#like. shes not actually fat shes a ball but the joke is probably intended that way nonetheless

[vaugarde]

this definitely feels like a nitpick but i dont really care for the dinner jokes w the expedition society overall

[redrobin-detective]

handknit sweater, never worn

How did Valerie end up in these kinds of situations? Of course there had to be a large scale ghost attack at her school. Val had gotten rid of most of the ghosts, weak mindless things when part of the auditorium collapsed, trapping her inside. Normally she’d blast her way out but the old building was creaking ominously from who know how many fights. Her rockets might collapse the whole south side of the school, meaning she was stuck here while the Fentons cleaned up the rest of the small fry. And to make matters worse, Danny’s dad had had the brilliant idea to put up a portable ghost shield around parts of the school to contain the ghosts. Meaning Phantom and the spooky vampire ghost were stuck with her too.

“Ugh this sucks,” Phantom whined, leaning petulantly against the ghost shield. His arms were crossed and his eyes lidded with annoyance, he almost could have passed for a normal, annoyed high schooler if you ignored his unnatural glow. “They really increased the power on these shields, I hope they’re okay out there by themselves. I think most of the students were evacuated already.” He glanced subtlety over at her which only increased her irritation. It was so aggravating he knew everything about her while she knew nothing about him.

“Madeline’s handiwork no doubt,” The vampire guy, Plasmius, commented flippantly. “I don’t believe Jack could assemble a sandwich without her assistance.” Phantom bristled a bit at the comment but just turned to glare at empty air. While she’d once mistaken them for friends, it was clear there was serious bad blood between Plasmius and Phantom. 

“What are you even doing here, Plasmius?” Phantom hissed, crossing his arms closer to his chest in aggravation. “I’ve told you a million times to stay out of Amity.”

“Or you’ll do what, dear boy?” Plasmius grinned, flashing his fangs, like Phantom had told a particularly funny joke. Val privately considered the ghost boy to be one of the strongest ghosts she’d ever fought so if this guy was treating him like an annoying fly... Valerie kept her weapons up just in case but otherwise stayed away from the two volatile ghosts. She could take them down if she had to but there might be collateral. Right, that’s what she was going to go with.

“Actually,” Plasmius said, his cruel red eyes twinkling with smug glee. “I popped into town to check in on some of my old college friends. See what they’d been up to while I’d been busy with my various projects.”

Phantom kept his casual posture but went rigid, he did a quick glance over at her before moving back over to the ghost. “Now? You’re doing this now?”

“It’s always a good time to hurt you and besides,” another throaty chuckle, “I thought Ms. Grey might be interested.” Ok, was there any ghost that didn’t know her identity?

“Anyway, the wife was out but I found my fat, stupid old friend,” another twitch from Phantom, “back at his old favorite past time of knitting. It looked like he was making a sweater.”

“You’re a real bastard, you know that?” Phantom hissed, his form looking more and more defensive by the minute. Valerie had no idea what they were talking about but it clearly was upsetting the Ghost Kid. Usually she’d be pleased but it was kind of uncomfortable to watch.

“Hmm,” the vampire ghost hummed, still radiating cruel satisfaction. “I’m sure you’ve seen it too considering how often you’re in that house. He was working so hard on it, so furiously. No doubt trying to get it done in time for Christmas. A beautiful, handmade sweater for his wayward son who’s never going to get the chance to wear it.”

Oh shit, Plasmius was talking about Phantom’s dad. She’d assumed the beef between them started once they’d become ghosts but clearly there was history that extended to when they’d both been alive. Imagining Phantom alive, with parents... it was too weird.

“Shut up, I’m going to wear the sweater,” Phantom muttered weakly, curling in on himself. He’d scooted as far away from Plasmius as he could get. 

“Oh but he’s not making it for you, Danny Phantom,” Plasmius lilted with a smirk causing Phantom to wince. “He’s making it for his normal, human son who he doesn’t even have the brains to realize doesn’t exist anymore. Would he bother to spend so much time and energy on a sweater that could only be worn by a ghost? To see proof of his own failure as a father?”

“Hey, it was my fault,” Phantom defended, finally snapping out of his sad and guilty funk. He balled his fists and glared at Plasmius with all he had. “I don’t blame them for what happened, I love them and they love me and nothing you say will ever change that!”

“Then why don’t you tell them, Daniel,” Plasmius asked with a raised eyebrow. “If you’re so confident in their love, then tell them. Tell them the sweater is pointless because you thrive in the cold. Tell them that their mistakes and negligence led to you becoming an unnatural abomination not fit to exist in either world.”

“Only-” Phantom’s voice caught and he cleared his throat and tried again. “Only if you tell them first. You may have been their friend at one point a long time ago but all you’ve done since then is hurt people, hurt me. For all their flaws, I don’t think they’ll ever forgive you for that.”

“Touché, son,” Plasmius scoffed. “Now then, I’m afraid our discussion will have to continue another time. I believe the power on the ghosts shield should be fading right about...” a low whine and the green wall surrounding them disappeared. “Ta ta for now you petulant child. Ms. Grey, a pleasure as always. Be careful with this one, he’s an experienced cheat and a liar.” With those parting words, Plasmius disappeared in a swirl of pink.

Valerie thought Phantom would leave too but instead he let out a long breath and ran his gloved fingers through his hair. After a moment he straightened himself up and looked as cool and confident as he ever did. 

“The Fentons have probably rounded up the rest of the ghost but we might as well check, you check by the cafeteria and I’ll go through the classrooms.”

“Why?” Valerie found herself asking, not sure what she meant. Why did Phantom die? Why was he so afraid to let his apparently still living parents know what happened? Why did he try so hard to help people when everyone, including her, was so against him?

“It’s the right thing I guess,” Phantom shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck. “My uh my parents raised me that way and if it lost that after everything, well, then the person I was before really will be gone.” He floated over to her, gently phasing them both through the wreckage connecting them to the rest of the school and, for a second Valerie saw a scared, human kid in over his head. Then the illusion was gone and it was just Phantom, annoying as always.

“Check the classrooms and if there’s no ghosts then I’m gunning for you,” Val said instead, activating her hoverboard and speeding off before he could answer. She readied her weapons and didn’t think of childless parents living in ignorance of what they’d lost or lonely sons who were too afraid to ask if their parents would love them even as a monster. 

She just wanted to get the ghost scum out of her school and move on with her life. But still, she couldn’t help but think that, come Christmas time, she’d find Phantom in a handknit sweater intended to ward off a chill he could not longer feel. 

[wri0thesley]

*bursts through the door* Hello Nat, I am here to request some chubby/fat reader smut with Diavolo. Perhaps a more possessive and less reclusive Diavolo who spots reader and has to have them?? Headcanons or a scenario are fine, of course. Thanks!

[opening hours] - diavolo x chubby!reader (4k)

The rules for one special customer at your bakery get you into a situation that you’re not all that mad about, actually.

[NSFW, minors do not interact. Diavolo x Reader. AFAB reader, explicitly fat/chubby. No pronouns used, but Diavolo refers to reader with feminine pet names. Possessive/jealous sex. Power imbalance (he IS the Don of Passione). Brief references to reader’s lack of self-confidence/body-shaming in their past.]

The trouble had started with the bakery's unnofficial opening hours.

You had been told when you started working here that you opened ten minutes earlier than you were supposed to, but only for one specific customer. When you had expressed frustration at not knowing who this customer was and how to identify them, the owner and her son had looked at one another and then back at you.

"You'll know if you meet him," she'd said, eventually - and that was all.

Oh, you're paid for those extra ten minutes, of course - you're paid very well, honestly, for a job that you like working and that pays in all of the leftover sweet treats you'd like at the end of the day. The owner - Francesca - is polite and careful and clucks about you like a mother hen, which is nice considering how far away you feel from home. But after six months of working at the bakery and not coming across this mysterious customer once, you resign yourself to the fate that you're never going to see him.

Things, though, can change in an instant. Tiny little occurrences that feel like nothing at the time can shape your life more than you ever realise. For you, that occurrence had been the morning that the pink-haired man in a crisply pressed suit had walked into the bakery at seven fifty two in the moring and stood by the counter.

At first, he had not spoken. He had simply looked at you, bright green stare coloured with something that made your skin feel hot and prickly. He had rested his fingertips on the counter, tapping black lacquered nails against the glass.

You are used to being looked at. You have been looked at your whole life; generally not favourably. Hell, you have even been looked at behind the counter before, as people snickered behind their hands to their companions that 'no wonder this place sells out of the good stuff so fast, with someone like that working here--'. Your cheeks heat up under the man's intense stare, wondering if he's about to say something to you--

And then, he does say something.

"You're new."

His voice is low and smooth, like fine wine being poured in the dark, and against your will your heart begins to beat a little quicker. You nod. His painted lips curve in a smile that's all danger and elegance.

(It's normal, you tell yourself, to be very aware when someone near you is handsome. It's normal to have your breath taken away, to find yourself shaking a little, to feel warm and strange - and it's even more normal, you think, when you consider that something about this man makes him special.)

"You won't know my usual, then." He says, and you shake your head wordlessly, offering him an apologetic look that seems to amuse him just as much as your newness.

He directs you (cappuccino, cornetto) to his regular, his eyes not leaving you for a moment. It's strange, to be so watched - most customers can't wait to get out of the bakery with their gains tucked neatly under their arms. Very few of them look at you beyond a cursory bark of their order and a nod as they leave. This man, though . . . his eyes do not leave you for a moment.

You bag up the cornetto in one of the pale paper bags and are about to punch the numbers into your cash register, when the man leans over the counter and grabs ahold of your wrist, his grip strong and firm.

Your breath catches at the power with which he restrains you. His suit sleeve rolls up to reveal an intricate tattoo of black inked designs that starts at his wrist and (from what you can see) continues further and further up.

"That won't be necessary, carina." He says, his voice smooth. Your own voice wobbles a little as you reply;

"B-but--"

He raises his eyebrows, clearly amused by whatever it is you're doing. You don't think it's that amusing that you're attempting to get him to pay for what he's bought, but alright then.

"You're cute," he tells you, without flinching. Those lips remain turned up at the corners in a smirk that makes you feel as though you don't know what the hell you're doing. The compliment wraps around you, heated and nervous - men, in your experience, do not often say such things to people who look like you - and certainly not so quickly after meeting you. "Ask Francesca why I don't pay, if you must. Have a good day - I'll see you tomorrow."

You don't realise you've been holding your breath until the door has closed behind him.

You also don't realise how much the promise of seeing him again sounds like a threat.

--------

You find out, incidentally, why he doesn't pay - and the information makes your cheeks flame at how brazen you must have seemed, trying to insist he was going to pay. You tell Francesca exactly what happened and her face creases in concern. At first, you think she's going to tell you off - you wouldn't blame her for firing you, after finding out that you disrespected the Don of Passione like that.

It turns out what she's worried about is the staffing. You are not scheduled to do a morning shift tomorrow. She expresses fear, too, that he spoke to you and smiled at you and stared at you so intently.

"Normally he doesn't look at any of us," she frets. "That's not the kind of man you want the attention of, you know?"

You laugh off her concerns.

"It's probably nothing like that anyway," you tell her. "He was just amused I didn't realise who he was, I guess."

Her worried face does not ease.

--------

(He's not pleased to not see you behind the counter the next morning, Francesca relates to you. He asks after you. He asks your name. He asks when you're next working. And though you know that it's dangerous territory, you cannot help but be flattered).

Diavolo - that's his name, one he gives you over a shared cornetto the fifth time he comes in for his regular order, and it's a name you're told not to repeat to anyone with a gaze so intense that you feel like a butterfly pinned to glass. 

Diavolo looks at you hungrily, like he wants to devour you whole. As if you are an item on the menu that he can purchase at his leisure, and he is merely waiting for the right moment.

You're light-headed and flattered and warm around him, a pulsating edge of danger beating below the surface that you ignore for the sake of enjoying someone being interested in you. Sometimes, the fear grips you as it has so many times before that he's flirting with you as a joke, or you're reading too much into things - and then, he leans across the counter to wipe cream from the corner of your mouth with a thumb or leans in so close to you that you can see the slightest sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks and your breath catches and all of your thoughts go entirely out of the window.

He drops compliments easily to you. He mentions the colour of your eyes, the fullness of your mouth, the way your hair falls - once, he mentions how you fill out the button-up shirt you're wearing with the top three buttons undone with approval clear in his voice and gaze and you go all over hot and nervous and unsure, something that seems to amuse and please him no end.

(It’s hot, in Naples. You were not intending to gather his interest. Still, the next morning you have four buttons undone.)

You think that it's harmess flirting. After all - Diavolo is the Don of Passione. You're nothing compared to him; he is a shrine. A statue in a beautiful garden, with worshipers at his feet. You are a fat bumblebee buzzing past the statue - sated, and comfortable, but inconsequential. You assume you're an amusement to him - just a little distraction in a morning, that's all.

You don't realise how wrong you are until you're on a closing shift one evening with Francesca's son. His name is Stefano, and he's perfectly nice to you, if a touch over-eager - desperate to please. He's a little younger than you, with an earnest face and a rushed way of speaking that means you sometimes have to ask him to calm down. Francesca hints, occasionally, that he has a crush on you - and you laugh it off, as you so often do when anyone expresses any kind of interest in you.

Only, tonight he is more nervous than usual. He messes up people's orders. He spills coffee and espresso and cappuccino left right and centre - his hands shake and he fumbles over the names of regular customers who he's known half of his life.

While you're closing up, you ask him, carefully and delicately, if something is wrong. You don't know what you're expecting, as you and he walk to the front door of the bakery together - but Stefano pauses, and touches your arm.

"I've just been balling up my courage, I guess," he says, twisting his lip to one side.

"For what?" You ask, trying to sound interested though one of your hands is digging deep in your coat pocket to try and find your keys. You swear that you left them there this morning. Your hand moves to your bag. Stefano takes a deep breath.

All at once, his words come out in a jumbled rush.

"To-ask-you-on-a-date."

You blink at him.

"Um," you say, succintly. "To ask . . . me?"

He nods emphatically, moving closer to you. He's about the same height as you, so your noses come too close for comfort - the hand in your bag stays there, limply, as you try and process what he's saying.

"You don't have to answer right now," he says, his voice still pitching erratically. "But yeah, I think you're pretty and nice and I'd just-- I'd really like to take you on a date or something, i-if you think you'd like that? You don't have to! You don't have to answer right now, I just--"

He's babbling, and you're trying to keep the thread of the conversation, your mind working in overdrive - and then he moves his head forward and kisses you. It's a nervous little peck that lasts only a moment, before he steps back with his cheeks flushed red and pulls his coat closer to him.

"Okay, yeah, I'll see you tomorrow--" He says, and then he's stepping out of the door and letting it click shut behind him without even waiting to see how you respond to the kiss.

You're not sure of how to respond, honestly. You stand there, the breath knocked out of you, for a few moments. His lips had been dry and quick on your own, and you hadn't felt . . . to be honest, you hadn't felt anything.

No point dwelling on it. Your fingers scramble around the bottom of your bag for your keys, as you try and ignore that your heart isn't thumping the way that it does when Diavolo is near you. Stefano is a nice boy. He's your boss' son. He isn't, as far as you're aware, engaged in any shady business like you know Diavolo must be--

For God's sake. Your keys are not there. You resign yourself to making your way back to your apartment and trying to beg someone else in the building to let you in so that you can get the key you leave under the plant pot by your front door just in case of things like this as you step outside of the door, locking up the bakery behind you (thank God that key has remained where you thought it was)--

Only to step straight into the warm, solid chest of a man.

Fear seeps through all of your bones as you nervously look up to see what kind of person you have angered. You are already dredging up a thousand apologies when your eyes meet Diavolo's keen, green ones.

He doesn't look how he usually does when he sees you. Ordinarily, he's amused and elegant and pleased in a quiet, self-assured sort of way. Tonight, though . . . tonight, Diavolo's eyes burn hot and bright and angry. There's a ferocity in his face and the set of his mouth that makes you feel like he's captured your ability to breathe in a bottle only he has access to.

He speaks.

"Who does that boy think he is?" He asks you, voice low and cool like black velvet - and then, he leans down and kisses you hungrily, and this time you feel a hundred things.

------

You go with him, heady and intoxicated by the way his mouth had felt upon yours and the way his hand had gone around your waist, squeezing the generous curve of your hip as if he wanted to grip you by them and pin you against a wall right there and then, in the centre of the city. You think, judging by the way he had looked at you when the kiss had broken, he would have - if he had not had an image of mystery to maintain.

Instead, he says (his normally velvet voice hoarse);

"Come home with me."

It is not a question. It's a demand - and luckily for him, you are in no mood to decline. You sit beside him in the back of a car (a screen between you two and the driver), and Diavolo's hands are all over you even there.

"I can barely wait," he murmurs, hungrily, into the curve of your shoulder and neck as he lathes kisses over your throat, marking you with his dark lipstick. "Oh, bella, if you even knew how much I've wanted you--"

It's hard not to be dazzled by the knowledge that he wants you. A man like Diavolo - in his sharp suits and ties, surrounded by servile underlings, rings on his fingers that cost more than you make in a year - wants someone like you. It's hard not to be carried away by how hungrily he mouths at you and how beautiful you feel under that piercing green gaze, when you have not often felt beautiful in your life. Your body in the past has been a source of shame and sadness - under Diavolo's grazing palms and questing fingertips, though, you feel transformed.

You tumble out of the car and are pulled along with impatient hands by Diavolo, not letting you take any moments to enjoy how beautiful his home is. Sure, the pillars are marble and flowers drape from the windows in hues of crimson and purple, but there is a different purpose for the two of you now - you are barely aware of anything around you as you're tugged into the first bedroom Diavolo finds.

You're breathless again as you're tossed on the bed underneath him. Things are moving so quickly - but you have no complaints, as Diavolo immediately has you pinned beneath him, his muscular weight self-assured as he leans over your prone form to beg from you another hungry kiss. His teeth tug at your bottom lip, demanding entrance instead of asking; and you yield to him. His hands grasp your hips, holding you with fervent frustrations bubbling under the surface.

He breaks the kiss to say, every syllable of his words dripping with jealousy.

"You're mine. You know that, don't you?"

You hadn't known it before tonight - but with the way his hands are already going to your uniform, pulling open the buttons with little care (you hear one of them skitter onto the floor), it's no longer a question.

"I didn't," you breathe, and he snorts. His fingertips are cool as he slides them up the curved softness of your stomach, pausing just beneath your breast.

"You will," he vows. "After tonight, carina, you'll realise there's nobody else in the entire world for you but me."

Your body shivers under the promise of his words. You shiver harder as he slides your work shirt off of your shoulders, tugging it away, dropping it on the floor along with the button that you assume you will never see again. As his hands slide into the small of your back, cool where you are boiling warm - and you hear the snap of your bra being undone and suddenly you are bare before him in the room.

