he hands over a secrets act file for you to read & sign as he hit records on the tape in his hand, all of which has come from the safe, to start telling you what you can know & what he actually does do. David Christopher York is a hired killer & assassin.

10 days later

You stumble into your studio apartment at 11:30pm. You know you’re needed at the Yorks for lots of morning rushes this week so today & tomorrow is your real chance to stay in your bed. They have given you Saturday night & part of Sunday off as a thank you. You’ve been out for a movie, dinner & drinks with your friends. You’re pretty sure that one of thems brother Steve was trying to flirt with you, but he was so wasted by the end of the night that you decided not to go back to his place. Your own bed & your own pleasure would be enough for tonight, especially if when you get to the Yorks, Dave has been on a successful business trip & will want to have sex with you. You slide out of your dress & put on your jammys. It’s summer so very short sleep shorts & a floaty vest are all that’s needed. Make up removed & teeth cleaned, you glide onto your bed & put on your pleasure playlist as you grab your 5inch toy & lube it up. The tip as it vibrates makes you shudder & moan as you carefully edge it inside you. You’re still getting used to having a vibrator which you purchased on impulse after your ex broke up with you. “Dave!” You moan. It’s the first time you have moaned Dave out loud when you’ve been alone & you really really like the way it rolls off your tongue. He’s having that much of an effect on you at the moment. You gasp at saying it & inch it in further turning up the vibrations wondering when Dave will next be on top of you, pounding inside your core.

THUD THUD THUD

You leap up & hear this pounding noise. It’s not a hangover throbbing in your mind or the next door neighbours having an orgy, they like to do that sometimes & you try to stay at the Yorks when you know it’s going to happen. But there’s a banging noise going on. As the thudding happens again you click your bedside light on & see the clock says 3am as you head to the door a few feet away. Being a studio apartment everything is close together. You look though the keyhole & see Daves face in anger on the other side.

“Let me in sweetheart please!?” He says with pain in his voice. You don’t even hesitate to undo the latch, the second your hand twists the lock he barges in, flinging the door almost directly into your face & almost collapses on the floor. There is blood oozing from his shoulder & is seeping down his arm. He throws his back pack across the room & it hits your bed bouncing back towards you both.

“VODKA” he screams as you lock the door shut but are frozen to the spot in a panic. “DONT MAKE ME ASK AGAIN!” He is enraged. The second shout means you run over to your dresser, which has clothes stationary & alcohol in it. You find the bottle of vodka & head to the kitchen area to get a glass. “IM IN FUCKING PAIN. I HAVE NO TIME FOR A GLASS!” You almost drop the bottle at his growl. It’s scaring & arousing you. The idea of Dave being really dominant to you during sex was not one that had crossed your mind, or be it with anyone actually, but he has those traits. You would submit to him so well. You kneel next to him & hand him the bottle, cap already off & he has 2 large gulps almost spluttering out the second. You’ve still not said a word since you woke up 2mins ago. He eventually calms down a little as your hand soothes his back, tracing across his spine & he reaches for his bag but his agony stops him “Bag! pain killers” he musters & you lean & bring it across to the two of you but when you see what’s in there your drop in it shock, scattering part of its contents across the floor, including the small pistol inside it.

Imagine if Dave hadn’t told you 10 days ago what he did for a living. This is still pretty intense & your mind is racing that he’s come to you for help. You are in as much shock as he is pain. But seeing various items you had purchased him sitting it that bag from the other week & a gun & a knife, that made you flinch a little too much.

“Mr York…” you mumble “i… I… im not qualified…”

“you have health & saftey & cpr to work for us, this is just the next 4 steps up” he interject, as he grabs the tablets to take. They, luckily for you, dropped right in front of him. “You said you’d do anything for me & the Yorks & I need this one time favour please please?” He pleads as he drinks more vodka to take the tablets which you both know is highly irresponsible, but he’s suffering badly. You pace a little while he tries to stand wondering what to do. No way are you or your apartment equipped to deal with whatever has happened to Dave.

“A one off? “ you reply “I never have to sort you out again”

“yes I promise, you can quit afterwards for all I care, I just need this to look a little bit cleaner before I go to the emergency room” his breathing is almost calm, & back to what it would be if he had just orgasmed.

“Why can’t you go there & first” you ask.

“That’s a story for another day but right now I need you to try & stop this bleeding please?” His frown tells you he isn’t joking, he has come to you for help. Maybe this is a loyalty test to prove what you would do for the Yorks.

You take a deep breath before the word “okay” stutters out of your mouth, your head trying not to think of what you’re about to face. You walk back over to Dave & offer him your hand to help him up, which he takes. He’s always so strong but this grip isn’t want you’re expecting he’s unsteady & needs support.

“bed” he groans as he realised his legs are going to give up from beneath him, so you grab the shoulder that isn’t bleeding to help him turn & then lower him on the edge of the bed. He winces. Then you can see what’s happening to the shirt. You can see that the pool of blood is still growing, but there is a pattern to it that it is starting to seep out from underneath his T-shirt & trickle down his arm over the elbow, an elbow you want to ride until you can’t think straight anymore as it pushes against your pussy.