He looks down on you in satisfaction.

"There," he coos, his hands covering your breasts (they are not quite large enough to cover the round flesh, but they fill out his grip in a way that seems to please him). "You look much better without the ugly uniform. Something so lovely deserves beautiful things only to adorn them--"

A gasp is bitten back as his thumbs rub your nipples, coaxing the nubs to hardened points. You press your thighs together beneath him, your cheeks heating up at how your body responds to him in gooseflesh and slick.

"You should never have to wear clothes," Diavolo muses, as he gathers himself onto his knees and your work pants are the next to go. "It's a waste, to not have your body where I can see it."

Diavolo lavishes hungry, possessive attention on all of the parts of you that you have never gotten along with. He does it with his hands, massaging and petting and gripping - and then, he leans down and he uses his mouth and you're squirming beneath him, the heat gathering with the wetness between your thighs almost unbearable.

The curves of your hips are mapped out - the soft flesh of your thighs. The pillows of your upper arms, the roundness of your stomach, all of the places you have thought of as fleshy and unattractive seem like a siren's call to Diavolo. He kisses you, leaving marks of his lipstick everywhere - and occasionally, he pulls back and whispers things against your skin that have you hot and needy.

"Mine," he murmurs, as he sucks a blue-purple lovebite into your collarbone.

"Il mio tesoro," he whispers, as he kisses you on the mouth hard and his hands go to strip off his own suit jacket.

"You belong to me," he says, and suddenly he is shirtless and you are staring at the sculpted muscle of his chest and the intricate tattoos on his arms. You have no complaints - you look up at him above you, a big cat playing with his prey, and all you can do is swallow and nod.

"Good," he breathes, "you're going to be so good for me, hmm?" His hands alight on your thighs and you spread them without him asking, displaying the damp patch on your silken underwear and making his eyes darken and his nostrils flare. "For me, amore?"

You avert your gaze and do not answer - but that's enough of an assent for Diavolo. He laughs as his fingers curl into the garment, tugging them down your thighs (you shiver at the sensation of slick fabric clinging, just for a moment, against your sodden folds).

"I'm a lucky man," he says to you. "I've always been lucky, you know . . . but you may very well be my luckiest find."

Your thighs are urged further apart, until Diavolo can settle between them, his weight heavy and self-assured. What is between your thighs, too, is subject to Diavolo's piercing gaze - but he is not critical. He is merely . . . hungry. Intoxicated. You know that, arguably, Diavolo has all of the power here - and yet you cannot help but feel as though it is you who is really in control.

One of his fingers slides over your sex, gathering your slick on his fingers, winning the chase of your hips as he slides from clit to perineum and back again. You pant aloud, a soft whimpering noise falling from your lips against your will.

"Look at you," he murmurs, enthralled. "Look how you respond, all for me--"

Your fingers clench in the sheets beneath you as Diavolo presses one finger inside you, slowly, letting you adjust to the feel of him inside. You know that he is longing to fuck you with them vigorously - you can see it from the set of his shoulders and his mouth. He is practically buzzing with unrestrained tension. But he keeps his calm, pumping the lone finger in and out of you (you are wet enough that the sound echoes around the room, mixing with your laboured breathing). Occasionally, he buries his finger inside you almost to the hilt and you gasp at the cool sensation of one of his rings pressing against your entrance. He looks amused, his lips curved into a smirk - but he remains solid. He does nothing, in fact, until your hips buck up and you whimper;

"I can take another one, please--"

"Good," Diavolo purrs, his voice persuasive. "Of course you can, cara. Yes. You'll take all of me, won't you?" A second finger joins the first, scissoring you open with slow movements. "You're going to be so good for me. You're going to forget about any other person in the world when you're speared on my cock--"

Your body heats up in embarrassment and pleasure all over. The way his fingers rub inside your channel makes you squirm, your hips wriggling underneath him, your lungs barely able to contain your breath. A tight, hot ball of tension is making itself known low in your stomach, familiar and yet unfamiliar all at once.

His thumb brushes over your clit and your body jolts. Diavolo chuckles under his breath and pulls out his fingers, accompanied by a wet gush of your arousal that seems incredibly loud to your ears. You watch as Diavolo brings his fingers to his mouth and his tongue darts out to taste you.

Your lower body gives a throb as he drinks in your slick like fine wine, as he utters forth a low groan of pleasure. He looks at you with dark-lidded eyes.

"Amore," he murmurs, all soft, quiet words with a steel edge. He shifts, and something hot and silky and damp brushes across your thigh that you realise is his cock. That same body part is positioned with his thumb and forefinger, at the tight entrance to your sex. "Just relax . . . I'll have finished making you mine soon enough--"

His hips move. You're pushed open, his cock deep and thick - your hands come to cling to his shoulders instead of the bedsheets, your voice coming out in a broken little wail.

It is not that it hurts. Diavolo has prepared you, and you are slick and needy enough that there's only the briefest stretch of discomfort - but it is more that Diavolo's cock inside you feels so right. You feel so full and possessed and owned, and you never thought you would need and adore it as much as you do.

You feel like nothing more than a piece of Diavolo's property, a treasured jewel that he wants to lock away and keep for himself forever - and you love it. Your legs lock about his hips without him even urging you to, determined to have him sink inside you as deep as he can go - and Diavolo groans chest-deep at the feel of it.

His hips move, sliding his cock deep and then shallow, enjoying the feel of you tightly engulfing him.

"You're perfect," he growls, lowly. "Tight, hot, wet -- and most importantly, cara . . . you’re mine.” He sighs, pressing himself impossibly deeper inside you so that your toes curl. A pleased rumble in the back of his throat. “You feel so good." He pauses, before he says, demanding; "Tell me how I feel."

"B-big," you hiccup out in between breathless moans and soft, needy pants. "L-like you're filling me up--"

"Tell me, little coniglio . . . do you like being filled up by me? Belonging to me? Having me . . ." His fingers skitter over your breasts, leaving hot trails of fire behind him. The heat low inside you is just burning hotter and hotter, your head swimming with all of the new sensations. "Lay my claim on you?"

You nod. You're babbling, your hips stuttering against his. Everything feels far away from you, now - earlier on that night feels like a fever dream. You can't remember how it felt to be anywhere but beneath Diavolo with his cock drilling deep inside you, making you feel needed and claimed and unmistakably his--

"Yes," you cry out, as his other hand moved lower, brushing your stomach, your mound - parting the lips of your sex so his fingers can rub firm circles on your clit.

There's that heat again, threefold - tumbling over and over itself until you feel fireworks set off behind your eyes and Diavolo's cock pumps harder inside you, your channel squeezing and constricting around him inside you. You're so busy coming, in fact, that you almost don't hear him murmur;

"Good. Because it's something you're going to have to get used to now you're mine."

[jojoboisimagines]

Snippets Ch.4 : Johnny and Josuke (4) with the Same Crush (3)

Previous Chapter

A set of multiple drabbles/oneshots combining characters (i.e Jojos) from multiple parts and AUs.

.::.

"That guy...do you think--" Josuke started.

"That's their boyfriend? No idea." Johnny quickly answered, trying to play it off as if he didn't care.

It was quite the opposite. He may have cared too much.

To say Johnny was jealous was an understatement. But it seemed like Josuke was feeling some of the heat too, seeing you hanging out with some guy and proceeding to talk about him with Josuke when the two of you went to lunch the other day.

Josuke was still in the dark about Johnny’s own crush on you, which was a relief for the jockey, but it was hell for him, having to be afraid of either guy winning you over first.

He just needed to muster up the courage to talk to you again, but it was a lot more difficult than he thought it’d be. You two always seemed to be busy when the other wasn’t. Of course he still had Gyro (and occasionally Josuke and Hot Pants) to keep him company, but he missed you.

The little spat the cousins had was forgotten for a while. They didn’t exactly apologize to each other, but just starting to talk normally again was enough sign there was no hard feelings. The younger teen was still very confused about Johnny’s intentions that day.

‘ Was he trying to be a good role model or was he just mad I was leaving him at home?’ he thought. It didn’t really matter to him anymore, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned about what Johnny must’ve been thinking, and if he still did feel that way.

They sat at a small table on the far side of the kitchen. Josuke, looking rather bored, held his head on his palm, while Johnny was playing on their shared Switch. Or at least, was pretending to be after Josuke brought up the subject.

“Hey, can I ask you an honest question?” The Japanese teen breaks the icy silence once again.

Johnny merely raises an eyebrow with a low ‘hm’ that was barely audible. His heart silently raced thinking of what the boy sitting across from him had on his mind to ask.

“(y/n)...how long have you known them?” 

A simple enough question to start off with, Josuke thought. Yet Johnny’s lips still pursed.

“Uh...about half a year now. We got really close in that time I’d say.” That last part wasn’t even to get a rise out of Josuke, he just genuinely thought so. He really cared about you, romantically or not.

Meanwhile, Josuke had only known you for the duration of the summer, which was about to end in a couple of weeks. Perhaps if he’d beg Johnny to let him stay he’d have more time to bond with you, but there was also the issue of him feeling homesick from time to time.

God, if he could take you back to Morioh with him..it’d be like a dream come true.

They both had quickly forgotten about whatever guy Josuke was referring to earlier, mixed up in their own thoughts about their relationship with you. Besides, he had only ever seen the guy once, there was no way you’d switch up on him that quickly.

He had no dates or anything planned with you like he usually does, though. Not that he didn’t want to spend time with you, he just felt as if he was coming off as a little...clingy.

Higashikata had been trying to drop hints that he liked you, such as buying you things, having heart-to-heart conversations as he’d walk you home, calling you pet names, and ending his goodnight texts with a little heart emoji. He considered himself a romantic, but when it came to your reactions, you kinda brushed them off platonically. Perhaps you’d never been flirted with before?

His texts were still frequent, making sure you were having a good day and all, but he figured maybe he should start being a little more risky..

“What do you like about (y/n) anyways?” Johnny asked.

There was a pause for a couple of seconds, before Josuke scooted back in his chair and got up from the table, intending to retreat to his room for a couple of hours.

“The same things you do, probably.”

.::.

“Ow! Gyro, what the hell was that for?!”

“Because, idiota, you need to confess already.” He hovers over Johnny like a judgmental parent.

Josuke had left the house to get some groceries, and in that time, the jockey called Gyro over. Not for advice specifically, but that's what it had eventually turned into. Sitting on the floor of Johnny’s room (where it was painfully easy to find porn magazines, Gyro won’t let that go as long as the two of them live).

“Like seriously, this is getting embarrassing to watch, just do it already.” The Italian pointed a finger at his friend. “Sooner or later you’re gonna do the thing where you get the girl drunk and then sleep with her regardless of feelings.”

“Ugh, I’m not like that anymore Gyro!” Johnny folds his arms with a pout his friend knows all too well at this point. “I’ve never committed to anyone before, so of course this is a little more awkward for me than it is for anyone else, you know this!” 

Indeed he did know. It was somehow one of the things they always ended up talking about.

“Listen, I know how this is gonna end. Its gonna end with you in this same room, bunched up in several blankets, listening to Fleetwood Mac on repeat with 3 pizza boxes to make yourself feel better.”

The American scoffs.

Gyro sits upright on his bed. “I’m right. Look, this gal means a lot to you, I know. I’ve seen it. You’ve never stared at someone with such a…not hateful look in your eye.” It was half a joke, half truth. “And I don't wanna see you sad, so you’re just gonna have to pull yourself up, grow some steel balls, and ask them out. For real. For both of our sakes at this point.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Wow, Gyro wants me to be with a girl? Pigs must be flying.”

“You are so not funny.” The Italian’s teeth flashes for a moment as he scowls.

“Alright, since you’re such a casanova, why don’t you tell me what to say to them?” At this rate, there was really no other choice for Joestar to take. He could ask Hot Pants, but knew she would give him similar advice.

“Nyo-ho! I’ll show ya! All you gotta do is gimme your phone.”

As soon as the word ‘gimme’ was uttered, the jockey clutched his phone as if it was a baby. The last few times he lended his friend his phone, it didn’t go so well.

Gyro would’ve snorted if he wasn’t serious about this.

“Come onnn! It--”

“Won’t go like the last three times, right? Fat chance.”

“Just hurry and hand it over before I tackle you!”

The larger man did that far too much already, much to Johnny’s dismay. Once Gyro had him in a headlock, there was no getting out of it. He defeatedly raised his phone up to the man for him to take.

“If you ruin anything, I’m doing the same thing to you, AND taking your damn horse.” The Italian waved him off as if he was merely an angry toddler. As he typed, Johnny tried to peer over and see, but his friend was too adamant on turning side to side so he couldn’t. The expressions Gyro was making wasn’t a good sign either. First confused, then mischievous, then looking a little too proud of himself. The jockey’s hands could start sweating at any moment from the sheer anxiety this was giving him.

“Aaaaaand done! There we go, all set!”

Johnny reached for his phone as soon as the words left his mouth, unapologetically in a snatching manner to immediately read the text sent.

::‘Hey This is Johnny darling. Hope your day has been as beautiful as your smile. I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow by 12pm. I have something very important to tell you. See you soon xoxo.’::

Alright, so it wasn’t as bad as he thought itd be (not nearly as bad as the time Gyro dared him to send a ‘send nudes’ text to you) but god, it would look suspiciously out of character for you to see. He can’t even remember the last time he typed ‘darling’ instead of ‘darlin’ and actually bothered to punctuate his texts. And who even used ‘xoxo’ anymore?

His friend looked at him with a big grin, waiting for his reaction. A slightly more pure smile than if he were waiting for Johnny to get a joke.

“Soooo what do you think? You gotta pick some nice clothes out for your date.”

The shorter man sighs.

“Its...passable.”

.::.

 Josuke got home a little later than he expected. He was surprised to see there was still Prince CDs in stock at the store. Thats one of the perks of coming to America, he guessed. He was more than ready to put them into one of Johnny’s old CD players he had found. It was already hard for him to listen to pretty much anything without thinking of you. At least if it was Prince specifically, it would help him feel better and he could jam out to it.

Finally finding the track he wanted, he grinned, letting the music play out loud and hopping on his bed. It was a good few minutes before he had started getting that feeling in his gut again.

..Crap, this wasn’t helping either.

The teen felt that he couldn’t endure this much longer. Love was something he took very seriously and to be so unsure about your relationship just made him feel funny. He had to at least know for sure if the both of you were on the same page. Josuke was sick of being so anxious about it.

Josuke laid down flat on his back, pulling his phone out.

“You know what? I’m gonna ask them out.”

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (21) || atz

“Run!” Wooyoung grabs you by the arm and yanks you out of the room, but once you’re out of the door you see a squadron of armed guards making their way towards the commotion. They see the two of you from opposite the building.

“Get them!” The man you presume to be the leader shouts and you wince.

Wooyoung curses under his breath and yanks you back down the corridor, both of your feet thundering on the floorboards. Your heart is hammering in your chest like you’re about to die, which you do think you might, actually. Adrenaline speeds through your veins, setting your limbs on fire, and the two of you round the corner only to meet the two guards from the courtyard with swords drawn.

You and Wooyoung manage to unsheathe your cutlasses just in time to block the overhead swings and your joined hands tear apart.

Dodging the point of the guard’s sword, you kick him in the center of the chest, sending him sprawling back against the balustrade. He manages to knock your cutlass from your hands, sending it tumbling over the railing onto the ground below, but you don’t have the time to mourn its loss. You take the opportunity to side stamp his knee, immobilizing him with a broken leg and turn back to look at Wooyoung.

To your horror, he’s struggling with his guard, a massively built man with bulging muscles. The guard has Wooyoung pinned against the wall, and all the gunner can do is to keep the point of the sword from piercing his neck, arms trembling from the strain.

You don’t have time to think.

Dashing forward, you reach for your belt and draw the next most lethal thing you have, before jumping and clinging onto the man’s back with your arms around his neck. He roars in fury and tries to throw you off, but before he can, you raise the silver hairpin and jab it into the back of his neck.

The man screams in agony, crumpling to his knees, and Wooyoung takes a second to be impressed.

“Damn, that was not what I had in mind when I gave it to you.”

You give him an incredulous look as you shove the hairpin back in your belt. The other group of guards are getting closer and closer. Luckily for you, the hallway is rather narrow so it’s difficult for the guards to make their way through, but this isn’t going to hold them off for long. “This isn’t the time for that! Let’s go!”

He takes you by the hand again and the two of you continue your mad dash for safety. Then you hear the captain shout a command that freezes the blood in your veins.

“Fire!”

Wooyoung throws you to the side, diving for cover, but you’re not lucky enough. Shot slams into the pillar you and Wooyoung are crouched behind, but a musket ball smashes into your ankle.

In that single moment, you’re in hell. Pain shoots across your leg like raw fire licking at your skin, and for a second, you just wonder how on earth anything can hurt this bad. A whimper leaves your mouth.

“Chin Hae!” Wooyoung cries in horror, rushing over to help you, but the moment he sees your foot, his face goes ashen in worry. “Oh, mother of gods…”

You immediately stop yourself from looking at it lest you throw up at the sight.

Even through the blinding agony, you understand what needs to happen. Your leg is absolutely wrecked, and there is no way you’ll be able to run to the harbour, even if you did make it down the grappling rope somehow. If you remain with Wooyoung, you’ll only be a burden to him.

And this mess is all your fault.

You glare at him through the pain. “Go, idiot! Run!”

Wooyoung ignores you, slinging your arm over his shoulder as he pulls you upright, forcing himself to ignore your low cry of anguish. “Yeah, fat chance. If I get back to the ship without you, captain will shoot me himself anyway, so I might as well die here with you. At least the navy will kill me faster.”

You groan, both in pain and at his stupid sense of humor despite your near death experience. “This isn’t the time for your dumb jokes!”

He has the gall to look offended. “My jokes are greatly beloved by all people-”

“Approach cautiously, they might be armed!” You hear the captain call to his men, and in this second Wooyoung acts, tossing a soft cased smoke bomb to the ground.

The explosive detonates with a bang, sending the soldiers into a panicked frenzy. Wooyoung takes this opportunity to grab you and run, slamming the door to Mr Ludovico Robertt’s room shut and barring it with the heavy oak desk.

The man continues snoring despite the commotion.

“How are you going to get me down?” You demand furiously, completely unable to understand why Wooyoung just won’t leave you be. “Just go and tell Captain to get out of here!”

“Not happening.” Wooyoung unwinds the rope around his waist, doing tight knots around your shoulders and under your arms. Your eyes widen as you realise what he intends to do and terror claws at your throat, adrenaline swirling in your blood.

“Are you crazy? I’d rather get shot to death than fall to it!”

“You’ll be fine!” Wooyoung reassures you as he secures the rope to the official’s four poster bed. You hear the guards at the door, pounding on it when they realise that it can’t be opened. “Mr Robertt! Mr Robertt! Are you inside?”

The man sleeps like the dead.

Wooyoung then grabs you bridal style, arms hooking you beneath the knees as he grins breathlessly at you. “You know, you should really lose some weight, Chin Hae.” You baulk at his words, attempting to punch him in the shoulder. Suddenly, you realise the two of you are way too lighthearted, as if you aren’t really in trouble.

Yup, you’re probably completely drunk on fear.

“Don’t tell me how to live my life.” You grumble, then Wooyoung holds you over the window ledge. Your arms instinctively tighten around his neck as you look at the very painful, one way drop to the ground.

“Mr Robertt! We’re coming in!” You hear the captain outside shouting as they get ready to smash the door down. Your heart leaps into your chest.

The gunner smiles broadly at you, eyes twinkling, but when he speaks, his words are honest.

“Do you trust me?”

You’re almost comforted by the genuine determination in his eyes, and you remember his vow to protect you and keep you safe. This man, your friend, crewmate and partner in crime, won’t ever leave you behind. You somehow laugh even with a mutilated leg, hanging over certain death, and with less than zero prospects of survival.

“Not at all.”

Wooyoung laughs at your answer, grin turning slightly maniacal. “Good, because I don’t trust myself in the least either.”

With that, he drops you out of the window.

You manage to hold in your scream, but Wooyoung is careful to lower you slowly to the ground and you sink onto the stone cobbles without much issue, aside from the amount of blood you can feel trickling from the wound.

The gunner drops down onto the ground next to you lightly, and without another word, you hobble down the alley with your arm slung over his shoulder. But to the mounting fear growing in you, you hear the same captain shouting from behind you.

“Fan out and search! One of them is wounded, they can’t have gotten far.”

Wooyoung makes a choice.

Turning to one of the doors, he rams it open with his shoulder and pulls you inside, much to your surprise, before slamming the door shut behind you. Your mouth falls open in shock.

“I can’t believe you just broke into someone’s house.”

He gives you a flat look as he helps you over to a small chair in the room. The two of you seem to have forced your way into a small house, and from the way that there is two of everything in the small kitchen you are in, you assume that you are in a married couple’s house.

“You just broke into an official’s estate.”

You ignore his logic and sag against the wall in relief, your aching body and battered bones aching. But the real problem is your ankle. You can feel the adrenaline begin to fade away, leaving agonizing pain steadily growing in your left foot, and for a moment, you nearly keel over from the sensation of it. You can feel that the bone of your ankle was completely smashed upon the musket ball’s impact, but you don’t know the extent of the injury yet.

“How bad is it?” You ask Wooyoung. The gunner swallows as he takes in the wound.

“Not the worse I’ve seen?” He tries to supply unhelpfully.

You groan. Asking Wooyoung about your injury isn’t going to help at all, so you swallow the bile in your throat and glance at your foot.

And oh boy is it in terrible shape.

It isn’t as bad as it could have been. The musket ball must have merely glanced of your ankle, the force of it causing the bone of your ankle to smash into pieces, but at least the lead shot hasn’t punched through your leg, leaving a gaping hole there like in the stories San used to tell you.

What the ball has done, however, is to carve a bleeding gash across your ankle and foot, and if you don’t stop the bleeding and treat it now, it’ll definitely get infected like the first musket wound you had gotten when you’d been escaping from Raguza. You have no wish to repeat the process.

“Can you get me some water, some cloth and a piece of leather?”

Wooyoung seems confused by your last odd request, but then the two of you are interrupted by a little choking noise from the side.

You turn to see a young woman standing there, dressed in a white nightgown. She’s standing in the doorway that most likely leads from the kitchen to the rest of the house with a lamp in hand, and she looks terrified.

You and Wooyoung exchange glances, before you raise your hand in an attempt at a friendly wave.

Her eyes dilate in fear and you realise how the two of you must look. Two shady men dressed completely in black, with masks over their faces, casually sitting at her kitchen table. You don’t begrudge her when she finally lets out a scream and bolts in fear, calling for her husband.

“Well, shit.” Wooyoung sighs, shaking his head as he rises to his feet. “I wonder if I can charm her into letting us hiding here-”

“You can’t seduce a married woman!” You hiss under your breath, but then the woman returns, this time with a tall, lean man at the side, with an axe. There’s a soft click of Wooyoung’s musket being primed at your side, but you lay a hand over his, shaking your head urgently. You don’t want to hurt innocents who you’ve dragged into your mess.

To your surprise, the man looks completely calm, as if he’s used to dark, shady men bursting into his house at the crack of dawn. He hefts the ax in hand, a woodcutter’s ax, you realise, and levels it at the two of you. “Who are you?”

Wooyoung steps protectively in front of you, shielding you from the man’s sight with his own body. “I won’t let you touch my friend. Put the ax down and I’ll answer your questions.” His voice is completely even, not a trace of doubt in his words.

The young man snorts, keeping his eyes locked on Wooyoung’s. They look like they could be around the same age, you realise. “Don’t tell me what to do in my own house, intruder. Take off your mask, put down that gun you’re holding, then I’ll put down my ax and maybe listen to your high tales about how you ended up here doing something completely not illegal.”

The two are locked in tense silence for a moment. Then Wooyoung’s shoulders relax slightly.

“Fair enough.” He pulls down the black scarf around his face, revealing his well defined features, before setting the gun down. “If you help treat my friend, I might even throw in an extra high tale about how he got shot. It’s a pretty interesting story.”

The man eyes you for a moment, but Wooyoung instinctively moves to protect you, shielding you from his sight. Then he lowers his ax, sighing with a reluctant smile on his lips. Your eyes widen as you realise that he’s missing two fingers on his left hand. “I hate this, but I doubt anyone so protective of his friend could be such a terrible person. Seohyun, you go back to bed for now, I’ll handle this.”

The young woman glances at her husband in worry. “Honey, will you be alright?”

He smiles at her reassuringly, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “Of course. Now go back to bed, the baby needs their sleep.”

Your eyes widen with awe. “She’s pregnant?”

Seohyun’s eyes widen as you speak and a hand comes up to protect her belly, as if afraid you might somehow attack her. You raise your hands in surrender, peeling off your mask as well. “I’m sorry… I’m a healer but I’ve never seen anything to do with childbirth before so…”

The man gestures for her to leave and she does, padding lightly out of the room. You can still hear soldiers searching for you outside.

“What are your names?” The man seats himself at the opposite end of the room, ax still in hand. Wooyoung glances at you, and you nod at him.

Be honest. This man seems like a sharp one.

“I’m Wooyoung. This is Chin Hae.” Wooyoung answers, and he looks back at you in worry at the blood still seeping from your leg. “If you don’t mind postponing this little talk, do you mind letting me treat my friend first?”

The man nods. “Go ahead.” But then his eyes darken slightly. “But any funny business, and I’m chopping the two of you up.” The ease with which he wields the massive ax lets you know this is no joke.

You shiver a little, but Wooyoung moves to get water from the bucket in the corner of the kitchen and tears a strip of cloth from his cloak. He douses the cloth in water and kneels in front of you, passing you his glove. It is made from leather, after all.

“Will this do?”

You nod, opening your mouth.

Wooyoung frowns in confusion. “What do you want me to do?”

“Put it in my mouth so I don’t wake the whole town when you clean my wound.” You tell him and you can see the pain in his eyes at what you’re going to have to endure. Wooyoung gently places the glove in your mouth and you bite down hard on it.

“I’m sorry.” Wooyoung whispers, raising the rag to your wound. “I’ll be gentle.”

You simply press your face into his shoulder in consent.

The first drag of the cloth against your wound and you feel like you want to die. Your hands come up to grip Wooyoung’s forearms, squeezing so tightly you’re sure there will be finger shaped bruises on his skin. He doesn’t make a sound, however, intently swiping the wound clean as possible, and your tears soak into the sleeve of his shirt in silence.

Finally he pulls away, putting the bloodied rag aside and you slump against the wall, panting for air as the glove falls from your mouth. Your hair sticks to the back of your neck with the cold sweat, and Wooyoung bustles to wrap a strip of cloth around your ankle.

“That didn’t hurt at all.” You manage to croak out, your throat raw from screaming into the glove. You feel boneless, as frail and weak as a newborn baby. Wooyoung’s eyes are soft with worry and concern as he leans you against the wall in a more comfortable position.

“Are you alright?”

“I will be.” Your eyes are so heavy, as if you’re physically incapable of keeping them open. You can see the woodcutter watching the two of you quietly, respectfully not making a sound. “Wooyoung-hyung?”

“Yeah, Chin Hae?” He seats himself next to you, putting an arm around your shoulder for you to lean against. You settle against him, every muscle in your body sagging from complete exhaustion. He’s soft and warm, like a pillow. You snuggle into his side, too far gone to actually register what you’re doing.

“I’m sorry about the trouble I caused.” He stiffens at your words, before one hand comes to rest in your hair, gentle and warm.

“Don’t worry about it.” He whispers back, stroking your head. “Get some rest.”

That’s the last thing you hear before darkness swallows you.

When you do wake up, there’s something warm surrounding you.

You blink the sleep from your eyes. There’s a freshness to your limbs that wasn’t there the night before, and your back is cushioned on something soft that is definitely not the wall that you fell asleep against.

Something soft… that is moving?

Then you realise you’re sitting in a chair, not the bed that you normally sleep in, nor your hammock in the rigging that you’ve learned to sleep tangled in since Seonghwa chose to bed down in the sickbay. There’s something resting on your shoulder.

You turn your head.

The first thing you see is Wooyoung’s face, slack in sleep and breathing quietly through his mouth, which is lolling open just a little. Something about him softens in his sleep, the usual confidence in his face replaced with gentleness and warmth. He looks years younger than he really is, not a battle hardened pirate but just a boy, still in the process of growing up. He’s so close you can literally count every eyelash, feel the warm puff of his breath in the crook of your neck.

You stay that way for a moment, taking in every detail on his face and basking in the warmth of his hold, because when are you going to get an opportunity to have such an intimate moment with him?

Thank you, you want to breath. Thank you for not leaving me behind.

Then your eyes fly open as the memories of what happened last night flood through your mind. The book. The gunshot. The man with the ax.

You glance around the kitchen, but it’s empty except for the two of you.

“Wooyoung-hyung.” You shake his shoulder and he stirs just a little, mumbling into the back of your neck. You can feel the leather of his collar pressing into your skin, and you suddenly want to ask him why he wears it, but you suppose it will have to wait for another time.

“Five more minutes, San.” He rasps, voice still rough from sleep and the night before. You don’t know whether to be insulted by the fact that he’s just mistaken you for your master.

“Wooyoung-hyung, it’s me, Chin Hae.”

At that, Wooyoung straightens up blearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes like a cat stretching after a nap.

“What’s going on?”

“Where’s the man from yesterday?” You ask, searching the room for him. It looks like it’s late morning already, from the way the living room is illuminated. Wooyoung blinks sleepily and for a moment, he looks like a lost child looking for his favorite stuffed toy.

“Ahh, him? We had a good talk yesterday and bonded over what it was like to run from the Royal Navy.” He yawns, running a hand through his hair. The chains of his shackles jingle a little. “Apparently when he was younger he had a run in with them and helped his friend escape them too, but he lost a couple of fingers in the process.”

Your eyebrows raise as Wooyoung untangles himself from you, moving over to pick up a plate of bread rolls on the table. “I can’t believe we were lucky enough to get the one person along this entire row of houses who wasn’t going to rat us out to the guards the second they saw us.”

“Such little faith you have in me.” Wooyoung sighs in mock disappointment, passing you a croissant. You dig into it hungrily, your stomach grumbling from lack of food. “You should know I seduced my way out of capture situation with Yunho before, but that’s a story for a different time.”

A sad smile crosses your face uncomfortably as you take another bite. “You’re really good at seducing women, huh? You seem to have a lot of female friends.”

Wooyoung’s face darkens just a second, an unreadable expression crossing his face. “Yeah… but I’ll never trust myself with any of them.”

Your heart breaks for a moment as you realise what that means for you. “Why?”

The gunner inhales a little as he sits on the kitchen table, head resting against the wall with a forlorn expression on his face. “Before I came to the Treasure, when I was younger… I was sold to women for such… pleasures. The only relationship I know how to share with them is one of lust, not one of friendship or actual love.”

You feel something heavy in your chest, like a stone sinking to the bottom of the sea. You can’t let the bond you’ve built with Wooyoung just break, simply because of this. No, how could anyone do this to Wooyoung as a child? How could they scar him like that?

You make your decision.

If you can keep Wooyoung, the one who was willing to risk his life for yours, as a friend, you don’t mind masquerading as a man for the rest of your life.

Wooyoung looks so lost in his past that you’re desperate to wrench him out of it.

“Hey, hyung?”

He snaps out of his little reverie to look at you in surprise. “Yeah?”

You undo the bandage he’s done around your leg, pointing at it. The wound has started to heal slightly, the scab over the wound having formed, but you know of a way to speed it up. You’ve been practicing again and again for days now, and San says you’ve gotten a pretty good hang of it already, but this is the first time you’re going to do it without your master at your side.

“Look.” You say.

You focus on your body, the blood that rushes through every vein, the energy that lives in every part of you, that gives you strength to move and live. You gather it and channel it down to your injury, and a gentle pulse runs down your leg.

Wooyoung’s eyes widen at the sight. “That’s so cool! I didn’t know you could do it too!”

You nod as you feel the pieces of bone moving and shifting, joining back to form one, single piece. The torn flesh weaves itself together and skin crawls over the wound, before the entire injury simply vanishes, as if it’s never existed.

What should have taken weeks to heal, done in a single minute.

Wooyoung frowns a little. “Won’t that have negative repercussions, though?”

“Yeah. I’ll probably sleep like the dead once we’re back on ship.” You tell him as you stand, testing out your foot. It still feels a little achy, but it’s better than yesterday. “Doing this with too severe wounds will drain you of too much stored energy and you might even die, so master told me to do this only with small wounds and in cases of great need.”

“Why didn’t you do it last night, then?” The gunner asks as he passes you the last bun. You take it gratefully.

“I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate enough with the pain. I probably would have exploded some small bit of me, and I really didn’t want that.”

Wooyoung is about to nod agreement, but then someone appears at the door.

“Wooyoung-ah.” It’s the man from yesterday and they’re already addressing each other informally. Your partner rises to incline his head.

“Thanks for the food and letting us stay the night.”

The man shakes his head. “No problem. It’s the least I could do for someone so dedicated to his friend.” He glances at you. “You have a good friend, Chin Hae. Do avoid getting shot sometime.”

Your cheeks flush a little, but you nod.

“I will.”

The man turns back to Wooyoung. “You two should leave now before the morning guard begins their patrol.”

The two of you exchange glances. You need to get back to captain and report what you’d found out. The man ushers you to the front door, holding it open for the two of you.

“I wish you the best of luck, mate. Anytime you need to invade the official’s building again, just drop by. But don’t make too much trouble for them. They’ve done this town good.”

Wooyoung turns to him as you leave the building into the busy street. “Thank you, Soobin.”

The man waves and the door shuts before him.

“Well, that was a pretty eventful night.” Wooyoung stretches his arms above his head, cracking his back as the two of you make your way back to ship. Soobin’s house is surprisingly close to where the Treasure is moored. You nod.

“I can’t wait to take a long, long nap.”

The gangplank creaks under your feet like a welcome home, your footsteps echoing together. It’s surprisingly quiet, peaceful and you don’t hear the normal ruckus you usually would this late in the morning. You frown. Are they that tired today?

Wooyoung detects it too and pauses, sniffing the air. Then he turns to look at you in worry.

“Something isn’t quite right-”

“Seize them!”

You jerk around in horror, only to be caught around the middle by an arm. You struggle but it’s useless, the man holding you is simply too strong for you to fight off. The first thing you see is Wooyoung being torn from you by two guards as they strip him of his weapons, forcing him to his knees.

The next thing you feel is the cold steel of a musket being pressed against your temple and a smirk against your ear.

“Got you.”

[kinetic-elaboration]

April 14: 2x15 The Trouble with Tribbles

Back to watching TOS on Wednesdays! We’ll see if I can keep this up because I do prefer it to Fridays.

Today’s episode: the Classic (tm) Trouble with Tribbles.

Starting out with a little test for Chekov lol. Just Chekov, his mentor, and his mentor-in-law.

My mom called Chekov “Kirk and Spock’s little project,” which I think is hilarious but also probably true. Only 22 years old and on the bridge crew? Private quiz by the top two people on the ship? Legit interpretation.

“It was just a little joke.” / “Extremely little, Ensign.” Classic Spock burn.

The Organian Peace Treaty--from Errand of Mercy??

I really do feel like Kirk is genuinely amused by Chekov.

You would never guess from this intro about tense diplomatic situations and number-one-top-priority-triple-red-alerts that this was going to be a crack-y episode about space bunnies.

Oh no, a fake red alert! Kirk is really angry now.

Kirk and Spock are very Married today.

STORAGE COMPARTMENTS?? StOrAgE cOmPaRtmEnTs?

WHEAT??

Do not try to imply that Spock doesn’t know things; he is contractually obligated to show off.

Canadian wheat.

Honestly, just let Kirk call it wheat.

Spock is using diplomacy to reign Kirk in. Sarek would be proud. And Spock would be insulted that Sarek is proud.

Kirk is very Sassy today.

Omg the waitresses have little wings.

Spock taking the wheat from behind his back and giving it to Kirk like a magician’s assistant.

I feel like Kirk is bitter about the wheat because it’s the one (1) thing he’s not a nerd about. And he’s from Iowa too!! He should know!

Uhura listening to the salesman; well she IS here to shop, after all.

Is it alive? Is it cute? Oh who am I kidding, I can see it’s cute!

Oh no the tribble is eating the grain.

Uhura is truly adorable.

I can’t believe she just made a joke about never getting any shore leave and here she is, back at her station again.

Can you even imagine AOS Kirk being tasked with protecting a bunch of grain? HE would make Iowa jokes.

And Spock is trying so hard not to laugh.

Tbh I have a real soft spot for these frustrated Kirk episodes. Poor, long-suffering Kirk. So much more serious than all of the nonsense going on around him.

I like this space station design.

Klingons on shore leave. They just want to have some fun. No bowling alleys on their ships!

Technical journal time for Scotty!

“I am immune to their effect....” Sure. What’s funny to me is that Kirk actually is immune to their effect. Truly at no point does he seem charmed or amused by or even interested in the tribbles, except in their capacity as Klingon detectors at the end

“I think they’re old enough [to be adopted].” Lol how can you tell?

One look from Spock reigns Kirk in. #spacehusbands

Oh, you noticed there are 11 tribbles instead of 1? How astute.

“What do you get when you feed a tribble too much?” / “A fat tribble.” This is ACTUAL DIALOGUE. Oh, Kirk.