“Dave” you say realising it’s the first time you’ve really said that to him “I need you to help me with this, it’s not a cut knee or a bruised foot, your bleeding heavily” & you can see it start to drip onto your bed sheets, which you know no amount of stain remover will get this fully out.

Dave glance at your face as he picks up the bottle of vodka to swig again, & sees the concern in your eyes. “You’ve got this sweetheart, did you every play operation as a kid?” He asks & you nod. Dave can feel his shirt getting wetter from the blood trickling out of his collar, so he removes it straight over the top of his head screaming slightly from the pain it causes, but not loud enough for the rest of the building are hear, but enough if your neighbours were in they would’ve heard that. He can feel your eyes train on every single inch of his abs. His muscular stomach, his broad shoulders & his chest, gleaming with sweat & the blood that has slid down the side from where he has been shot. it is only now that you can see that his wound is more than just of flesh one. He has been shot & you can see as you stroke his back up & down from behind, that it’s not come out the other side. Your face drops. You know you’ve got to help him try & get this bullet out or at least stop the bleeding to make it look like it’s okay before he goes to the emergency room later. He catches the look of concern in your face which is now one of complete paralysis. “It’s not come out has it?” Dave asks. Silence fills the room as your eyes meet. Yours which are filled with concern now, turn into ones which are soft. His glint back at you to say it’s okay & he will be okay. His hand takes yours & the bloodied hand rolls across your knuckles. You take his ruined shirt & apply pressure to the wound.

Dave so far has always been in charge of making the first move or kiss, but right now you can’t control yourself & your urge. He might be bleeding still, but his lips are parted. You hold onto his chin keeping his face looking at you as you crash your lips into his. It smooth & succulent. Two wet plump mounds taking over the other. He’s shocked at first that you’ve done this, it’s always been his decision when this is instigated, but he can’t help himself. He goes with it as his hand leaves your to caress your face before going into your hair. He is now panting but he’s relaxed a little & you can feel the stress leave his body slightly. He softly moans your name as you part, & both your eyes open. “Sorry” you say “but I needed you to be calmer for me to have any attempt at this” he raises an eyebrow.

“That’s the best excuse for a kiss I’ve ever heard” & as he says this you hear a ripping sound of your bed sheets. He’s got at least a quarter of it as he straps a small amount around the lower part of his arm to tighten it. Clearly this isn’t his first injury.

He gestures at the bag & points. “You need to find nail scissors, tweezers, the condoms, lighter & hand sanitizer” he says before realising half of the bag is now scattered across the floor. He laughs at this before yelping as the next part of your bed sheet he’s torn away makes a connection

“a laugh wow didn’t think I’d hear that when you arrived a few mins ago”

“well your studio now looks like someone’s burgled it after you dropped my bag. Also do you have a stronger light that this bed side lamp? You’ll need as much light as you can get to help me.” Dave groans as he leans down to grab the pain killers as well but he stops half way as pain shoots through his body.

“Let me have you in the Bath” you blurt out.

“what!” Dave replies shocked “I don’t think…”

“oh not like that Mr York, my bathrooms got mirror lights & spotlights & white walls, so it’s bright. also it’s easy to clean afterwards & stops you from ruining my bed.” You snarl back. He likes you being in command, it makes his groin twitch at the idea of what else he can one day make that mouth say.

“Oops sorry, force of habit to take whatever is near me to repair something, I’ll replace them. I like your thinking though” & with that he leans his intact shoulder across yours. “Help get me to your Bath then” & the two of you tentatively stand up & you help him hobble to the bathroom. However he’s distracted. He’s looking down at to your almost bare back & a neck free for kisses, which he starts to peck at. His lips igniting your core with each smooch down your radiating skin. Radiating for him alone. You gasp as he licks up your neck behind your ear. You can’t really stop him due to having to carry his weight with you to the bathroom. It may only be a few feet away but it still takes a while. Also you don’t want needy Dave to stop.

Your bathroom has the bare minimum in it. A shower at the end of the bath, sink, toilet & a clothes basket for laundry. But it will do for now. “Mind the ledge Mr York” you say as he plants his first foot in the tub. When both feet are in steady ground you help him lower in & he also takes off his trousers, so he’s just in his boxers. Maybe he did just have sex on his mind.

“I’ve got spare clothes in the bag I can change into, but can you bring back the booze & pain killers before the rest of that list first” he says as he hands his jeans across to you. They are as black as the night sky. So if there was blood in them it would be hard to notice, unless you knew. Once he’s happy in the bath, you’ve given him a spare bath Mat to kneel on & an old cushion to lean on the edge of the bath, you go get the rest of the items as he takes one more pain killer. All but 2 items were still in the bag, those 2 were that hand sanitiser & condoms. As you head back into the bathroom with the rest of your bed sheet to mop up the blood, which he had torn already you ask.

“why condoms for a repair?” You notice these were the ones you picked up last week.

“Evidence bag” he states as his lips detach from the bottle of vodka “especially these ones, good choice by the way. They are sturdy don’t break & leave all finger prints on what’s inside, nothing ever escapes this unless it’s really rigorous “ & you blush. You can imagine Dave has tried that out before, but inside your mind wonders to think with whom & would he pound you that hard?

You go to step in the bath with him but he shout “no I need you outside, if you slip & fall, were done for”

“Dave it’s my Bath I should no how to bal…”

“not if you make a mess of this, but I have faith. You got this sweetheart” you take a few deep breaths & stand right in front of him, you thin sleep shorts separate his mouth from your mound. You liked it last time when he performed oral sex on you. His tongue lapping away at you, humming as he tasted each drop. His fingers felt fantastic too, so long & fat, curling away rubbing against your walls as his thumb danced across your clit, sending you spiralling out of control. Dave sniffs as he can smell your arousal. If he wasn’t in a so much pain & this wasn’t so urgent your shorts would be off & he would be fucking you, but that would be too much of a distraction. He needs you coherent.

“So what first Mr York?” You ask with everything you need on the side.

“Hand sanitizer for your fingers & my wound, we need you clean & the hole slightly numbing it cos you’re going to have to cut it a little bigger than it already is”

“what?” You screech as you open the bottle, “what if I hit…”

“it’s ok it’s okay…” Dave says as he sees you go into panic mode “ there is nothing you can butcher too much up here, oooh you’ve got your phone right? because I need to see where the bullet is when you get inside?” This is all now becoming a little bit too much. You’ve seen this on tv shows & always thinks they make it look so simple & easy to heal a bullet wound or stab. But now you are faced with this as a first repair job for Dave you feel physically sick.

You go to grab the vodka but Dave holds it away from you “I know you’re nervous, but this won’t help you, trust me” he can see your pale & freaking out inside. “Breathe with me sweetheart come on” & you do 3 lots of 5 in & out & as he starts the 4th you sigh & drip the sanitisers across his injury. His yelp is small & you use half the bottle, “quick 4cms towards my neck go in through the existing hole” he cry’s putting a dry part of the bed sheet in his mouth. Even if this was a pro doing this he knows he would scream at this. You slowly & carefully start to snip at his flesh opening the hole wider, blood trickling out to start with. You go to mop it up but Dave moans as he shakes his head. “Clean up when we are done” he muffles biting into the bedding for all his life. Considering you’re new to this he’s impressed you’ve not put him in more pain. You slowly snip away, amazed at how calm you are & amazed at how the human shoulder & collar are constructed. So much so that it only when Dave shouts yet it’s still muffled “no more snipping” that you stop.

“Sorry Dave, I was…” you feel a bit embarrassed by saying this “I… I was admiring the way you were constructed.”

“If I come out of this in one piece sweetheart, you can admire all you want” You look into Daves eyes, he’s not playing games or teasing he’s being serious.

Dave then gestures his eyes at the tweezers which you grab. He keeps your hand in place over his shoulder. But it’s not just for pressure on his oozing wound, it’s for reassurance for the two of you. He wants to feel your touch & he want to make you aware that he needs you. You face him again.

“It’s going to be okay Dave trust me” your calming words actually fool you both. You’d said it to make Dave feel at ease but it was also you tel yourself you could do this.

“You need to use the tweezers to open the cut up a little bit & then I need you to take a few photos so I can see how bad it is.” Daves slowly getting calmer in his tone, but he’s sweating a lot. Clearly his adrenaline has now warn off too. Maybe his shallow breathing & loss of blood is having an effect on him.

He winces as you carefully open up your fresh cut, & try not to turn your head away, as the seeping continues.

“Sweetheart you’ve got this, I trust you, look at me” your eyes meet Daves in solitude. “You never have to do this again I promise” you click a few photos, the flash almost blinding Dave in his eye, it’s so bright he will see that little outline in his eyes for a few minutes for sure. You hand him your phone. His blood soaked thumb zooms in on the screen. “I can see 3 obvious bits but you see this bit” he turns the phone around & points at a piece that’s hanging onto something inside his shoulder & collar. “That’s causing the bleeding”

“Okay Dave is it as simple as me just using the tweezers or…”

“Ha” he cackles “I wish it was” he sighs deeply “if you do this half as well as I think you can sweetheart , I might have to train you up as a medic.” You raise an eyebrow at Dave. “Jokes are getting me through this sweetheart, that & the fact that you’re right cunt at points has been inches away from my face, desperate for me to lick it. A taste of that would make all the pain go away” Daves breathing has ramped up casising his blood to pump more.

“Calm Dave” you say as you go to clean the tweezers with hand sanitizer but Dave grabs you hand.

“Stop!” He shouts.

“Why Dave? I thought…”

“The lighter, you need to heat the tweezers up”

“What?!”

“He hand sanitizer is alcoholic, it will be a blaze in seconds” his eyes are worried at what you were going to do “what are you an amateur?”

“Yes Dave I am” you snap back at him “you could easily be in the emergency room right now, but no here I am helping you out at good knows what time I’m the morning” your half tempted to walk away but a dead assassin in your bath tub wouldn’t be the best idea either. You’re in too deep. “Sorry Dave, I shouldn’t have snapped” you say calming yourself down. Trying desperately not to look in his eyes that you know will be raging because you answered back. “I know you know what’s best, & I’m trying my best, this is all so much to take in”

“I’m sorry to sweetheart” you make eye contact this time. Dave never apologises to anyone, for anything, even when he knows he’s wrong. His face is pleading for forgiveness too. “I mustn’t treat you like medics who stitch me up or help. As much as I employ you, you’re not trained for this. I’m sorry but this is the only way” he grips your shoulder with his clean hand, he’s been very deliberate to make sure one hand stays clean throughout this, with no blood contamination. He strokes you to sooth both your sets of anger away & it works almost instantly.