Honestly McCoy is a medical doctor, so it kind of would make more sense for Spock to be doing these tribble experiments but he has his hands full with Kirk

Kirk is awfully insistent upon Scotty taking shore leave when he should very well remember what happened last time

“You’d think he’d be a vodka man.” And he is!

Klingons don’t understand Kirk at all. He IS a little soft <3

Where’s that post that’s like ‘the AOS writers just listened to this one Klingon speech about Kirk and wrote his character based on that?” I mean... not totally inaccurate.

Actually it is a potentially interesting speech. Is this really how his enemies see him based on his reputation? Or is it just, like, a bunch of generic insults you could apply to pretty much any captain of a group you didn’t like?

Poor Kirk, missing out on this fight scene.

Lol the drink joke. Does it make sense? No, but it’s funny all the same.

“Captain’s log: I am forced to cancel shore leave.”

Angry Daddy!Kirk and his unhelpful children. You’re ALL grounded!!

“No this is not off the record!” Not even gonna debate that Scotty.

This whole Kirk and Scotty scene deserves an Emmy.

Spones + Tribbles

The extra hilarious thing about Spock talking about the uselessness of the tribbles and Bones defending their cuteness as being an end in and of itself is that Spock DOES canonically like soft, pleasing animals. Even in this episode!!

The tribble wants to be captain.

Kirk collecting tribbles lmao.

“Don’t look at me, it’s the tribbles that are breeding.”

The tribbles are bisexual. Just like Captain Kirk. (Yes this is two different uses of the term that mean totally different things and I do NOT care I just like hearing the word “bisexual” in DeForest Kelley’s voice.)

I feel like Uhura must be so lonely.. Trying to talk to Spock about the moon. Meeting shape shifting aliens who become native Swahili speakers just for her. Trying to buy love in the form of small, cute animals.

The tribbles have been taken from their predator-filled environment. I am VERY curious about their native environment now. What eats tribbles?

“It’s you I take lightly.” Honestly this level of sass almost makes AOS Kirk seem IC.

“Licensed asteroid locator and prospector.” Brb changing careers.

“But he is after my grain!”

Kirk saying “au revoir” is funny on its face for how he echoes Cyrano what’s-his-face but also because it reminds me of Shatner saying “I’m from Canada, so I speak French.”

No, the tribbles got in his food! That is the last straw.

It’s hard to tell because it’s covered in tribbles, but Spock appears to have a very odd looking salad. (Or that large piece of fruit is a tribble, really hard to tell.)

Spock’s “fascinating” was so quiet.

“They’re into the machinery all right.” First, lol, and second, isn’t Scotty supposed to be in his room thinking about what he’s done?

You can really see that missing finger.

Gonna beam down some tribbles too.

And now to top off this bad day: the indignity of having a bunch of dead tribbles fall on his head. To wacky music.

“Gorged? On my grain?” It’s more likely than you think.

And like........you realize someone off set is just continuing to throw little puff balls at Shatner's head at regular intervals during this whole scene? One just bounced right off it.

And the answer to the tribble problem is literally “stop feeding them” which is so obvious that I assumed it was just harder than one would think not to feed a tribble. Since no one fed them. And they continued to eat.

I also love how Bones comes into his best friend literally buried in tribbles and doesn’t even blink.

Whereas Spock’s here with his mouth this thinnest possible line, trying not to laugh.

They like Vulcans! They have good taste.

Spock is definitely that type that has secret low self esteem so he builds himself up with confident comments at every opportunity.

“He’s a Klingon, Jim.”

Kirk REALLY likes threatening the Klingons with tribbles.

I feel like leaving Cyrano to single-handedly clean up the tribbles over 17 years is not a punishment that makes sense because like... must the station live with the tribbles until then? Also, where is he to put them?

I think they should be returned to their native habitat to be eaten by predators according to the natural cycle of life.

Are we to understand that SPOCK suggested beaming the tribbles on to the Klingon ship? Perhaps I have underestimated his prank war abilities.

I’ll be honest, this ep is very entertaining and for that reason one of my favorites, but I don’t know that it paints the Enterprise, and Kirk in particular, in the best light.

Like... I am really torn on Kirk’s treatment of the undersecretary. I know he often doesn’t much like administrators and diplomats and other people who don’t seem to have much RL experience, and certainly this Federation official got on his bad side immediately and understandably by misusing the red alert.

But... Kirk isn’t at all subtle about not liking him. I mean he literally says “I don’t like you” and that’s just objectively unprofessional, which he is not. The sassiness was way unsubtle, which could be funny, but it just didn’t seem IC.

I can almost justify it because of the red alert mix up--that’s everything Kirk hates: violating regulations, showing disrespect to him and his crew, uncalled for manipulation--and I think he has the right to be upset about it. But he continues holding this grudge for a long time. It feels like it’s just as much about not personally caring about the grain as about anything else. Like he’s dismissive about the grain because he personally has never heard of it. So obviously it’s not important.

That’s too much that conventional-wisdom arrogant, dumb Kirk for me.

I guess I just don’t understand, why so much hatred for the undersecretary? Because his two biggest sins were the red alert and employing a Klingon. But as I already said, I think Kirk’s ire is disproportionate to the first offense and no one knew about the Klingon until the end--because a tribble, not Kirk specifically, found him out.

Otherwise..this guy was right! The grain was important, losing it or having it sabotaged would have very bad consequences for the Federation, it is Kirk’s job to guard it, and he should do it well. He was also right that the Klingon threat was real!! He’d brought in the Klingon threat but he was still right about it existing. The Klingons did in fact sabotage the grain! And although we hear at the end that there was magically more grain out there... I don’t get how or from where.

Furthermore, he used the red alert specifically because he seemed to think Kirk wouldn’t rush over to protect the grain otherwise, and Kirk is so dismissive of this “just wheat” that he kinda proves the guy right!

Anyway, I can see the grains of this Kirk (lol pun not intended) in his general characterization, but it’s too over the top, to the point where it’s OOC. He does take his job, including the diplomatic aspects of it, very seriously, and I think an IC Kirk would protect the grain, and maybe be only occasionally, subtly sassy to the undersecretary.

But this was such a crack-y episode overall... it was like everyone was turned up to 11 and pushed slightly to the side.

It was a fun ep though with a lot of very classic scenes, and it’s another reminder that Spock likes soft, adorable animals.

I will admit that I actually do not think the tribbles are particularly cute. They kind of weird me out. They’re just lumps of fur.

Next is The Gamesters of Triskelion, which I vaguely remember as a decent but not great episode.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 175: 8:30 A.M.

Previously on BnHA: Deku agreed to help the staging team hoist Aoyama above the gym as a living disco ball. Time progressed and we got another nice scene of Deku training with All Might. All Might revealed that his mastery of OFA actually came to him quite easily and instinctively, which is he sometimes has trouble guiding Deku. Mei showed up and did some Mei things and told Deku that the new ~mystery support item~ he requested would be ready soon. Apparently Deku requested it to help with his new move, and All Might’s cool with it as long as he doesn’t start to rely on support items too much. Class A’s preparations continued and Momo served everyone some fancy tea. Gentle reviewed his plan of attack with La Brava. He intends for this to be a wake-up call that will help the little hero eggs of U.A. grow stronger, and he’s probably not wrong, but at some point all of this character building is gonna kill these poor kids. So now we’re cutting to the night before the festival, and that’s where this chapter will presumably pick up!

Today on BnHA: The kids of 1-A wrap up their dress rehearsal and gather in their common room to make final preparations and work off their nervous energy. Deku realizes that the rope he’s gonna use to suspend Aoyama is dangerously frayed, so he decides to run out to the store early in the morning to buy a new one before the show. The next day Hatsume delivers his new support item -- another new pair of gloves. After breaking them in with some training, Deku heads out to the store conveniently still wearing them. On his way back to U.A. he stumbles across a ~mysterious pair of characters~ wearing trench coats and sunglasses as they emerge from a tea shop. Deku says something about tea, and Gentle can’t keep his fucking mouth shut, and Deku subsequently recognizes his voice and realizes he’s the villain from the Youtube videos. Remembering that the festival will be cancelled if even a single alarm goes off, Deku decides he’ll just stop Gentle on his own, and gets ready to fight.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 199 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

these kids are all too fucking cute

who’s braiding Eri’s hair? a doctor/nurse?

more importantly, is Eri gonna have braided hair today omg. I’m gonna fucking die of cuteness here

(ETA: for some reason she does not. maybe they tried it out but she just wasn’t feeling it. who knows! but she’s still adorable no matter what)

holy moses

that’s another Iida dancing panel. swiped. placed in special folder

omgggg

I’m so exciteddddd

“but now I know for sure that I was one hundred percent right to be worried”

nah just kidding Sero. BREAK A LEG

he says that both the band and dance team have come a long way

SHOW MORE OF THE BANDDDD

aww he’s giving Mina props for being “such a super intense coach”

don’t forget to also give her props for coming up with your disco ball thing

(ETA: MVP)

THE BANDDDD!!!

DON’T YOU ‘EH’ HER YOU MONOSYLLABIC BASTARD. YOU HEARD HER, NONE OF THOSE “WEIRD AD LIBS”

also lmao at “ONE OF US might get thrown off”, which absolutely is referring to Kaminari and only Kaminari and you all know it

but it’s not his fault! he’s still learning!!

sobbb

I swear to god, if Gentle does ANYTHING to fuck this shit up I will cast him deep into the pits of Cancelled Hell right there with Mineta and Overhaul

now Hounddog is coming to chase them out because BARK BARK BARK, STUDENTS ARE ONLY ALLOWED IN HERE TILL 9

is he literally foaming at the mouth

anyways, so now all the good little boys and girls are in bed resting up for their big day!

AND THE NOT SO GOOD LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS ARE RUNNING AROUND SCREAMING

“some people” is obviously Bakugou lmao

also this is the cutest!!!!!!! this chapter is going for the record, huh? Cutest Chapter? going for the title? you’ve gotta beat out all of Deku and Kacchan’s flashbacks, all of Mirio’s flashbacks, that chapter two chapters ago with Eri touring the campus, and chapter 163 with Kaminari being all, [HOP] “HEY KACCHAN”

so it’s a tall order! but I think this might just have what it takes!!!

Jirou is telling Iida it won’t do any good to worry now about whether or not everyone else will enjoy it, and that they just have to enjoy themselves

and the boyfriend is all

THAT WAS DIFFERENT, KAMINARI!!

Deku’s agreeing with Jirou from over by the table where he’s double checking the equipment he’s gonna use for the Aoyama Hoisting

and it’s a good thing he did check it, too!

lmao

“IT’S THE PROOF OF OUR FRIENDSHIP” “no, actually, this would probably get you killed dude”

also Kaminari’s “desuwa” has legit just bumped him up a notch on my favorite characters list. fully not joking. whoever was at number nine just got bumped down. I think it was either Toga or Mirio. actually, you know what, I’m gonna go ahead and say he just leapfrogged both of them and ended up at the #8 spot right behind Momo. that’s the power of doing loving cheeky impressions of your fellow classmates

anyway, Momo is apparently already in bed though. because SHE is one of the good little girls

and Mina’s shouting “don’t treat her like a tool box!” and Kami’s protesting that they all treat him like a battery charger though

I mean, if I had a quirk that could recharge people’s phones or make them ropes and shit, I wouldn’t mind using it to help out my good friends! and I’m sure Momo wouldn’t mind either, so long as they waited until morning and, you know, didn’t go and wake her up just for that lol. but whatever

Deku says he’ll just buy one first thing in the morning since he’s gonna be training anyway

I’m thinking back to Gentle’s detailed plan of attack, but although the home center Deku’s talking about was indeed on that route, I don’t think the schedule matches up with Gentle’s. he and La Brava should still be drinking tea until 8:30. although the cafe is right by the home center though

but I’m thinking there’s a chance Deku might spot him in the cafe though maybe, and recognize him from the videos

anyway! that’s a problem for future!Deku! current!Deku is doing a cheer with his fellow students and heading off to bed

tempted to include this with the dancing Iida panels, but no. I’m choosy enough to wait for the real deal

so now it’s 6:30 the next morning, and Midoriya Izuku, who most definitely has not gotten as much sleep as a growing boy needs, is nonetheless out training with All Might again

and Mei is here with his new item!

ooh

always with the glove upgrades, huh

lol All Might is impressed with how far technology has come

that’s right, All Might. welcome to the... twenty... third?? century?? I don’t actually know for sure but I usually just add 200 years to where we’re at currently for simplicity’s sake

also, Mei can make things this compact. we don’t know anything about “they.” but this genius girl here, she can do it, and she deserves some credit

Mei is seriously so cool though

and she did this all on even less sleep than Deku. (although apparently she’s planning a 36-hour power nap once this is all over, which sounds amazing)

so now Deku is going to test out the “thing” he wanted to try

and of course we’re cutting away lol and cutting to 7:50 a.m.

Deku’s running to the store and fretting about almost being late

honestly you should have just asked Momo if it ended up being like this

he still has his gloves, incidentally. HOW CONVENIENT

-- oh snap, because this ridiculous little villain magnet was late and then had trouble finding a rope, it’s now 8:30. aka exactly when our two villains are scheduled to leave the tea shop

and sure enough...

OH MY GOD LA BRAVA

THAT DOES IT. DEFINITELY THE CUTEST CHAPTER EVER DALSFKHDL

Gentle is all “the aftertaste of the imperial golden tips was almost ruined!”

and now he’s scampering off with La Brava quick as can be

so it seems like the name of that tea was important? I guess?

oh my god

so Deku’s all “huh, so that house was a cafe, whoodda thunk?”

and Gentle is getting all “!!!”

and. just

oh my god he thinks he’s a fellow tea enthusiast

how does he not actually recognize Deku, though? too gentlemanly to watch TV like ever?

(ETA: probably just sticks to reading books in a big armchair by the fireplace)

Deku’s saying he just knows about it because he got some from a friend

BUT, he’s thinking that Gentle’s voice sounds familiar!

meanwhile, Gentle is all “ooh you must have a pretty high-class friend”

but then he’s like

and Deku is all

oh my god lmao

they’re both freaking out

and as always, Deku’s Big Hero Brain is way too freaking smart

so Gentle’s turning to make a quick getaway, but Deku’s asking him to wait a moment

ooooooooh snap

YOU BETTER WATCH YOURSELF GENTLE, THIS KID HAS A PROVISIONAL LICENSE AND SOME SHINY NEW GLOVES MOTHERFUCKAA

so now Deku’s setting down the bags with the rope, and remembering what the Rat Principal said (did he actually say this? I thought it was part of his flashback with the police commish but I guess not) about how they would immediately suspend activities if the alarm sounds

and I’m guessing... that maybe Deku wants to take care of this right here because he doesn’t want the cultural festival to be cancelled after all of their hard work

which is pretty stupid, but also understandable enough that I have no trouble buying it

like, he should be calling the authorities and putting them on alert, not trying to take this mofo out himself lmao

but instead this is happening

and you know what? I’m okay with that

BONUS: my boy Fat Gummmm

Fat Gum sobbing while eating a banana and apologizing to the ghost of Nighteye is somehow just the biggest mood

look how he has the takoyaki splayed between his knuckles because eating them one at a time just isn’t enough. think bigger. plus ultra!!!

it took him all of four days. what a champ. and now I’m fucking starving omg

[stayextrafrosty]

Of Saints and Sin: Chapter 2

Fall Out Boy mob boss AU

Warnings: lots of violence, cursing, and general angst

Read On AO3

Patrick paced about his office. He had to figure out how to address the threat made by the Snakes. He certainly wasn’t going to give it over to them. That would be too much territory. The little club was one of the farthest west they controlled. Ending just before Douglas Park and extending south until Englewood.

Patrick ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he should move on their territory. Englewood was known to have gang related violence problems. Perhaps if he moved his guys in, they could get it under control. Of course, he had no idea what they planned to do if he didn’t give up V’s club.

There was a knock at the door. He sighed and moved to open it. Joe stood on the other side. Patrick looked around for the other guys but didn’t see them. He stepped to the side to let Joe pass. It was strange for him to come alone.

“What’s up? Something happen?” Joe shrugged and wandered to sit behind the desk.

“Seemed like you had something to talk about with all that pacing you were doing. Try not to carve a rut into the floor.” Patrick rolled his eyes.

“Ya know, if you don’t have anything useful to say…” Patrick trailed off. Joe shifted some papers around on the desk.

“I just came to see what you were thinking about. You have a tendency to not tell anyone anything.” Patrick shrugged his suit jacket off and tossed it on a nearby chair. “Need some advice?” Joe sighed when he didn’t respond.

“What happened to Smyth was not your fault. He made that choice to protect you, just like Andy, Pete, and I would.” Patrick clenched his fists. There was that stupid ‘not your fault’ thing again.

“I really wish everyone would stop saying that,” he mumbled.

“Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself!” Joe stood suddenly. “Get your shit together, Trick. You’re the boss. These things happen sometimes. But you gotta figure out how to work things through. You can’t just bail.” Joe stood across from him, arms crossed. Patrick was surprised. He hadn’t had the gift of being lectured by Joe recently.

“There’s a group out there that wants your head. If you don’t make a stand for your territory then what’s the fucking point? Threaten them back, Trick! Get a hold of Englewood! I’m sure you even figured out that much.” Joe may as well have been shaking his shoulders.

“Yea, I got it. But it’s not like we can just march in there and start shooting. We don’t even know what they plan to do if I don’t give up the territory.”

“Let’s assume murder? That’s generally the type of path they take.” A short pause. “Let me and the other two go in there. We know a bar in Englewood that’s close to the boarder. We get that under our control, the people won’t have to deal with those damn Snakes anymore.”

“You say it like that and it doesn’t sound much better.” Joe rolled his eyes.

“Your choice, boss. But at least with you running things, they’ll have a chance to rebuild.” Patrick thought for a moment. They were his friends and he didn’t want them hurt, too. But they had received the name ‘trio from hell’ for a reason. Patrick sighed, then nodded.

“Alright. I’ll inform our groups near that area in case of retaliation.” Patrick caught the almost giddy smile he tried to hide. The three of them were scary enough to make a chill run down Patrick’s spine. Joe made his way toward the door.

“Hey,” Patrick called. “If any of you don’t come back, I will raise you from the dead and kill you myself.” Joe chuckled.

“Understood.” He gave a half salute and left. Patrick glanced out the window. He prayed that he wasn’t wrong about this move.

-

The three boys sat in their car on the border of Englewood. The neon sign was visible but just barely. It flickered constantly, letting them know of the poor funding this bar was getting. The Snakes weren’t taking care of their property. That left this place wide open for invasion.

“You guys ready,” Pete said, loading his gun.

“Always,” Joe replied. Pete looked over to Andy who just nodded as he played with the knife in his hand. He carried but didn’t use it that often. Andy was like a last resort type of guy. Silent and watching. The best back up the other two could ever ask for.

The sun set over the horizon, painting the sky a deep blue and purple. Pete stepped out of the car, sticking his gun in the holster hidden by his jacket. They looked around and couldn’t see any threats.