You follow Daves carful instructions. Heating up the tweezers for 30 seconds on a low heat to nudge the bullet away before then scorching the surrounding are & then attempting to fish it out, putting it straight into a condom, so he can have it analysed. He screamed 3 times as you did this, his face wincing in pain when a few nerves were hit, but he then asked you to try & get the second & third piece out using the same technique. It’s as you’re getting the 3rd piece out Dave screams the most. It’s high pitched & straight in your ear.

“Fuck, what are you tugging on I need to see” He screams & you while leaving the tweezers in place so the hole is open take a photo. Daves face drops. “Put that back where you found it right now. It’s stuck in a nerve. If it’s too far lodged it can’t come out, or I might lose some feelings in my fingers. I then can’t do my job.”

“Okay Dave” you slowly place in back into his shoulder, as well as you can but then he scream again & you almost nip at a vein as you drop the tweezers. “What did I do wrong?” Your voice is panicked.

“Lighter on tweezers for 10 seconds then push them against where you’ve just been, keep doing this until I tell you to stop.” His face is contorted as he growls this.

“But Dave what if…”

“This isn’t operation anymore sweetheart, just do it” he viciously interrupts & you start doing what he said with the tweezers. Fresh blood is now coming out of him.

Every 10 seconds you push the heated metal against him & each time he’s moans & gasps for air. Then you remove it & do it again & again. But it’s not helping. & then you see the hand sanitiser on the floor.

“Do you trust me Dave?” You ask in a hurry as you plunge the tweezers into the liquid.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No” you click the lighter on & the tweezer start to blaze.

“Are you fucking crazy woman? What the…” but you thrust the molten tweezers into his wound. “FUCKKKKKK!!!!!” You know that people asleep on your floor have probably just been work up due to Dave’s cry. “FUCKING HELL WHAT THE FUCK!!!! YOU FUCKING BITCH!!!” Daves eyes are tightly scrunched together in pain. He’s engulfed by heat too. But you don’t care. You’ve worked out this might be the only way of heeling him. To stop the bleeding. He might always have part of a bullet inside him but it will save his job & life if you fuse it to his nerves. So that’s what you do.

You’ve notices it’s working. His fingers & hand that are covered in blood are still twitching. He has some control or maybe it is second nature, to check that he can still move & work everything. A smile spreads across your face as you then reheat the tweezers with the lighters & hand sanitiser & do it again. Daves scream less in shock this time. The blood slowing down, his breathing calming. In your own panic you accidentally came up with an idea that is actually working better than his.

“I gotta say I thought you were gonna kill me doing that,” Dave eventually says when he’s back in the here & now, eyes no longer stinging.

“Well I wasn’t sure it would work Dave, I just had to try something, I couldn’t let you bleed out.” He hisses as you apply pressure on where has been scorched to make sure it’s sealed.

“You’re a fucking crazy bitch you know that?” He says still in pain drinking a bit more vodka before then picking up the condom with the pieces of the bullet inside it to seal it off.

“I will take that as a thank you” you calmly say, As you remove the tweezers & rush to your first aid kit that you brought in with the other bits earlier. His eyes rolling at your sarcastic comment but he knows you’ve done well. You grab a needle & thread & start to get it ready to stich Dave up.

“I’ve seen you learning to sew so this should be fun, you drop stitches all the time” he cackles before taking another painkiller with some more vodka.

“Well Dave if you swivel your shoulder this way slightly I can lean over the top of you & make sure that this holds until you get to an emergency room, that’s all I can promise. I can’t even promise it won’t hurt.” You mumble & then get him in the right spot. “Sorry Dave you’re in a bit of a tight spot here just bear with me. Keep drinking that vodka” he sees the genuine smile on your face & he starts to smile back at you, before he whimpers as you dig the needle in him.

“Fuck, why does this never get easy”

“Sorry Dave but I need the extra light, don’t want to make to much more of a mess” You can hear Dave moaning as you try to do the best job you can.But then your body jitters forward. A sensation you’ve not felt for a while as he slips his fingers inside your pussy ,as he starts saying “you’re not the only one who is working with a tight space”. His fat finger on his clean entering you easily, having their way with you, making you clamp around them instantly. You hadn’t even realised he was near your entrance or in a teasing mood until he was inside you.

“Dave stop Dave stop” you moan as the two fingers start to curl inside you,

“Beg” he cries as you accidentally dig the needle in further.

“I’m gonna make a mess if you continue” you moan griping into his other shoulder trying to concentrate as he works your pleasure. You’re trying not to moan or gasp but when Dave brings you pleasure it’s always hard to concentrate on anything else. Especially as He strokes his thumb across your clit.

“That’s the point sweetheart” he growls & looks you dead in the eye “it’s distracting us from the actual mess your doing to my shoulder & collar,” his breathing becomes enraged as his hand becomes slicker from your arousal. His pace picking up. Making you want more than just his fingers. Making you bite your bottom lip as your hips start to roll.