The three of them sauntered into the bar, fake laughing about some fake joke. No one paid them much mind, at least from what they could tell. They took their spots at the bar. Only Joe and Pete ordered. Andy was never into the drinking.

“What can I git ya’ll?” The woman behind the bar looked tired. She seemed to be hoping for a simple evening. Pete’s heart ached. He remembered living on the wrong side. It could be awful.

“I’ll just take whatever beer is the special,” Pete said smiling at the woman.

“I second that,” Joe added. She nodded and looked over to Andy.

“What about you, Sweets?”

“Water. If you don’t mind.” She hurried away to grab the glasses. Pool balls cracked from the other side of the room. Joe glanced over his shoulder. He noticed a tattoo poking out from the collar of the guy shooting. He looked over the small group of guys. One of them didn’t wear a jacket so he could see the tattoo clearly.

An open-mouthed viper with blood gracing its teeth is hard to miss.

Joe cursed under his breath. They were going to make this difficult. He nudged Pete and Andy. He opened his mouth but the woman returned with their drinks. Pete handed the woman a twenty. She looked down at it with surprise.

“Keep the change,” he lowered his voice, “do me a favor and hide out in the back for a bit.” The woman looked confused for a second. Pete rolled up his sleeves, flashing the small volcano tattoo on his wrist. She glanced behind them. She clearly knew this was an invasion. She leaned in close.

“You intend to kick them out? You boys best understand you’re cleaning up the blood.” She stood and headed through the door to the kitchen. The three of them shared a look and stood. They made their way over to the pool table.

“Hey, we got next,” Pete called. Six pairs of eyes trained on them. One of them shifted. Pete’s eyes zeroed in on the seventh person. A young girl sat stiff, next to who he could only assume was the designated leader. She was clearly uncomfortable. She couldn’t be older than sixteen. Patrick’s rule stuck out in his mind. She didn’t need to be part of this.

“And why should we let you use our pool table?” A cigarette hung out of the speaker’s mouth. Joe shrugged.

“I don’t know, cause we asked nicely?” The group of guys laughed sarcastically. Clearly, they weren’t impressed with his sarcasm.

“You kids gotta be new round here. Allow me to explain the rules.” The assumed leader stood and the three of them had to look up. He was easily over six feet. The girl he was sitting with looked away, squeezing her eyes shut. She knew how these things ended.

“First of all, we are the Snakes. You don’t order us around. Second, if you’re breathing, it’s because we allow it. But right now, ur in real serious danger of losin’ that gift.” The other people had moved far away from the group. Some even left. That was probably for the best.

“All this for a pool table? You guys need to chill or something,” Pete trailed off. The guy grabbed his shirt.

“The fuck you tryna start, pipsqueak?” Pete sighed.

“I’d recommend you put me down. We just wanted to use the pool table. This is our territory now.” Joe pulled out his gun in a matter of seconds and had it locked on the leader. The bar fell silent.

“Quite frankly, you’re all pretty dense. Can’t even tell when you’re fucked,” Joe mentioned. They were pushing it. As far as they knew, these guys didn’t have guns but knives were a completely different story.

“You little shits are from that north side gang ain’t ya? Didn’t ya get the message? You’re just asking for people to die,” one of them said.

“That’s why we’re here. North Englewood is ours now. And you’re leaving both this area and the one you threatened to steal. Why don’t you send that news to your boss? We’ve got reserves all over.”

“Fat chance of that you prick!” The leader shoved Pete back and reached into his pocket, whipping out a knife. Pete knew it. No way would they be unarmed.

Joe adjusted his aim slightly and fired. The bullet lodged itself in the leader’s arm and he yelped in pain. Blood seeped from the wound. The three of them put some distance between them and the other gang. If they could maintain it, they would win.

Knives appeared in the Snakes hands. Some were bigger than others. Andy glanced over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t jumped from behind.

“Stop it! Let’s just go! Please!” The three guys all looked over to the girl in the back. Tears rolled down her face. She grabbed the hand of the leader.

“Shut up. There’s no backing down now. You want to be a weak little thing then go. Run away.” The guys shared a look before Joe spoke.

“I’d listen to the girl. At least she’s smart.” Pete nodded along.

“Yea, and we’d rather not get her involved in this.”

“Threatening my girl now? You’re all gunna die.” The group jumped at them but they were clumsy. Only one looked like he actually knew how to wield a knife. Most swung blindly and the three Overcasts jumped out of the way easily.

Pete grabbed his gun out of the holster. He aimed at the leg of the guy closest to him. Avoid killing people if he could. That’s what Patrick always said. Pete admired the guy but sometimes he wondered if he really understood what this was.

The guy winced but was still stumbling toward them. Pete fired a second shot to the other leg and he finally went down. The blood didn’t bother him anymore, having seen so much of it.

The guy laying on the ground had his eyes screwed shut in pain. When another lunged he simply kicked the guy on the ground, causing him to cry out. Some brotherhood they were. The other guy was able to graze Pete along his arm. The cut wasn’t deep but it stung. Pete moved to fire but his shooting arm was no longer steady. He fired but missed the guy entirely.

“Shit,” he hissed.

“Down,” Andy called. Pete curled up and Andy fired a couple shots through the guys shoulders. He stumbled forward and Pete tripped him. He hit his head against a table and laid still on the ground. Pete wondered briefly if he was dead but shuffled over to Andy once he realized he didn’t care.

“Thanks for having my back dude.” Andy nodded and reloaded his gun. There was no time for appreciation right now.

Joe held his own against two other guys. They tried to circle him but he was too fast. They would jump one at a time and made it painfully easy for him to avoid their attacks. He fired a shot into the hip of one guy, sending him down

Before he had time to register, the other guy had a knife to his neck. It pressed against him firmly, pricking the skin.

“Whatcha gunna do now boy? Don’t exactly got many options. It’s either die or die.” The guy cackled, pressing the knife against him harder. Joe tried dropping his weight, but he still held on. Pete and Andy watched with caution. They knew Joe could get out of this.

“If I only have one option then why am I still alive? Seems like false advertisement to me. If you’re gunna threaten someone, at least follow through.” Joe considered that it might be a bad time to be a smart ass, but he had a feeling this guy was bluffing. The blade pricked his skin, sending a drop of blood sliding down his neck. Joe tried not to flinch.

“I ain’t ever met a kid so eager to die.” He couldn’t disarm the guy. Not with his weapon pressed against his throat.

“Some people would consider death a sweet gift. I am no exception,” Joe said, keeping up his joking manner. He just needed to get the knife even an inch away. This could backfire horribly and he knew it. But the more time passed, the harder it would be for this guy to go through with the threat.

The guy faltered slightly, showing concern for another human. It was only a moment but it was all Joe needed. He moved away from the knife and shoved him back. He brought his knee up between his legs as hard as he could. The guy stumbled and then crumbled to the ground. Joe lifted his gun and pointed it at the guy’s head, ready to pull if the need were to arise.

“Stop it! This is senseless! Why are you trying to kill each other?” This girl was back, tears stained her face. But the fear was replaced with anger. She stood in between Joe and the guy on the ground. Pete watched the girl. She wasn’t as much of a victim as he thought. She did choose to be here.

“Killing is never our favorite thing to do. We avoid it if we can. That doesn’t mean we won’t protect ourselves… Or others.” Pete spoke slowly, trying to determine if she was baiting them.

“Why do you want so much territory? This whole thing is stupid. Just leave each other alone!” The leader had pulled himself together and he stiffly stepped next to her. He draped an arm around her, smearing blood on her clothes.

“I told you, babe, it’s for our safety. Honor.” She smacked his arm away, turning her wrath towards him.

“What is honorable about killing people? I’ve never been in more danger than when I’m with you. I can’t take it! I want no part of this!” She spun towards the Overcasts. “Move.” She moved toward them, as they stood between her and the door.

The leader grabbed her before she could get too far. He pulled out his knife and held it against her neck. The blood dripped down and fear took over her face.

“You think you can just leave me you bitch? You know too much. You’re a liability now. So, you gotta die babe. Such a waist of a good body.” The guys jumped, no longer concerned with their safety. They needed to get her away from him.

Pete aimed a punch where the leader was hit earlier. Joe pointed his gun at his head, and Andy reached for the girl. The leader flinched when Pete hit him but never loosened his grip on the girl. He tisked.

“Don’t get too excited. It’s not my fault your little boss don’t know how to deal with loose ends.”

“Let her go. She doesn’t deserve to be covered in blood. She’s far too young for this shit. And you’re disgusting for bringing her into this.” He cackled.

“This bitch ain’t as innocent as she looks. How old are you babe? Twenty or something?” She struggled in his grip but it was difficult for her to move with a knife against her throat. The guys shared a look. Would Patrick really want them to spare this waste of space?

-

Patrick tapped his fingers on his desk. This was taking too long. He should have heard from them by now. Pete told him not to call but what was he supposed to do? What if they were in some sort of trouble and he was just sitting around waiting for information? That wasn’t how he wanted to do things.

He grabbed his phone and clicked to Pete’s contact. His finger hovered over the call button. Joe promised him that they would take care of it. He shouldn’t have let them go alone. They were his best friends. He basically sent them to die. Not that he didn’t trust them to do their job but what kind of man would he be if he just left them there.

“Don’t even think about it, kid.” Smyth hobbled in on crutches. “The last thing those guys need is you storming in there while they do their job.”

“They should be back by now.” Patrick tentatively set his phone back on the table.

“Just trust them. They said they would call so give ‘em a chance.” He moved a chair to help Smyth sit down.

“I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt on my behalf.” He laughed and shook his head.

“Look kid, if you didn’t want that then you signed up for the wrong position.” Patrick glared at him. Was it so wrong that he didn’t think people should be dying for him? The phone rang out through the room. Patrick jumped a bit but rushed over anyway. The number wasn’t one he recognized. He answered and slowly lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” There was a heavy sigh and a chuckle from the other end of the phone.

“You certainly don’t sound like a forty-year-old. Somethin’ tells me you was hiding back in that little bar.” Patrick gripped the phone.

“Who is this and how did you get this number?” He tried to keep his voice steady. Something was not right.

“Well I ain’t gunna rat on the people that get me my information. I offered you a deal in that little strip club. I want your answer before I blow up all your little friends. The right answer might spare them.” Patrick ground his teeth. Fucking hell.

“Look. Why don’t we have a conversation face to face. Ya know, like actual people.” He spoke slowly, thinking that it might help somehow. The voice snorted.

“Yea why don’t we just go out for a cup of coffee and a sandwich? Sounds like a damn dream. Fucking northsider, you really are stupid.” He could imagine the guy shaking his head. “Your little trio took out my guys. That’s not exactly polite. Course I guess they did save my baby sister. Never did like that guy. They were expendable. More a liability than anything.” He continued on like he wasn’t discussing people’s lives.

Patrick paced about the room and ran a hand through his hair. He had never met someone who had such a disregard for life. He glanced at Smyth.

“Don’t you dare cave. Your guys are deadly.” Patrick took a breath and nodded at him in thanks. Smyth was right. He needed to trust his friends. He kept them close for a reason.

“How about I make you a different offer,” Patrick said. He needed to choose his words carefully. He had reserves all around that bar but didn’t want to make the snake bite.

“For someone who tries to put humanity on a pedestal, you sure seem eager to watch people die. That ain’t how deals work,” he scoffed.

“If you weren’t concerned about keeping that territory then you would just blow it up. The only reason you’re calling is so we don’t take it over. You considered those goonies of yours a liability but that doesn’t mean they weren’t holding onto that territory. So why don’t you just give it up?” Silence from the other end.

“So, if you wouldn’t mind leaving my guys alone and we won’t have to take any more of your territory. You stay out of that club while you’re at it. They don’t need scum like you running it into the ground.” The phone clicked off. Patrick spun towards Smyth.

“Pretty ballsy, kid. Now you gotta make sure he doesn’t retaliate. Go to your guys.” He nodded and rushed out of the room. He called V as soon as he got in the car. She never gave him her phone number, so he was forced to call the bar itself.

“We’re not open today if that’s why you’re calling.” Her voice rang through the Bluetooth in the car.

“V it’s me. You lock every damn door into that place, you got it? I don’t need to be worrying about you and that bar while I’m trying to protect my guys. Don’t let anyone in. The Snakes might be moving.”

“Oh, how romantic.” He shook his head and hung up. He did not have time for her sass.

Patrick sped through the streets, nearly hitting more than a few other cars. He swerved in and out of traffic towards the south side.

-

The stand-off had been going for nearly ten minutes. Every time the guys took a step, the leader would press the knife harder against her throat. They were stuck.

“I don’t get why you don’t just kill both of us? Why spare her? Not like she’s worth anything to you. She’s not even worth anything to her brother.” The guys shared a look.

“What are you talking about,” Pete asked slowly. He cackled again. The girl struggled but only succeeded in cutting herself more.

“Ha! You didn’t even know this little bitch was our dear leaders sister? Your informants are shit. Course, I could just blame that on your boss.” They couldn’t kill the girl. That was even more clear now. They didn’t need a bigger target on their back. Killing the leader’s sister in cold blood would be grounds for being kicked out of the gang.

“Our boss knows how to get shit done. His value for human life isn’t a liability,” Pete said. They didn’t know how much time they had before the girl was killed. Perhaps the leader was just buying time for backup.

“We’ll give you one more warning. Let the girl go and get out of here. This place is ours now.” Pete signaled to Joe as he spoke. Joe nodded and shifted the aim of his gun so it pointed at the leader’s head. He saw this and laughed.

“So ur just gunna go against your boss’s orders? What happened to all that valuing life shit?” Joe shrugged as Andy spoke.

“Deadly force is permitted when protecting others.” The guy scoffed.

“Bitch you ain’t worth dying.” He shoved the girl away from him. At least he has some sort of common sense. Joe thought. She stumbled forward and forced her way behind the guys. Pete watched her as she ran out the door. At least she was safe.

“Step one done. Now get out and don’t come back,” Andy threatened. The guy shrugged and sat back down on the couch.

“If you don’t kill me then the boss will so I’d rather die being loyal,” he took a sip from his beer. The guys shared a look. He probably wasn’t lying. Joe wanted to kill him. He deserved it but not when he was just giving up without having a care for his own life.

“That kind of loyalty is admirable. Too bad you’re still a piece’a shit who was gunna kill my baby sister.” The guys spun at the voice.

A guy stood there. His thinning hair line made him seem much older than he probably was. He opened and closed a lighter, like a tick. The girl from before hid behind him, looking much smaller than before. There was no way these two were related.

“I’ll deal with you little shits in a second. You can blame ur boss for ur deaths.” He pulled a gun out of the waistband of his jeans. He moved toward them lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. Pete focused his gun at the leader of the Snakes. He didn’t even flinch.

“Make another move and I won’t hesitate to kill you. I’d rather enjoy it actually.” The guy may as well have yawned.

“Yea but ur little boss wants to do it don’t he? I ain’t worried about you.” He shoved past them and took aim at the other guy’s head. He looked horrified. The leader’s eyes glinted with excitement. He wanted to kill him. Pete glanced back at the girl. She had turned away and covered her ears. She should have never been involved.

“Have some god damn class and at least keep your sister out of this.” The Snakes leader only turned his head slightly in response.

“She’s free to leave whenever.” He refocused on the guy. “Beg and I might let you walk out of here.” Pete might have been scared. He had never met anyone as ruthless as this guy. They knew that they had to delay him as long as possible. Fuck why wasn’t one of them just shooting?

Joe fired a shot into his leg, Pete fired at his arm and Andy moved to tackle him. The leader grit his teeth together and shoved Andy back. He took aim at the guys and they rushed to split up. The leader fired randomly at them. They heard bottles shattering as they kept moving. They only wished the bar was a bit bigger.

“You fuckheads needa stop gettin’ in my way!” Joe took aim again but was thrown to the side. The guy that had been sitting on couch jumped to defend his boss. Joe couldn’t understand why when he was about to be shot by the same boss.

“What’s the point of defending him,” Joe scolded. “He’s just going to kill you.”

“Still my boss. I do shit for him, he does shit for me.” Joe shook his head and lunged back at him. There was no point in reasoning with him.

Pete tackled the Snakes leader, but the guy had five inches on him easily. Pete aimed a punch at his stomach but was tossed off. Andy jumped at him from the side, aiming his knee at the spot he had been shot. He winced and fell to one knee. Pete saw the flash from a blade.

“Andy, back!” the warning came too late and the blade cut into his leg. It didn’t seem like any arteries were hit, but they couldn’t be sure until they looked at it. Andy held a hand to the wound and tried to back away. The guy was already aiming for a second swipe.

“Stop it! Reggie that’s enough!” A hush fell over the bar and eyes turned to the girl. There was no way she didn’t know what she’d done. A name was highly confidential information in this business.

“Mana, I’m going to kill you.”

The door burst open and guys poured into the small bar. Their guns aimed at ‘Reggie.’ He glared at the group. Some of the larger guys tackled the other guy Joe was dealing with.

Patrick wandered in after the group, Smyth following behind. Pete wanted to relax but knew that could be a mistake if Reggie decided to make a move. He made his way toward Patrick, holding his wounded arm.

“I told you, we’d call when we were done.” Patrick glanced at him. Pete had known him long enough that he saw the corners of his mouth tilt up slightly.

“Plans change.” He looked around at the bar. “You guys really made a mess of the place. You know I have to pay to fix it right?” Pete rolled his eyes.

“His names Reggie,” Pete mentioned as Patrick moved toward the competing boss. He nodded.

“Go get that patched up,” he said as he passed Andy. Pete watched in admiration. He thought there might have been something at one point, but they were more like brothers. Brothers that would die for each other.

-

Patrick tried to keep a straight face as he spoke to Andy. It killed him to be so cool with them. He was worried and rightfully so. They could have been killed had he not shown up.

“I can’t believe you’d think that I wouldn’t act when you threatened my guys. You might actually be stupid.” Reggie smirked.

“I can’t believe you’d show your face for some lowlife grunts.” Patrick’s face betrayed him as he glared at the Snake. “Don’t tell me ya’ll’r friends? How cute,” he sneered. Patrick grabbed his shirt, making him wince.

“Keep talking and I’ll rethink letting you leave here alive.” The leader spit in his face.

“Ur weak. Gettin’ lucky ain’t good leadership.” He grabbed Patrick’s arm and twisted it. Patrick flinched and then there was an arm around his neck. His guys jumped up, but Patrick was a human shield. “You want this run-down shithole? Fine. But remember who’ll win in the end.” He held Patrick in front of him as he hobbled toward the door.

“I’ll kill you just like ur brother killed my woman.” He shoved Patrick and made a run for it. A car pealed up to the curb and he hopped in. Joe rushed over to check Patrick for injuries.

“I’m fine. I want everyone I can get set on tracking him down.” A moment of silence. “Now!” Everyone moved on restraining the snake members that were still conscious. Smyth stepped up to him and spoke quietly.

“You hesitated. Now was not the time for trying to spare lives.” Patrick clenched his fist. He knew that.

“Will never happen again.” Smyth looked over his face. His eyes were icy. Patrick was finally understanding.

Patrick looked over to where Pete was. There was a girl who looked shaken. Had she been caught in the crossfire?

“Check the back for any workers. Let them know they’ll be safe from the Snakes.” He made his way over to Pete and the girl. “Are you ok?” She nodded.

“Are you going to kill my brother?” It took Patrick a moment to register her question.

“This is Mana. Reggie’s sister.” He looked her up and down. Didn’t strike him as the type to be running with the gangs. But he didn’t look it either.

“Depends what he does. I don’t like to kill people. But if he insists on attacking my guys or innocent people, yes I’ll kill him.” She bit her lip and nodded. They couldn’t trust her. Who knew where her loyalties were.

“I’ve offered her protection,” Pete said quietly. Patrick froze, and his eyes darted to Pete.

“Excuse us, Mana.” He yanked Pete away from the girl. He tried to be mindful of his injured arm. “Watch her,” he said to one of the reserves.

“You what,” Patrick hissed. “We have no idea who’s side she’s on!”

“I said we’d offer her protection, not tell her all our secrets,” Pete defended. “Her brother just threatened to kill her, and he doesn’t seem like the type to lie about that shit.” Joe joined the conversation.

“What’s going on?”

“Please tell Pete that offering protection to the sister of the rival gang is an awful idea. Where did you intend to keep her Pete?” Joe thought for a moment.

“I mean her brother did just threaten her,” Joe said hesitantly. Patrick ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re both crazy. Hard no.” Pete glared at Patrick.

“You’re just going to leave her when she needs help? That is not that Patrick I know.” Patrick threw his hand up in frustration.

“I’m trying to protect everyone! You’re saying that you trust her?” Silence. He shook his head and ran his hand down his face. “Fine. She can stay in one of the guest rooms. She doesn’t leave without an escort. And when we go she must have a blindfold on.” Pete nodded and left to talk to Mana. Joe rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t trust her either. But don’t lose your humanity, Trick.” He sighed. Joe was right and as much as he hated to admit it, so was Pete. He wouldn’t turn down someone who needed help. Someone tapped Patrick’s shoulder. An older woman who looked like this whole thing was an inconvenience stood with her hands on her hips.

“You best be plannin’ to fix m’bar,” she said. Patrick smiled at her and her gaze of steel faltered a bit.

“Ma’am, I promise to fix this place. I’ll build it better than it was before.” She nodded and cleared her throat.

“I’ll hold’ya to that boy.” Patrick turned back to Joe.

“Alright. Let’s head back. We need a new action plan.”

[write-havoc]

This Is How I Disappear Ch. 56

Summary: A girl named Chuck finds herself in the exact place she doesn't want to be, living with violent men in a desolate nursing home. After her former gym teacher finds her, will he be the savior she was looking for?

Fandom: The Walking Dead AU

Pairing: Negan/Original Female Character

Status: Ongoing

Contains: swearing, violence, sexual assault, blood, smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlist

Spirits are high at The Sanctuary after Christmas. When New Years Eve comes around, residents are excited to let loose and party a little.

“You gonna come down to the rec room with me tonight?” Negan asks Chuck as he sits down beside her on the couch in their room.

“I guess,” Chuck answers, not exactly excited about the prospect.

“You don’t fuckin’ have to.” He props his arm on the back of the couch behind Chuck and twirls one of her curls in his fingers absentmindedly. “I just thought we could fuckin’ kiss at midnight.”

Chuck laughs. “I forgot that was a thing.”

He raises his eyebrows questioningly. “You forgot ?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “Well, it’s been a few years since I watched the ball drop on New Year’s Rockin’ Eve,” Chuck jokes back sarcastically.

Negan laughs, too.

“Besides, I’ve literally never kissed anyone on New Year’s.”

“Really?” Negan asks.

Chuck gives him an incredulous look. “You think I was invited to a lot of New Year’s Eve parties back in the day?”

Negan shrugs, but still smirks at her. “Well, I’ll be fuckin’ honored to be your first ‘first kiss of the new year’.” He chuckles at himself then leans over to kiss her.

Chuck giggles. “I guess I can make an appearance with you tonight,” she jokes back.

Later that night, Negan and Chuck walk into the second floor rec room hand in hand. Everyone pauses their festivities to bow in respect.

Negan holds his arm out wide, thrusting Lucille in the air. “Now that I’m here,” he calls out, “this party can really get fuckin’ started! As you were!” Negan starts to walk further into the room as people rise. “Someone get me a fuckin’ drink!”

Someone does get Negan a drink. Several of them, in fact. And Chuck knows that Negan is going to regret it in the morning.

“You know,” Chuck leans in to speak to Negan as they sit on a couch, “you’re gonna say ‘why did you let me drink so much’ tomorrow,” she teases.

Negan takes a swig of the clear liquid in his glass and pulls her into his side. “I’ll be fine, baby. Don’t fuckin’ worry.”

By the time 11:59 hits, everyone except Chuck is pretty rowdy drunk. But they’re still able to count down.

“Five, four, three...” everyone chants.

Chuck grabs ahold of Negan’s hand and can’t help the big smile that appears on her face as she looks into his eyes.

“...two, one! Happy New year!”

Negan pulls her into him and kisses her deeply. The whole world melts away around Chuck while she savors the feel of her husband. After everything she’s been through, she’s still truly happy at this moment.

Negan breaks the kiss, but doesn’t move back, smiling wide against her lips. “Happy New Year, baby,” he whispers.

“Happy New Year,” she repeats.

Though Chuck is tired, she stays with Negan as he continues to imbibe and participate in the festivities. It takes her literally falling asleep on Negan’s shoulder as he is recounting a story for some saviors for him to decide to leave.

When they get to their apartment, Negan crashes quickly, barely setting Lucille on the coffee table and getting his boots off before collapsing on the bed. Chuck lets out a sigh before attempting to undress Negan and getting him fully in the bed. By the time that’s done and she’s in her own nightgown, Chuck herself collapses on the bed, too, falling asleep almost instantly.

The next morning, Negan’s loud snores wake Chuck up. She lets out a groan, and gets up to start the day. It actually isn’t too early, well past the time Negan usually wakes up. But Chuck figures he needs the rest after last night.

After Chuck gets ready for the day, she fills a glass with water and moves toward Negan’s nightstand to set it there, knowing that he’ll need it when he wakes up. Just as she turns to walk away, Negan begins to stir.

He groans. “Fuuuuck. Why’d you let me drink so goddamn much?”

Chuck giggles and sits on the edge of the bed to face him. “I knew you’d say that.” She hands him the glass of water as he shifts to sit up.

He looks at the glass and eagerly takes it in his hands. “You’re a fuckin’ godsend.” He downs the water in one drink.

“I’ll get you some more.” Chuck takes the glass from him and fills it back up in the kitchen. When she gets back to the bedroom, Negan is in the bathroom, loudly relieving himself with the door wide open. She rolls her eyes and sets the drink back on the bedside table.

“Fuck,” Negan groans, “I’m too old for this shit.”

“I warned you,” Chuck says under her breath with a giggle.

“What?”

Chuck moves closer to the bathroom as he finishes. “You need a shower. You smell like a bar.”

“Come join me,” he teases with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“I already took a shower. I’ve been up for an hour, lazy bones,” she teases back.

“Did you eat?”

“I’m going to now.”

He rubs at his temples, obviously feeling the hangover he certainly must have. “I’ll make you something.” He starts to cross the room to get to the kitchen, but Chuck stops him.

“Take a shower.” She pats him on his bare chest. “I can manage one meal by myself.”

Negan ends up barely leaving the apartment all day, practically mainlining Tylenol to combat his headache. Despite some whining, Negan allows Chuck to take care of him for a change. She feeds him and makes sure to keep him hydrated.

She doesn’t mind. Actually, she kind of enjoys being the one that Negan is depending on. She makes herself giggle when she thinks that this is good practice for when the baby comes.

  ——— Negan’s POV ———

Pretty much right after New Year’s, pregnancy brain starts to hit Chuck like a ton of fuckin’ bricks. I think it’s fuckin’ cute, but Chuck doesn’t. She says she hates feeling stupid. I try to tell her that she’s not fuckin’ stupid , she’s just a little absent-fuckin’-minded at the moment. She still gets so fuckin’ frustrated when she can’t think of the right words. Or when she loses shit.

I get home one day and Chuck is fuckin’ tearing the bedroom apart, mad as shit.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask as I walk over to her.

She lets out a frustrated growl and turns back to me. “I was playing Bioshock and I somehow lost the controller so I just started to use the other one, but I fuckin’ lost it , too!” She lets out a breath when she realizes what she said. “Sorry I swore.”

I can’t help but fuckin’ laugh at her. This pregnancy brain shit can get her so fuckin’ flustered. “You’re fuckin’ adorable.”

“I’m mad , Negan!” she bites back.

“I’ll help you look, sweetheart.” I give her a little kiss and start searching/picking up the shit she threw around. I check in the bathroom. Not there. “Did you go out to the kitchen?” I ask when I come back out to the bedroom.

“I’m not sure,” she answers as she looks around the couch and chairs.

I chuckle. “Well, there’s a glass of water on the coffee table,” I point out.

“Oh,” she looks at it. “Yeah, I did get a drink.”

I look around the kitchen for a minute before I open the goddamn fridge. And right on the top shelf is one controller. “Found one,” I call out as I walk back into the room.

She takes it from me. “I looked in the kitchen.”

“It was in the fridge.”

“It wasn’t,” she responds, not believing me.

I smile at her. “It was.”

She lets out a fuckin’ groan. “What’s going on in my head?!”

I laugh and lean down to kiss her forehead. “Keep playing your game. I’ll find the fuckin’ other one.” She sits down on the couch and resumes her game while I search around for the other controller.

It takes me twenty fuckin’ minutes, but I find the other controller sitting on my office chair at my desk. Apparently, she had set in on the chair, then pushed it the fuck in under my desk.

“Oh, yeah,” she explains when I take the controller back to her. “I looked out the window in your office because it started to snow.”

I plop myself down beside her on the couch. “Do I get a fuckin’ thank you?” I tease.

She pauses her game and turns to me, giving me a kiss that definitely is gonna lead to some fucking. “Thank you.” She pulls away and sits back down, unpausing her fuckin’ game  to start playing again.

“Uhh... you can’t just fuckin’ kiss me like that and go back to your fuckin’ game,” I joke. Sorta. Shit’s definitely stirring in my pants after that kiss.

She giggles. “Even when I’m all fat and gross, you still want me?”

“You’re not fat. Or gross. You’re fuckin’ perfect. And my dick thinks so, too.”

She gives me side eye. “You really wanna have sex right now?”

“Well. Not if you don’t fuckin’ want to.”

She gives me that smile that I know means that she wants me to fuck her. But she acts like she’s gotta fuckin’ decide. She always does that. She thinks I can’t tell when she’s horny and she tries to act all casual about it. But I can read her like a fuckin’ book.

We don’t fuck as much as we used to. Shit, we used to fuck every night pretty much. We still fuck a lot, don’t get me wrong, but some days I can tell she’s too tired or uncomfortable. But also, some days she wants to fuck a ton. It all depends on her hormones.

Now that her belly’s bigger, straight missionary is kinda fuckin’ out of the question. I usually let her pick the position, because she’ll know what’s gonna be fuckin’ comfortable for her. As it is right now, she’s naked and laying on her side in my bed. Our bed.

I crawl over top of her and she turns her head to kiss me. I make sure I don’t have any of my weight on her as we make out.

She stops kissing me to say, “Baby’s kicking.”

“Really?” I pull away to sit back on my knees.

“Probably because I usually take a nap now.”

I lean back over Chuck and place my hand on her stomach. Sure enough, Maddie’s kicking up a fuckin’ storm. “Nice fuckin’ timing, kid.”

“We can still do it,” Chuck says quietly. “If you’re not freaked out about it. I mean, she doesn’t know what’s going on, you know.”

I laugh. I’m not exactly freaked out about it. A little bit, I fuckin’ guess. I mean, my dick is gonna be pretty close to my baby and that’s fuckin’ weird as shit to think about. But it’s not making my dick go soft cuz Chuck’s right. The baby is fuckin’ fine in her own little world, completely separate from where my dick’s gonna be. And Chuck is wet and waiting for me right now. What kinda husband would I be if I didn’t take care of my wife?

Fucking Chuck is different, now. It’s still great. I’m not saying it’s fuckin’ bad. It’s just different. Mainly because I have to make sure I don’t fuckin’ hurt her. I know she tells me I don’t have to be as fuckin’ careful as I am, but I can’t help it. And it’s worse now that she has a bigger belly.

There were definitely times I lost control before she looked really pregnant. I mean, I knew she was pregnant, but she didn’t really look it yet, so I wasn’t as gentle with her. And I always fuckin’ worried about it afterward, about me hurting her.

It’s just really fuckin’ easy for me to lose control when I’m with her. Shit, that’s actually why she’s pregnant, I guess. Thank fuck she doesn’t hate me for it. But if I would hurt her, I’d kill myself.

So, yeah, I can get fuckin’ cautious when I’m fucking her.

I move to get my dick in position, but she stops me.

“Hang on,” she says and starts to shift. She gets on her hands and knees in front of me then looks back. “Okay. Go on.”

I gently run my hands over her ass and hips. “Shit, baby girl. You sure you don’t want to lay down.”

“Don’t worry, Negan. Come on.” She wiggles her ass a little.

“I didn’t say I was fuckin’ worried .”

“You always call me ‘baby girl’ when you’re worried.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” she asserts. “Like nine times out of ten, you do.”

I let out a huff. Okay, she might be right, now that I fuckin’ think about it. “You fuckin’ ready, then?” I rub my fingers through her pussy lips, feeling that she’s really fuckin’ wet. Guess that answers my question.

“Yes, Negan,” she breathes out and it’s just the push I need.

I slowly enter her from behind and start a pretty lazy pace. But, fuck, if she doesn’t feel like goddamn heaven. She always has. From that first time I fucked her, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away from her. And I get that feeling still, every fuckin’ time I’m with her.

“Mmm,” she starts to moan. “Negan, go faster please.”

Her heavy breaths have me obeying her pretty fuckin’ quick. I thrust in a bit harder and a bit faster as I rub my hands all over her fuckin’ soft skin.

She shifts to lean on her forearms instead of her fuckin’ hands, lowering her upper body and changing the angle that my dick is entering her.

“Oh god, Negan.”

Shit. I’m hitting her g spot. That always gets her fuckin’ moaning. And her moans drive me fuckin’ crazy.

“Fuck, baby.” I keep thrusting, trying to keep my goddamn rhythm steady for her. She’s not that close yet, and if I speed up, I’m gonna blow my fuckin’ load.

“Oh, Negan!” Her voice is higher now and her fuckin’ breaths are sharper. Now she’s close.

“Mmm. You feel so fuckin’ good. You gonna cum for me?” I speed up and bring my hand under her to play with her clit. I gotta maneuver around her belly, but I get my hand there.

“Ah!” she moans and it about makes me cum, but I keep it together. “Oh! Oh god, Negan!” She’s music to my fuckin’ ears.

I can feel her tighten around me. She’s gonna cum, but she always tries to hold off as long as possible. So I try to fuckin’ hold off until she goes. Sometimes that’s fuckin’ hard and I cum a little early, but she never fuckin’ complains.

I speed up even more until she starts to buck her hips in that rhythmic way she always does right before she cums. Her breaths get sharper and shorter until she holds her breath and her whole body gets tight.

“Fuck.” I’m groaning and panting, just waiting for her to go over the edge. “Cum, Chuck.”

With a long moan she does. And I do, too. Her spasming walls fuckin’ milk me until I have nothing left to fuckin’ give. I stay inside her until her aftershocks fuckin’ stop. Then I make sure to lay her down gently on her fuckin’ side. I cuddle up behind her and throw my arm around her.

“Mmm,” she hums and places her hand over mine on her belly. “That was nice.”

“You okay, baby girl?” Shit. I guess I do say it when I’m fuckin’ worried.

She giggles. “Yeah, Negan. I’m fine.” She brings my hand to her lips and kisses it. “Just tired now.”

“Well, sleep, sweetheart.” I lean forward to kiss her cheek. “I’ll clean you all up.”

  A few days later, I’m headed off to the cells while I got some free time. I gotta be in the radio room in a couple hours to talk to Rick and Jesus about our plans to get rid of all the fuckin’ biters in the dead zones. It’s starting to get cold enough that they’re slowing the fuck down. Soon, they’ll be frozen fuckin’ solid. That’ll make it easy for us to just fuck ‘em up. Maybe we’ll use chainsaws, or some shit.

Fuck! That sounds bad ass .

Since Rick isn’t gonna be on the horn yet, I decide to see my little prisoner. I promised Chuck I wouldn’t leave The Sanctuary, and I kept that promise. But I was not about to let that slimy fuck Gregory off the hook. So Simon went to Hilltop and brought him to me right after the Eldritch shit went down.

Gregory has been rotting in my cells ever since. I haven’t told Chuck that, though. I’m sure she wouldn’t be okay with this, considering I know how she feels about bloodshed. And I know that she still feels fuckin’ guilty about all the shit that went down with Eldritch. She’s written about it in her diary a lot.

Yeah, yeah. I know it’s kinda shitty to read her journal. But after all that shit happened with us fighting and her being so upset and not telling me, I decided to check up on her a little bit. Without her knowledge.

She doesn’t really keep shit from me altogether. But she definitely has a fuckin’ habit of not telling me the the full extent of things. Like, she’ll tell me she feels bad about something, but in her diary, she says she can’t stop fuckin’ thinking about it.

So I read her journal and then I know what to say to her to make her feel fuckin’ better. It’s really a win/win.

Not to mention that she recounts our fuck sessions. In detail. It’s like reading fuckin’ porn. It gives me something to jerk off to when she’s downstairs.

I turn the music off that I’ve had blasting in his cell 24/7. It’s some annoying as fuck song from a random cd I found in the marketplace. I remembered seeing on tv once that the military would blast fuckin’ Metallica as a form of psychological warfare for their enemies. Figured, if it worked for them...

I whip open the door and Gregory fuckin’ scrambles to cower in the corner.

“Jesus Christ! You smell like shit , Gregs!” I cover my nose with my free hand.

He just whimpers pathetically. He’s fuckin’ naked and covered in goddamn dirt or shit or what-the-fuck-ever. He’s fuckin’ skinny, too. We’ve been feeding him the bare fuckin’ minimum to keep him alive. I guess expired fuckin’ dog food on stale bread still has enough goddamn nutrients in it, though.

“P-Please, Negan,” Gregory whines weakly.