“Don’t blame me if I stab you” each word is panted amour of your mouth. He’s watching intently as your eyes become filled with desire.

You both scream in different tones, one of pain & one of pleasure when the third finger joins the party. His thumb Stimulation around your clit just making you want to grind onto him. It feels divine. Daves more concerned as he keeps his rhythm up about what your own hands are doing.

“That will do sweetheart” he says as he pulls you closer. His fingers are pulsing away making you want his fat cock buried inside you. The squelching & your moans now the sounds track to your bathroom.

“Fuck dave, oh fuck yes, oh god, I need this, I fucking need more” your almost growling as Dave sometimes does, as you drench his hand, spilling out & you hold the side of the Bath for balance as your legs turn to jelly from the intensity of your orgasm. “I knew you were good but I didn’t know your hands were that good baby” you whimper.

“Well it’s better than that pathetic excuse of a toy you have on your bed side table sweetheart.” You blush. Even in pained state bleeding out earlier, he had clocked your vibrator you had used earlier. you try to gather the words before Dave cackles. “What you’ve purchased might be okay for a one off but what you need is something more pleasurable” Daves smooth silky words in his seductive tone make you want his fingers back inside you at a minimum.

“Well you weren’t here to satisfy my needs.” You say as you edge to the basin to get a cloth for yourself as Dave dampens the last part of the bed sheet to mop up his dried blood.

“I promise you, that you will never need to look for satisfaction anywhere else when we’re done sweetheart.”

“Are you teasing me Dave?” your ask as you take his hand & help him out of the Bath. He’s in your personal space & his lips are just begging to be taken by yours.

“Well you’ll just have to wait & find out”

12 hours later you are in a hotel lobby, waiting for Dave. After you finished stitching him up, he told you to sleep on the sofa & that he would sort everything out, before a tender thank you kiss before he left to go to the emergency room. You got 5hs sleep before there was more knocking at your door. Clean up had arrived & by clean up, it means part of Daves team who had spent most of the night sorting out the place where Dave had been shot. Your flat was spotlessly cleaned, new sets of bedding were out on your bed along with 3 other new sets, more expensive that youve ever owned & replacement vodka also put in your cupboard. You had to sign NDA forms once it was all done, to never speak of last tonight to anyone other than Dave or the people in the room with you who were cleaning.

The thing that freaked you out the most though was the call from Carol at 11am saying she was sorry you had a sickness bug & would call someone else for the next 2 days to help. You went to protest & she said that you had called Dave who’s still away on business earlier to tell him. As you’re speaking to her you see Daves messages appear on your tablet to say that this is all okay & to meet him at a designated hotel later for a real thank you. So here you are at 5pm at the Drove hotel waiting for Dave, wondering what or how he is going to say thank you.

“Sweetheart?” You turn around & see Dave who extends his hand & pulls you up inches away from his face.

“Mr Yo…” he’s hungrily kissing you before you can finish the word York. His embrace & his lips only leave your mouth to kiss your neck for the entire journey through the lobby, into the lift & into the suite he’s hired. It’s the honeymoon suite & it’s so romantic in there & grand, not that Dave is the romance type at all.

“I told them I was here for 2 days & hadn’t seen my girlfriend in 6months, being persuasive does sometimes get you exactly what you want” Dave is seducing you with his own words, no persuasion is needed here, your already under this man’s spell.

“I didn’t have you down…”

“I’m not romantic in the slightest, but as this was already here when i arrived I thought I’d keep it. Make you feel like the bride. Make you feel romantic. So that then when you beg me to keep fucking you, you remember how sweet a girl you are. That you’re not my fuck toy.” Daves demeanour changes, his eyes dark & dilated & he gestures to the bed. “I do want to thank you though for what you did & not telling Carol earlier, she doesn’t need to know.” You sit on the bed & take your shoes off.

“I did promise to obey & attend your needs Dave,I just never expected that to be what was needed” you coyly look up at him. “We did it as a team”

“You did an amazing job sweetheart in everything & I am still giving you the opportunity to quit tomorrow, However…” the devilish smile that arouses you creeps over his face. “… you need a proper thank you & an eduction” Dave then dumps a black bag on the bed & unzips it. Your face turns red & blushes.

“Dave what the actual fuck” you hold the first box up & then the second. His bag is filled with unboxed sex toys.

“Sweetheart, I saw your toy, it might give you a few moments, but it’s never going to match me. So allow me to pleasure you, so you know what you like. You will then know what gets you off, so I know how to make you cum so hard. I like sliding into you, your arousal hardly ever needs me to lube up” Daves words embarrass you but also make you feel good. He wants to take you on a sexual adventure. & you’re here for it.

After looking at the various boxes you pick a very small stimulator to start with.

“Ooh starting small & working up are” says Dave mischievously. “I’m sure there would be some girls who run away after being presented all of this, but no you sweetheart, you are a slut. You present as the helpful house keeper so well & I bet you were loyal to that ex of yours but damn you want your fill don’t you. You want to feel my fat cock, in your cunt, pounding away don’t you.” You’re speechless & just nod. Dave, since you’ve started having sex has been dirty in his talk, but never like this. Your knickers are already damp. You bite your bottom lip which makes Daves cock twitch. That’s his sign for she’s all mine, so he pounces, turning you around on the bed so you’re lying on your stomach.

You’re stripped in seconds except for your knickers, your tights shredded & thrown across the room. The dress & bra flung somewhere for you to find eventually. Your mind is now on the fact that you can hear Daves belt hit the floor behind you too.

“Dave please”

You groan as he he kisses both your arse cheeks & then slowly rolls your knickers off your arse. You’re dripping for him already & he sees it pooled in your material as he removes them.

“Is my little slut already gagging for me?” He groans. You hadn’t heard his trousers or boxers come off, but your arse suddenly feels his bare penis rubbing against it. “I can use this” he say smirking rubbing his erect penis through the slick which has gathered, leisurely pumping himself. You then see a bottle of lube lying next to you on the bed, before it is gone in a blur. You moan & go to ask before he speaks. “I need to work you open first or…”he says smacking your arse cheek making you yelp, “maybe your arsehole is already puckering for me” he’s going to have sex in your arse. You have never done this before & you instantly tense up.

He takes the bottle of lube & covers your other enterance for him & you instinctively rock your arse back towards him, making his cock edge nearer your arse. No man has claimed it before, but this is Dave York & you are all his. He can fuck any hole he wants.

“Dave no one no, oooh baby” your words are interrupted, you didn’t realise he had the stimulator in his had that had been on your clit for the last few minutes, but your body shudders as the vibrations ignite your desire. Dave was right you did need educating to be his fuck toy & you can already feel your climax approaching.

“Ooh your cunt loves anything baby, that’s it rock, let me watch you enjoy yourself,” Daves desperate to start ramming you. But his eyes are hypnotised as to how quickly you settle into a rhythm. He ups the setting to make you moan more, almost losing his grip from the slick gathering.

“I know your nervous sweetheart” he whispers into your ear, you own hand now taking the toy to pleasure yourself with, as he reads himself”… but I promise to stop if you find it uncomfortable at any point okay, im going to take this slow & we will build up to more” you nod through your moans silently, unable to speak through pleasure. Dave then grabs your jaw firmly”consent sweetheart” it’s a snarl.

“Yes Mr York”

His penis covered in your slick & your arse covered in lube, he makes his slow approach seem like it takes forever. But the sting as it slips inside you, has you panting & gasping desperately.

“Dave oooh fuck” he stops & pulls out & then you say “again”. Each time he gets a little further inside you. Your cheeks parting, waiting to receive him. The stimulator was actually a brilliant idea as you move it to get more pleasure it’s distracting you from what Dave is doing to your arse.

“God everyone else has missed out on this delight” Dave states as he edges deeper inside you. “I’m the first, I’m taking your arse virginity, everyone else might have had that tight little cunt, the most gushing of pussys but this…oooh fuck” Dave can feel every inch on you as he’s half way to being fully inside your area & he stops. “I’ll properly destroy this another day, I’m sure there will be more occasions I need to thank you for.” & so Dave starts, his penis taking your arse, & you are having a pleasure over ride. “Say red of you want me to stop” he says as he gets going.

You lie in the big bath tub the next morning after having sex with Dave all night. A nap here & there interrupted by the sudden feeling of his lips sucking your breasts or his hands wandering to pleasure you. Dave has all the stamina in the world & he’s proving that right now as you swallow every last drop of his cum after his morning blow job. His face a delight watching you gulp him down.

“You are a cum hungry little slut sweetheart aren’t you.” He rubs your face & then lowers himself behind you in the Bath.

“I only get to taste the saltiest though Dave” you giggle as your wash yourself. You both reek of sex, but it intoxicates you both.

“So what we did last night, was that okay? You’re not to sore this morning?” Daves voice is one of genuine concern “if you don’t want to do anal again I understand, but”

“I ache Dave I’m not going to lie but” Dave is initially upset when you interrupt him you go to apologise but then you see his face nod to say keep going “…I am here to attend to your needs, & if that pleases you, we can work up to it & do it from time to time”

“So that’s not a no?” Dave smirks, he’s stoking his length in the Bath ready to give you another filling. “I mean no one else has fucked that glorious arsehole before, so it’s officially mine, I own it. No other bastard has fucked all your holes. Just me, just you assassin fuck buddy.” He lifts you up ready to place you on his lap.

“Only you Dave only you,” he slowly lowers you onto his penis as it effortlessly slides all the way into your arse. Your moan is deep & it’s stings but you feel invigorated. “Dave oooh Dave” he starts to bounce you in the tub.

“Stay sweetheart, let’s me keep thanking you,” he says as the water slashes as you start to get moving & into it & even enjoying it. “I promise you will never have a boring life looking after me & attending our needs”

[hislittleraincloud]

I also seem to have a like/dislike relationship with Jenna, and prefer her sister Aliyah.

In older videos you would see Jenna talk over Aliyah because she always had to be right, even when Aliyah was. I wonder if she is controlling in the work place. Everyone seems to be fawning all over her. I don’t get the hype

See, I didn't stalk them that far back. I've only seen perhaps a couple of older vids (like the one where they talk about Jenna's height and how she hasn't grown — LOL — and a couple of other short ones where Jenna was being an ass to her).