I just laugh under my breath. “And why exactly do you think I should fuckin’ do anything for you? You have been a thorn in my ass from day fuckin’ one. Or do I need to remind you of the shit you’ve done to me?” I raise my hand to count off on my fingers. “One. You got two of my guys killed because you couldn’t handle your shit. Two. You sent Rick and him men to kill me and mine. Three.” I bend down so I can lean into him and spit this right into his fuckin’ face, “you ran off and joined up with the guy that kidnapped my wife . My pregnant wife,” I growl.

“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know.”

I slap him right in his lying fuckin’ face. “You think I believe that for one. goddamn . SECOND!”

He cowers away from me and covers his head, whimpering the whole fuckin’ time like a little bitch.

I take a deep breath and stand. “You’re fuckin’ lucky I don’t have any horses or I’d draw and quarter your ass, you sorry shit. Instead, I allow you to keep breathing. I have my guys bring you specially tailored gourmet meals. Give you some fine ass entertainment.” I point to the speaker in the corner. “So, I think a little ‘thank you’ is in order.”

He stares up at me before choking out a quiet “thank you”.

“Thank you...?” I prompt him to say something further.

“Th-Thank you, sir.”

I do the “keep going” motion. “For...?

He blinks his eyes a bunch of times. “Thank you for not draw and quartering me. And feeding me. And en-entertaining me.”

“There we go!” I call out cheerily. “That wasn’t so goddamn hard.” I turn around to leave. “See ya later, Gregs.” I slam the door shut behind me and start the music back up.

Welp, now I gotta head to the radio room to talk with Rick. And I whistle the whole way.

———   ———

  Chuck finds herself walking around The Sanctuary in boredom since she is in between jobs at the moment. She had taught her class to the kids earlier, then ate lunch with Tonya and Frankie. When they had to get back to work, Chuck started to amble around aimlessly. The only thing she really has to do today is teach her afternoon class and it isn’t for a few more hours.

Chuck knows that Negan and Simon are busy right now, so she can’t hang out with them. They’re both in the radio room talking with Rick about clearing out the dead zones. Negan had told her that it was almost time to start that.

The former wives, Chuck’s only other friends, are also busy at their different jobs.

  Oh, wait. Kayla told me she had the day off today. I can visit with her. Oh, but I remember that she told me she was planning on hanging out with Felix today because he has the day off, too.

Hmm. I don’t want to be a third wheel.

If Kayla’s not in the infirmary, maybe Dr. Carson will want some company. I feel kinda bad that I haven’t really talked to him too much since I stopped working with him. I mean, I’ve talked to him at my checkups, but that’s just professional. He did teach me a lot of stuff and I never really thanked him for it.

You know what, It’s usually slow after lunch. I’ll go visit with Dr. Carson.

  Right before Chuck gets to the infirmary, she passes Dwight.

“Hello,” she greets with a wave. Chuck had gotten to know the man a little bit better after she had returned home from the stuff with Eldritch. Mostly through Sherry. Chuck found that Dwight seemed much lighter now than she thought he was. Maybe it’s because he’s with Sherry and happy, or maybe Chuck just didn’t give him a shot before.

“Hey, Chuck,” he greets back and continues on his way.

Chuck hears Arat, her current body guard, stop Dwight behind her and start to talk with him about something. Arat had told Chuck before that she’s pretty good friends with the man. She figures that Arat will catch up with her in a minute; she is just a little ways down the hall.

When Chuck gets to the infirmary door, she sees that it is shut. Carson usually liked to keep it closed to try to keep out “contaminants”, he said. But he may have a patient in there, so Chuck decides to knock. She raps her knuckles on the door a few times, but gets nothing in response.

“Dr. Carson?” Chuck calls out, thinking that maybe he’s still out for lunch.

Chuck starts to push the door, but something forces it open. Before she realizes what’s really happening, she’s pushed backwards and falls to the floor. And someone is on top of her.

No. Not some one , but some thing . A dead one.

Chuck screams as the biter’s teeth snap right in front of her face. She wedges her forearm under the monster’s chin so it can’t lean its head down to bite her as her other arm tries to push it away. It seems like the encounter lasts forever before the biter is pulled off of her and put down.

Dwight leans down to Chuck. “Don’t get up.” He looks up to Arat, who is pulling her knife out of the biter’s skull. “Get Negan. And Kayla.”

Arat pulls her radio up and starts yelling into it.

Chuck is completely in shock, barely able to process what just happened. When she finally comes to, she feels a set of hands groping at her. “Don’t touch me!” she screams automatically and tries to slap the hands away. “Stop! Don’t hurt me!”

“I’m checking for bites!” Dwight’s voice calls out.

Arat stomps closer to Chuck. “Get away from her!” She leans down and pushes Dwight back. “You’re okay, Chuck. We put it down,” she says more gently. “Are you hurt?”

Chuck takes a few breaths to try to calm down. “Uh...” She knows the biter didn’t sink its teeth into her, but she is still in pain. Mainly in her shoulders and back. “I’m not bit. I need to get off my back, though.”

“You want up or turned?” Arat asks as she smooths Chuck’s hair away from her face.

“Up.” Chuck is trying not to cry in front of all the people that are now crowding around her. But it’s hard. “I’ll lay down in the infirmary.” She just wants to get away from everyone.

Arat gently starts to get Chuck to her feet, making sure not to possibly hurt her further.

“What the holy fucking FUCK is going on here!?” Negan screams as he pushes his way through the crowd.

Chuck immediately starts to sob at the sound of Negan’s voice, unable to hold back any longer. Arat rushes her into the infirmary and sets her on the bed.

“Where the fuck is Kayla?!” Negan’s angry voice from the hall cuts through the walls easily.

“Where’s Dr. Carson?” Chuck asks Arat, who is standing in the middle of the room.

“What?”

“Where’s Dr. Carson?” Chuck repeats looking around the room. He should’ve been there.

“Honey,” Arat responds softly and sits on the edge of the bed, “that was Dr. Carson.”

“What?!” Chuck is shocked. All she saw was teeth. She didn’t realize... “No. It couldn’t-“

Negan rushes into the room with Kayla following. He comes right over to the bed, pushing Arat out of the way, and cups Chuck’s face in his hands. “Are you hurt?” He starts to look her over frantically.

“I’m not bit,” Chuck answers, still trying to understand what exactly happened.

Negan looks over every inch of Chuck’s skin anyway before he turns to Arat. “Get on the fuckin’ horn and get Harlan here. Right. fuckin’. now.”

Arat nods. “Yes, sir.” She exits quickly, closing the door behind her.

“What happened, baby girl?” Negan grabs her hands and holds them tightly in front of her belly.

“I just- It-It happened so fast.” She takes a deep breath to settle herself. “I opened the door and it...” She can’t help the sob that escapes her lips. It wasn’t an it . It was Dr. Carson. “He knocked me down. I pushed him back and kept him from biting me.”

“Did he land on your stomach?” Kayla asks from the other side of the bed.

Chuck, as well as Negan, both look to her, knowing why she’s asking. “I don’t think so. He landed more on my chest, I guess.”

“Check it,” Negan blurts out to Kayla. “Check the baby.”

Kayla moves to one of the cabinets and gets out a handheld fetal Doppler device. She puts the probe on Chuck’s belly and moves around. Soon, a little heartbeat rings out of the small speaker of the machine. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief. But Chuck knows that something could still happen.

“I think you should just rest until Harlan gets here,” Kayla comments after she puts the Doppler instrument away.

Chuck nods and rests both hands on her stomach.

“You want me to put the bed down?” Negan asks, pointing to the inclined head of the bed.

Chuck nods and Negan adjusts the bed so that Chuck can lay down on her side. He steals the pillows from the other bed and tucks them around her belly to make sure she is comfortable.

“That good, baby girl?”

Chuck nods. “Yeah.”

Negan pulls up a chair and sits next to her the whole time they wait for Harlan to arrive from Hilltop. Chuck reaches for Negan’s hand and tucks it under her face, seeking that comfort.

About an hour and a half later, Harlan arrives. And he’s visibly upset. “Where’s my brother?” he asks instantly.

Negan doesn’t turn back to answer. He just keeps his eyes on Chuck as she rests. “Check her first.”

“I want to see my brother’s body,” Harlan says more forcefully.

Negan jumps up and turns to the man still standing by the door. “You fuckin’ check her right now !” he screams in Harlan’s face and points aggressively at him.

“Negan,” Chuck calls out quietly. She doesn’t want Negan to make things worse for Harlan. He did just lose his brother.

Negan seems to get that fact and takes a deep breath. “They took his body outside. You can see him after you fuckin’ check her, okay? There’s nothing you can do for your brother now, but they might be fuckin’ hurt.” He points behind him to Chuck.

Harlan nods and moves around Negan to check Chuck and the baby. The ultrasound looks good and Chuck doesn’t have any cramping or bleeding that would be a sign of miscarriage. He looks at Chuck’s back, too, and says it’s just bruised and would probably be sore for a bit. He orders Chuck bedrest for the next few days, at least, just in case.

Harlan lets out a deep sigh. After he’s finished. “How did it happen?”

Negan looks to Chuck, but she makes no move to answer. Not that she really knows what happened to Carson anyway. The only thing she got a good look at was teeth.

“We don’t know,” Negan answers. “He was the only one. I didn’t really look too fuckin’ close at his body.”

Harlan nods. “I’ll check to see... how he died. If it was fowl play...”

Negan cuts in. “Then I’ll find the fucker and kill him myself.”

Negan tells Kayla she can go with Harlan to look over Carson’s body to determine cause of death. This leaves Chuck and Negan in the room alone.

Negan reaches over from his seat beside the bed and grabs Chuck’s hand. But he doesn’t look at her. He hangs his head low, his gaze to the ground.

He sighs deeply. “I don’t know what more I can fucking do,” he mutters almost to himself.

“What?” Chuck asks.

“It’s like the universe is fucking with me. Every-fucking-thing I do to protect you fails.”

“Come on, Negan.” Chuck responds gently and squeezes his hand. Even though she’s worried about herself and the baby, she’s still worried about Negan, too. “Don’t take this back step. You were doing so well.”

He raises his head with a look of confusion on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“You were moving on from Lucille. Letting go of your guilt over things you couldn’t control. Don’t put this on you.”

Chuck realizes that she has been told that very same thing before. She’s felt guilt for things that really weren’t her fault. She still feels guilty every once in a while. But she’s had people telling her exactly the same thing she’s telling Negan. And it always helped her. Even if just a little bit.

“It’s my job to protect you, Chuck. It always has been. And I’ve fucking failed time and time again.”

Chuck leans forward to sit up and cups his cheek. “I’m still here because of you. Please, Negan. I’m asking you. Don’t let any of this eat you up. Please.”

His eyes mist over. “We could still lose the baby,” he whispers.

Chuck’s own tears start to fall. “I know,” she chokes out. “I’m scared, too. But if...” She doesn’t want to even say it. “If it happens... I would need you so much, Negan. If you would retreat into yourself again... I couldn’t get through it by myself.”

He shakes his head and wipes harshly at his eyes. “I would never leave you. In any way. No matter fuckin’ what.” He leans forward to rest his forehead on hers. “I just want you safe,” he whispers.

Kayla and Harlan come back in, both with red faces and puffy eyes. Looking at Carson’s body must have been extremely hard for them.

Harlan takes a tremulous breath. “I think it was natural.” He sighs and wipes his eye. “Probably a heart attack or stroke. I didn’t see anything that looked like violence on his body.”

Negan nods. “At least we don’t have a fuckin’ murderer on our hands.”

Chuck clears her throat to speak up. “I’m sorry, Dr. Harlan. Emmett was a good man,” she chokes out.

After a few minutes of silence, Negan, Harlan, and Kayla get Chuck into a wheelchair and use the freight elevator to get her upstairs so she can rest at home. Negan dismisses Kayla and tells Harlan to wait in his office while he gets Chuck changed into her nightshirt and into bed.

  ——— Negan’s POV ———

I get Chuck into bed and tell her to yell if she needs me. I’m only gonna be a fuckin’ room away, but I still don’t wanna leave her. I have to talk to Harlan, though. And Chuck needs rest. She needs to stay calm and fuckin’ rest. And I’m gonna do everything I fuckin’ can to make sure my baby girl and my little princess are fuckin’ fine.

When I go into my office, Harlan is pacing. I can’t fuckin’ blame him. He thought his brother was dead, got him back, then lost him a few months later. That fuckin’ sucks.

“I’m sorry, man,” I pat him in the shoulder.

“Yeah.” He nods. “I guess I got a little bit of extra time with him, at least.”

I know Carson kept in touch with his brother through the radio. So, at least they fuckin’ had that.

I gesture back to my desk. “Why don’t you have a seat.”

He sits in the chair in front of my desk as I sit in my chair. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Good. Then I won’t have to waste time telling you that you’re moving here to The Sanctuary.”

“Hilltop is my home. They need me.”

“Did you forget that Hilltop is fuckin’ mine ? You work for me and I will tell you where your goddamn home is. Got it?”

He glares back at me. “I can stay and make sure Chuck and the baby are okay, but after that-“

I don’t let him finish because I’m getting pissed off. “Well that’s mighty fuckin’ big of you, Doc, but this shit is more than just Chuck and my kid. There are two hundred fuckin’ people living in this building. And another hundred in my outposts that come here for medical treatment when they fuckin’ need it. How many people are at HIlltop?”

He looks away because he gets my point already. “Fifty, maybe.”

“Now, if my math is fuckin’ right, that’s one sixth of the population we got here. And now we got no doctor. So tell me it makes more sense for me to keep you at fucking Hilltop.”

He nods slowly, accepting what I’m fuckin’ telling him.

“If you got a fuckin’ family or a girlfriend or whatever, they can come here, too. I’m not a fuckin’ monster.”

“It’s just me.”

I nod. “You got an assistant or anything at your office?”

He clears his throat. “One of the women that you rescued and brought to Hilltop was a registered nurse before. She’s been working with me.”

I didn’t know that one of those girls was an RN. “Those fuck heads had a nurse chained up? Jesus Christ! Medical knowledge is like fuckin’ gold now and all those guys thought about was sticking their dicks in her.” I shake my head. “I’m fuckin’ glad I killed those bastards.”

Harlan shrugs a little. “She knows her stuff.”

“Then Hilltop will be fuckin’ fine without you. You can always talk you your nurse assistant on the radio if she needs fuckin’ help. And any Hillfolk that need you are more than fuckin’ welcome to come here. I’ll talk to Jesus later about it.” Jesus is gonna be pissed, but what-the-fuck-ever. He’ll get over it.

Harlan nods again. I can tell he’s not fuckin’ happy about moving here, but he can see that it makes more fuckin’ sense for him to be where there are more people in need of his goddamn services.

“Carson’s room was on the first floor,” I explain, “just down the hall from the infirmary. That will be your room. But if you don’t wanna stay there tonight, if you want it fuckin’ cleaned out first, I’ll provide you another room.”

“No.” he answers quickly. “I can stay there. I want to clean it out myself.”

I nod. If that’s what he wants to do, I’ll let him. “So...” I take a deep breath and lean forward on the desk, not really wanting to ask, but I have to. “What is the outlook for Chuck and the baby?”

He shrugs. “Everything sounds good. And there wasn’t any trauma to the stomach. But I can’t say definitively. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

I lean back into my chair and scrub an my face with my hand. “How long?”

“A few days. If there’s no bleeding or cramping, then she can resume normal activities. But she should try to stay in bed until then.”

“Oh, she fuckin’ will.”

I dismiss Harlan and go back into the bedroom. Chuck is laying on her side, her hand lazily rubbing on her stomach. And I can tell that she’s fuckin’ crying.

“You okay, baby girl?” I sit on the edge of the bed beside her and set my hand on her shoulder.

“She’s kicking,” is all she says. Then she laughs a little. Like the weight of the world is off her fuckin’ shoulders. But it’s also cautious, like she doesn’t want to accept it, yet.

I move my other hand to her belly and feel the movement, too. And I laugh in the same fuckin’ way she did.

[chwpromoblog]

TATE AHADI. college sophomore; nineteen. cengiz al. OPEN.

and, as travis birkenstock once said:

“I joined this program and there's steps. There's...uh..”

BEFORE THE PARTY;

If you had to describe Tate Ahadi in any way, it would be the human equivalent of a puppy. The guy was a great big ball of positive energy. He was one of the rare people who lived in Rosewood that didn’t find themselves thrown into any of the childish teenage factions that came up. He sort of just floated over all of that, that being because no one could tie him down with that ridiculousness. If he wanted to talk to someone, he was going to do it. Their financial background, the number of followers they had on instagram or what they wore on their body wasn’t going to stop him from being kind of his fellow man. Sure, there were people who hated the fact that he was this great big ball of energy and they wished to stomp that out of him but Tate refused to be anything but the cheerful person that he was. In fact, he didn’t feel anger towards those who went out of their way to be mean to others. No, he felt sorry for them. They were obviously acting this way because they couldn’t find a decent dealer.

You see, Tate lived quite the mellow life. All he needed in this life was his trusty skateboard and weed. How he saw it, why be mean towards people when you could just save all that energy and light up a spliff? That seemed like a better time for everyone involved. And trust him, he knew this for a fact. 

Just take a look at his last name. Ahadi. It wasn’t his original last name, merely one given to him when Mr. and Mrs. Ahadi adopted him at the young age of two. Sure, he along with his adoptive brothers were highly regarded by his father. The heirs to his kingdom, the men that would keep the Ahadi name well and alive long after his death. But Tate knew that his adoption had solely been a product of business and tradition. Before Tate and his two young brothers had joined the Ahadi family, his father and mother had already been blessed with a child. A daughter, by the name of Jupiter. Tate often referred to the eldest Ahadi child as best sister anyone could ask for and she truly was. But his father wanted sons, because no one could take away their families name then. So rather than risk the chance having more daughters, he took luck in his own hands. He adopted three sons, all of Middle Eastern decedent to raise in his image. Now, it wasn’t that Tate was thankful for the life that he’d been given because he indeed was but as he got older, he just saw his adoption for what it was. Rather than allowing Jupiter, a perfectly capable and intelligent woman take on the mantle... his dad had given him this amazing life so that he could take on the a business. 

One that Tate didn’t even want. Not that Tate would ever say this aloud— he was scared to even think how it was that the man would react at the news. He was sure that to his father, he was indebted to him. Whether he wanted the family business or not, Tate would have a hand in it.

So how was a kid to deal with that overwhelming pressure? With weed, of course. He still remembered the first time he’d taken a pull. It was at a Rosewood party that Jupiter had dragged him to, she could tell that he’d needed it due to the fact he just couldn’t put the words to paper. What better way to clear up some writer's block than with a party? A party in which his sister and the coolest guy to ever walk the streets of Rosewood, Pink Floyd lit him up. Sunny Sativa was what he’d been given. He would never forget that night. Not would he forget how good everything was when high. Music was better, food was a whole lot better, life was better. 