But yeah, as it is, Aliyah is much more down to Earth and sweet. And holy Hell, prettier 🫠. Like the difference between Cindy Lou Who and an actual model.

Recent pics of both

I mean, just open your eyes

Not to mention her doing exactly what she knows she's doing when she does shit like this

She would make so much 🏦🏦🏦🏦🏦 if she had an OF, but she's a good girl (a huge tease, but a good girl nonetheless) and only whores herself on Live every night to pay for her nursing school shit/other things. (She's got a couple of wealthy simps that just pour buckets of gifts on her every night. 💀 It's kind of neat to watch the rarer gifts/animations come up.) She's beauty and brains, since you gotta have some brains to get through nursing school.

The Ortegas seem to be their own little islands (Aliyah even intimated that there were different votes in the election this past month, so..."everybody does their own thing/have different opinions" re: politics, so color me unsurprised), which is weird to me but whatever. She's not an influencer, she's just a regular celebrity sib, however in this age of connectivity, she isn't actually coasting off of her older sister's name/fame (and hates all the simps asking her to hook them up with Jenna). We watch her for her and the nothingness that is spending a few minutes of connectivity with someone we don't know "just because", like any other Lives over there on TT.

Watching Aliyah for an hour doing nothing but sitting pretty and yapping can be more entertaining than watching her sister in one of her bad movies. I said what I said. I mean did you miss the singular post where I — gggg let's see it again

✨🫠😭🫠😭🫠😭🫠✨

ETA: Re: Jenna being a controlling one, yes, I can see that. She likes to overdraw her checks, like when everyone fawned over "mother mothering" when she told Ryder that she didn't have to take her glasses off during B2 promo, as if Ryder hasn't been a part of the industry for twice the time Ortega's even been alive. 🙄

Jenna appeals to people who get hard over baby faces. It's probably as simple as that. And people in general fawn over baby faces (except in professional settings, if I recall reading that recently). A baby face is both a blessing and a curse, because some people won't take you seriously sometimes. But I mentioned in another recent post that hers has changed a bit since filming Wednesday 1.

[cryptidsurveys]

Wednesday, November 13th, 2024.

Think back to yesterday, what were you doing around this time? I was at the animal shelter, but I don't remember exactly what I was doing. Probably chatting with Liv and Riley while picking up/washing afternoon dishes.

What was the last thing you watched on the TV? I have no idea.

Do you think pets can get annoying easily? Sometimes I can get annoyed with them, but I always feel guilty about it.

Did you know that pickles have no calories? They do have some calories. I wouldn't really consider them worth counting, though.

Do you enjoy family get togethers? We don't have big family get-togethers. For a little over a year, my parents and I were getting together for lunch every few weeks, but after the recent family drama, that's no longer a thing. Just me and my mom now since she won't speak to my dad anymore.

In a group of three, do you often feel like the third wheel? Yeah. Connecting/socializing with others is still a challenge for me.

What color are your pants? Green and red. They're plaid Christmas pajamas.

Is there snow on the ground where you are? There is. We had several snowy days last week and it's still sticking around.

What is keeping you warm right now? The furnace, cozy clothing, and a kitty on my lap.

Has anyone bought you a piece of jewelry? Yeah.

How far away is your next birthday? March.

Do you have plans for that birthday yet? I don't. Aside from possibly going out to eat, it'll probably be like any other day.

When did you last take a shower? Earlier this morning, before therapy.

Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon? No, but I would like to go one day.

Have you ever flown somewhere alone? I haven't.

Are you more serious or funny? I'm more on the funny and easygoing side, but I can be serious if I need to be.

Is there someone that annoys you but you haven’t told them? Yeeeah, kind of. Their recent attitude has been kind of off-putting. It's so weird seeing some of my own tendencies manifest in another person - tendencies that I have worked very hard to mitigate and heal. Knowing where it could end up if they can't correct course. Not knowing what to say that won't piss them off or come across as adversarial. Because I know I sure as heck would have taken any well-meaning advice the wrong way when I was in that headspace.

When is garbage day in your area? Tuesday.

Who/What was the last thing to really irritate you? All the shit-talking on Monday. It was more draining and disheartening than irritating, though. I just don't want to go through this agaaain...

Do you think people either love or hate spongebob? Like there's no middle ground? I don't think it's that polarizing.

Have you seen that new “Lie To Me” show? Yeah.

What is something you’d rather be doing right now? I'm fine with this.

Do you find that people are too hard on you? I don't think anyone is being too hard on me. If anything, I'm too hard on myself.

Do you take surveys often? A few times a week.

Do you tend to slam things around when you’re mad? I have in the past, but not in recent times.

Do you know anyone who hates/dislikes chocolate? I know people who don't favor it, but I don't think I know anyone who dislikes it.

Could you vote in this last election? Yeah.

How much sleep did you get last night? Approaching eight hours.

Do you have more girl friends or guy friends? I have one Oliver. :') Most of my acquaintances are women, though.

What is your current mood? A little bit anxious, contemplative/introspective, running scenarios through my head as a form of preemptive problem-solving. Overall, pretty chill. Not a bad mood.

Is there anything on your mind at the moment? Thinking of starting Stardew Valley. Liv and Riley were giving me the rundown yesterday and it sounds pretty cute.

Are there any movies out that you’d like to see? I might go see Wicked with my mom in the near future.

Have you ever been on a website called Stickam? It sounds familiar…? Lol wait…I just looked it up and it looks like some kind of adult website. Never mind. Idk what I was thinking of because I've never been there before.

Have you ever hated yourself? Yeah. I still hate myself to some extent - or parts of myself, past regrets, etc - but it's not as all-consuming as it once was. There are also things that I really like about myself.

Are you hungry? No. Today's eating schedule has been all messed up.

Did your parents ever ground you? Once. For making prank phone calls when I was a child.

Where was the last place you went out to eat? I went to Chili's with my mom a few weeks ago.

Have you ever felt like you needed a better life than the one you have? Yeah. I'm very fortunate to have the life I do, but I still want to improve. I don't want this to be as good as it gets.

Do you own an MP3 player of some kind? I don't.

Do you have a moment in your life you wish you could replay over again? Mostly just backpacking/hiking memories with my dad. Those are so special to me.

Have you ever been in a play? If so, did you like it? I was in a couple of plays in elementary school. They were alright. I didn't have a major role or anything.

What is one musical artist you wish wasn’t making music? No opinion. If I don't like someone, then I don't have to listen to them.

When was the last time you cleaned something? I cleaned out the kitchen sink and wiped down the counter when I was downstairs a little bit ago.

Have you ever been so sick you had to be taken to the hospital? Yeah.

Do you like your smile? Yes. I think I look adorable when I smile. My only fear is that there will be something stuck in my teeth. :B

Do you have someone that you think truly understands you? My dad.

When was the last time you doubted yourself? Currently. I'm thinking about applying at the animal shelter the next time there's an opening, but am I really ready? Am I really good enough? I think so, but there's still this nagging fear/doubt.

Is there anything currently bothering you? Ughgh. I just hate dealing with people. I wish standing on the sidelines was the answer, but even neutrality can piss people off. I'm just hoping it doesn't. I need to learn how to gracefully and successfully navigate these situations, though, because as long as I ~live in a society~, they aren't going away. :')

Would you say that you’ve got something ‘special’ about you? Possibly.

Who was the last person to cheer you up when you were down? My dad.

Are you scared of what you do not know? Depends.

Is there anything in the next six months that you’re looking forward to? Thanksgiving and Christmas. Wintry weather. Possibly becoming employed, depending on how things go.

Were you/are you popular in high school? Naw. I had a pretty good friend group, mostly outside of school, but I was never popular.

Do you really care what people think about you? Yeah. I still care. It still affects me. But not to the same absolutely crippling degree as it once did.

Do you find yourself treating others like you’d want to be treated? Lmao, it's…a work in progress. I don't even know if they want to be treated the way I would want to be treated. Sometimes people are so damn complicated.

Are you constantly envious of others? Yeah, yeah. Like I was telling my therapist earlier, all of those feelings are still there - the shame, etc - I'm just better at keeping them inside instead of letting them totally rule and ruin my life like they did in the past.

Are you more of a whiner with things or a do’er of things? I've become more of a doer. I will whine or gripe from time to time, but I'll still get it done. Or procrastinate. That's always an option. ;D

List three of your favorite TV shows:

Would your friends say you’re a relaxed person or stressed? A stressed person cosplaying as a relaxed person.

What do you find yourself worrying most about these days? I have a huge fear of repeating old patterns and mistakes. I'm also always worried about my future.

Would you say it’s hard to earn your trust? Oh yeah.

Who was the last person to compliment you? Either my dad or my therapist.

Anything interesting happen this past week? Yeah.

What’s on your mind this very second? What's going to happen with my social security. It's up for review/renewal and I'm super close to being able to work, so…we'll see. Just hoping everything works out one way or another.

Do you know the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’? I do.

Do you correct other people’s grammar/spelling when talking to them online? No.

Is bacon one of your favorite foods? I love bacon, but I don't eat it all that often.

Are you one of those people who like to sleep in on the weekends? I wish I could sleep in, but my body just doesn't seem to work that way. Even on my days off, I still get up relatively early.

Do you like things Vampire related? Some.

Have you ever cussed at a parent or teacher? I don't think I've ever cussed at a teacher.

When was the last time you saw snow? Earlier today.

Have you ever felt stupid after saying something? Plenty of times.

Do you find yourself cold at the moment? No.

Are your nails currently long? No.

Are you the kind of person who does not like talking about their past? I'll talk about it with people I trust, but with others, it's like pulling teeth.

Do you have long slender fingers or short chunky ones? They're somewhere in the middle.

Do you think your foot size fits your body type? Yeah.

Are you the competitive type? I can be, but I try to keep it in check. In the wise words of someone I once knew, "If you're gonna make this a competition, then you're gonna have a bad time." And I don't wanna have a bad time. :')

Are you more of a mommy’s person or a daddy’s person? I am much closer to my dad. I am glad that my mom and I have been able to repair our relationship to some extent, though.