That night he’d been introduced to his escape and truth be told, he’d never let it go. Tate probably hasn’t been sober since that night when he was sixteen and he liked it that way. 

But don’t think that just because he’s lived this mellow life, it means that he’d slacked off and became some sort of bum. Not at all. Mostly because the Ahadi’s wouldn’t have accepted that from their son. While Tate was a bit of a spaz— when it came to school, he was definitely intelligent. The guy was more than capable to hold his own with the smarter students that Ravenwood University had to offer. Don’t worry, the student body and faculty had been just as shocked as you probably are right now. No seriously, they had been so skeptical of his intelligence that they made him take his SAT twice just to be sure he hadn’t cheated his way to his score. But his scores had only improved the second time he took it. Tate Ahadi was actually really smart, genuinely so and that intelligence had allowed him to create such things like the cross joint, not only a beauty to behold but an innovation to the joint game. 

Actually if you venture underneath the house that that Tri Lamb built, you’ll find that he’s been putting those agricultural and civil engineering majors to good use. He’d was growing his own strains of marijuana in the basement, solely for scientific purposes. And yeah, sure he sold it to a couple of his friends every so often. But it was strictly for science and he would stick to that.

Tate refused to surround himself with anymore shady activity, he had enough of that trying to navigate the family business. Not only that but he had a lady to win over. And sure, his own weed lair could probably do that for him but he’d rather win her over with his gentlemanly charm. Oh and his jokes, of course. 

Who was the lucky lady? Taissa Manaying. Just like the day he’d smoked his first blunt, he remembered the day the two met vividly. In the dining hall, during lunch on September thirteenth. They bonded over a sick drawing of  Usagi Tsukino on display on the front of her notebook. As their eyes met, Tate felt something he’d never felt before. His heart began to race out of his chest, his hands suddenly got clammy and he couldn’t stop smiling. It was like love at first sight, he swore he felt that fat babies arrow and everything. For a while there, the two were inseparable. But like most great things in Ravenwood, that didn’t last for very long. Taissa had also become friends with Chanel Horowitz, who had basically made her her personal Barbie doll. Everything he’d come to like about Taissa was suddenly gone. The awesome band tees were replaced with expensive blouses, her crazy curly hair he’d stick messages in was now super straight.... and sure, Taissa looked beautiful but at what price? Making her yet another one of those rich girl types that looked down at guys like him? 

If anything had the power to mess with his high, it was that.

DURING THE PARTY;

You could only imagine how disappointed Tate was when his best friends, Egan Uppal and Rowan Wang had bailed on the party. Not that he wouldn’t have fun at the party without them, but there was nothing like a party with your best buds by your side. But his disappointment would soon be the last thing on his mind as he’d somehow gotten the attention of Taissa. 

Taissa, who looked like a total babe that evening. Not that she didn’t always, but man... tonight, he was just speechless at the sight of her. He got over it after a shake to his head, but still... he was in awe of her that evening. Luckily, for him, it seemed like she felt the same way. So often, Taissa and him were interrupted by Chanel, Dylan or one of the meatheads that were into her but tonight, it was just them. No one was coming between them and he couldn’t be happier with how the evening that turning out.

Actually, he found a way to be even happier. He was not only getting to spend time with Taissa but he was getting to smoke on a roof with her as well. He couldn’t wait to tell his friends all about this, they would probably tease him and tell him that he was lying but this was real. He’d pinched himself, he was still right next to Taissa enjoying the finest weed he’d grown. Tate had been staring at her for a moment, she was really beautiful. How was someone this stunning? He’d turned away from her, for only a second to pull out another joint to find that Taissa was no longer next to him. 

Rather, the shingles on the roof had began to slip and they were taking her with them. Tate didn’t hesitate to spring into action, grabbing her arm before she fell over the edge of the party. Below, a crowd had began to form. They screamed at him to pull her up, not that he intended on letting her go. Never. He mustered whatever strength he could, which wasn’t much given he was all bones but he’d managed to get her over the edge and into his arms. The crowd below broke into applause, but he didn’t care about that due to the fact that his heroics had gotten him a kiss from Taissa Manaying. 

It’d gotten him several actually.

It only cemented what he already knew, he really loved parties.

alternate faceclaims and prompts.

[artificialqueens]

Crossing pt. I (Katlaska) - sebald

A/N: [4574 words] Sex is sex. The rest is just noise.

The fat dick lies limp in Justin’s hands, and a small part of him wants to cry at how utterly pathetic his sex life has become.

It's a sad sight, reminding him vaguely of the first time he’d tried to cook sausages in college. Having been completely unblessed with any culinary skill or instinct, and being deathly afraid of burning their mousehole of an apartment down, he had taken the sausages out after a minute in the pan. His roommate had thrown one at him after a bite, complaining that it was cold as a dead man’s cock inside.

He’d rather cold sausage than a hopelessly limp dick, but Justin tries not to look disappointed. Limp dick is still better than no dick, he convinces himself. And anyway, he’s a fairly polite person. He even pretends to ignore Clark's showboating moan when he finally begins half-heartedly sucking at the tip.

He wishes he’d turned the TV on. He could be watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians right now. The human turd that is Scott Disick would excite him more than this frankly insulting cock.

Justin can’t complain too much. He gets it. If he ever ended up naked in a hotel room with an equally naked Bette White, his dick would probably shrink down to the size of a tic-tac, if not just fall off and scamper away under the bed. It wouldn’t be because she’s a woman, but because she’s Bette Fucking White, and it would be more surreal than the one time he and Brian played Street Fighter II after sharing a tray of edibles. Point being, it would be overwhelming. Of course, Justin would never actually dare invite Bette to bed–not because he’s gay and about six decades younger than her, but because he’s smart and considerate enough to know that he wouldn’t be able to deliver where it counts. Unfortunately, the carousel of men he’s had in his carousel of hotel rooms have not been as smart or considerate. About 70 percent of Justin’s sex life these days consist of an impressive number of men with very unimpressive dicks. He wouldn’t even really mind if they were race chasers, he just wanted an erect fucking dick, goddammit.

Clark keeps groaning and moaning above him, putting on a full show, but his dick is still only barely upright. Justin is both appreciative and annoyed. He pulls off the salty tip and proceeds to lick long stripes right down to the balls, but Clark, apparently determined to cross the line between embarrassing and infuriating, suddenly grabs Justin’s head with his clammy hands and starts grinding his nuts on Justin’s face, slobbering out an unconvincing growl that sounds straight out of a budget porno on the “rough gay” tag on Pornhub.

Christ. Justin pushes away from him. “Easy, cowboy.”

For his part, Clark has the decency to look apologetic, even putting his large hands up like he’d just been served a warrant. “Sorry, Lasky.”

“Justin, please,” he reminds firmly, getting up from the bed and walking to the fridge. He always makes it a point to introduce himself as Justin, hoping it would help separate him from the whole TV persona, but it doesn’t always work. He pulls two bottles of water out and tosses one to Clark.

“Right. Justin. Sorry,” he says. He catches the bottle and thankfully seems to realize the implicit signal that comes along with it. “Guess that’s it for tonight, huh?”

We should be asking your malfunctioning penis that, he wants to say, but he told himself he’d be nice. “It’s getting late anyway. Early flight tomorrow. Sorry.”

“No biggie.“ Clark shrugs magnanimously, as if he’s the slighted party who’s willing to overlook Justin’s sexual incapacity. Completely unacceptable! Justin is a champion cocksucker. Even his drag is inferior to his cocksucking prowess.

Smiling stiffly, Justin bids Clark a firm goodbye. "Should I call front desk to get you a cab?”

Heeding his signal, Clark declines and says he’ll grab himself an Uber. In three minutes flat, he's dressed up and making his way out, wisely choosing not to say anything more than a “Have a good night.”

Justin washes his face and brushes his teeth, resigning himself to another night alone with his own hand. It’s not as if he’s addicted to sex or anything like that. Once or twice every few weeks–months, even–is enough to get him by. The rest of his days he’s quite content doing it all by himself. It’s more the warmth that he misses, and the Mobius strip of receiving pleasure from giving pleasure and so on. He’s not actively looking to land himself a boyfriend either. There are perks to living the prime of his life as a single gay man. Sure, he gets a lot of disappointing race chasers, but he’s also had his fair share of mind-blowing sex. So he’s far from unhappy.

Still, it’s hard not to feel so alone at times.

He blames hotel rooms. They’re not conducive to happiness, not with the way their bareness announces impermanence. He knocks down his shaving cream and deodorant sitting on the counter, seeing if the slight mess would take away from how sparse and clean and impersonal the whole set-up is. It doesn’t.

Collapsing into bed, he picks his phone up, intending to pull up the ever-reliable 50-Load Weekend and get his erection over with. He's welcomed instead with one message from Willam (“Bitch I took more trade dick today than Brent Corrigan ever did in his entire twinkfant life”) and a string of texts from Brian–six consecutive messages only saying “!!!” and a seventh one saying “Joanne!!!!”

He hits Brian back with an “?”, congratulates Willam on his success, and goes back to his search for porn. But just as he makes it to his porn folder, his phone pings with another message. Jesus must not want him to jack off today.

Brian: Forgive me mawma for I have sinned.

Justin: Elaborate?

Brian: I’m sorry I sound like I’m joking but I’m really serious. Please don’t hate me.

Justin: I already hate you. What do you want?

Brian: I want love. Tonight I wanted it in the form of a threesome. Which I might have jokingly suggested to Sharon and Chad. And which they might not have taken so jokingly. Which might have led to an actual threesome.

Justin raises a brow. It’s a thought he’s entertained in the past, being in a threesome with those two. For all their troubles, Aaron had always been good in bed, and Justin has the distinct feeling that Chad might enjoy railing him out of spite. But the waters are too complicated to tread for it to be worth a go.

His phone rings with a call before he can think up a reply. “Hello Miss Minaj,” he greets.

“Hey.” Brian’s voice is subdued. “I’m sorry. Are you mad?”

“Girl, no.”

“You have every right to be.”

“Honestly, Brian, it’s totally fine. Fuck all my exes. Literally. They’re all good lays.” He cackles a little. “So how was it?”

Brian hesitates. “It was okay.”

“I’ve slept with Sharon. There’s no way it was just okay,” he chides. “In fact she’d be offended at that tepid description and might never talk to you again. Spill.”

He can hear Brian relaxing on the other end. “Well, if you insist. Sharon was a mouthful, but Chad basically drilled a hole right through my pharynx and out the back of my head.”

“Bigger than Sharon? No way.”

“Oh, all the way, mawma.”

Justin whistles.

“Catch this though–I thought they might have wanted to get all up in my ass or something, because they give off that creepy domineering Dracula tandem vibe, right? But, twist of twists, we ended up spitroasting Chad.”

“Huh. That fucks up my threesome fantasies with them.”

“You have threesome fantasies with them?”

“Of course. Congratulations on living my dream.”

“Eh, it was just all right. It was hot in theory, but they were both way too into each other for it to be anything remarkable on my end. I felt more like a volunteer called up to stage by a magician. Like I was there participating, but it was a kinda detached, voyeuristic participation, and I wasn’t in on the magician’s secret. And in this case there were two magicians, and them chuckling at things I didn’t understand and sending sticky glances to each other the whole night was kind of a boner killer.”

Justin shrugs off the slight sting he feels to hunger. He hasn’t had a proper dinner, has he? Yes, that’s what it is. “Well, that’s better than flaccid trade, girl.”

Brian lets out a whoosh of air in sympathy. “Sorry. Tonight?”

“Yep. Some budget John Stamos dude I picked up at Flaming Saddles.”

“Chaser? Or just another lonely stranger?”

“Chaser, definitely. Bought me a drink to congratulate me on All Stars, and then kept calling me Alaska after I’d insisted he call me Justin thrice. But he looked kinda hot and the last I got laid was like a month ago, so I took a chance.”

“And?”

“And nothing. Limp dick. Rubbed his nuts on my face like I’m a fucking towel. It was hopeless. I more or less kicked him out.”

“You didn’t come?”

“Nope.” He toys with his dick. It’s dead weight in his hand now, his erection having died down. “Maybe later. I’ll think of your threesome. But maybe with me in Chad’s place.”

“That already sounds hotter than how it really went. Think Sharon will be up for it?”

“Sharon, maybe. But Chad would only consent to it if you and Sharon were fucking my rotting corpse.”

“Now there’s a hot image. My dick’s getting stiff again.”

Justin laughs. “Fuck off.”

“I should fuck off now, actually. I realize that it’s three o'clock,” he concedes. “Brenda just wouldn’t let me go to sleep without telling you.”

“Well, tell Brenda she doesn’t get to impinge on my sleep schedule either.”

Brian cackles. “Like you were sleeping. Fifty bucks says you were rubbing it out to Dawson.”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner,” he says, while unsuccessfully suppressing a yawn. “Unfortunately it’s not my dead erection.”

“Shall I talk you through? My university guidance counselor told me I could be the most successful phone sex operator in Boston if I put all my time and effort into it.”

“I dunno, you sound like a dying grandfather at your sexiest. Talk me to sleep like my Grandpa Joe used to, though. I’d appreciate it more.”

Brian wheezes, and Justin smiles sleepily.

“You’re a fucking cuntwhore, you know that? But actually, yes, I do have a story to torture you with.”

“Thrilling.”

“Shut up. So yesterday I arrived in Pittsburgh, and Lola was supposed to pick me up, but of course she overslept—”

“Or pretended to have overslept. I have a text from her saying her ex came by yesterday morning with a very moving oral apology.”

“That bitch. Well anyway she left me sitting in the airport feeling like Joan Crawford, except I didn’t even have a Mamacita to keep me company. So I sit next to this old Asian lady knitting some pattern, and what do you know, it’s a fucking ‘Make America Great Again’ scarf. So I’m all confused right, because Trump hates immigrants and all, but I remembered what you said about not cutting ties with Trumpers and republicans, because that’s not gonna get us anywhere, right? So I very politely try to engage her in conversation, but she didn’t speak a lick of English—”

“Or was pretending not to,” he says through a yawn.

“Yes! Exactly my thought, so I persisted, asking her why she was making the scarf and even complimenting her on skill—which, I know shit about knitting, so she could probably tell that it was all bullshit. After a while, I think she got tired of me and she finally said, in very broken English, that she hated Americans like me, because she worked very hard to become a legal American citizen while I got born in this quote unquote great country, and now I’m wanting to open it up to the rest of the world all willy nilly, when I know absolutely nothing about immigrants. And then I kind of just shut up, because she’s right, I don’t know anything beyond broad liberal ideals, so even if she’s politically and morally in the wrong she’s still one up on the ladder of understanding the plight of immigrants more than my white ass ever can. But there’s got to be a middle ground, it can’t just be, I dunno, I’m white and she’s Asian, so I automatically lose the debate—it’s not even about a debate, I just want to understand. I left her alone because she wasn’t having any of my questions anymore, and—”

Justin grunts and hums in the appropriate pauses, still awake enough to make a mental note to tell Brian how he’d sorta patched things up with is republican aunt, but not awake enough to vocalize his thoughts. He picks up on flashes of Brian’s monologue, at one point talking about his sad airplane food, and much, much later, about how pretty Pittsburgh is and how he sees why Justin stayed there for as long as he did. Justin imagines that he was able to give an enthusiastic response to that, but perhaps he was dreaming it.

The next day, when he wakes up, he has three texts. One from his manager, sending him his flight details. One from Sharon, telling him of the threesome. And one from Brian, billing him for the cost of the call and for his professional service as a storytelling grandfather.

Justin: I'd pay you 10k via PayPal but I already donated to charity this year. How about a ten-dollar dinner when we’re both in LA? You can spill the threesome’s sordid details in your full breadth of expression.

Brian: Bump it up to $20 and call it date. I get home Saturday.

Justin: Me too. $18 and tip’s on you.

Brian: Fine. See you, snake lady <3 

~~~

The only thing Brian loves more than his mother’s Christmas peppermint cookies is a warm, pert ass to cushion his face against as he dives in to explore new horizons with his searching tongue–as a respectful visitor, of course, and not an oppressive white colonizer staking his loveflag on unmarked territory. He has lost two seasons of Drag Race, but really, he’s still a winner, and his prize is a multitude of very willing bedmates across the globe. (Well, across the northwestern hemisphere anyway, and then confine that to only the major cosmopolitan centers. The neocolonial claws of American gay culture only extend so far.) With a mix of fascination and envy, he listens to Willam's detailed story of a threesome with two closeted Afro-Asian sportswear models in Tokyo, to Milk's vague allusions to a hookup with a local volunteer in Zambia, and to Justin's tragic retelling of how he sadly had to turn down a Filipino stripper offering to blow him in a club because his show was to start in five minutes. But Brian doesn’t allow himself to be too sad about the limits of his sexual map so far–it just means there’s more beautiful men for him to explore in the future.

Tonight’s ass is new to him, but the face and the place isn’t. He almost laughs into Justin’s asshole when Justin predictably whines for him to get in with his dick already. He ignores the pleas and slows down even more, spreading his cheeks further apart and rimming his entrance at a torturous pace.

“Fuck, Brian,” Justin pants, instinctively moving his ass away from oversensitivity, but Brian grips his hips and pulls him back. He can feel him quivering under his tongue. “Go fucking slower, by all means." Brian is impressed by how he manages to say it with enough sarcasm, even through his shaky breathing.

"Patience, you petulant child," he chastises, slapping Justin's ass lightly before moving his head up to trail his tongue along Justin's spine while finally pushing two fingers in. Justin actually mewls and shivers as his back dips in a concave, and Brian has never understood the perverse allure of bestiality, but he almost comes right then.

"I’m so open, fuck. Please," Justin pleads, his arms going out under him, his body now forming a steep slope, ass at the apex. Brian marvels for a moment about what a long and endless stretch of a human being Justin is before finally deciding to take mercy on the poor, shaking boy—and on himself, really, as he feels about ready to come untouched just from the sight and sensation of Justin’s hole crudely clamping around his fingers.

"All right, since you asked so nicely,” Brian says playfully. He gently retracts his hand and drops a kiss on top of Justin's almost concerningly prominent tailbone before tumbling down from the couch. He twists himself over to reach for his discarded jeans under Justin's messy coffee table, burdened by their empty pizza box—fancy veggie pizza from a fancy trend-cashing hipster place down the street actually, and Justin paid the tip before Brian could take out his wallet. Justin threw a water bottle at his head when he started chiding him for the overpriced pizza choice.

“Oh my god.” Justin huffs at the pause in action and collapses down onto the couch, turning sideways to watch impatiently as Brian fishes through his pockets for his wallet. He starts stroking himself, the insatiable whore. While it’s a stunning visual that Brian stores away in his mental porn archive, right under “Video: Chubby Bear Takes Hit From Bong Dildo Lodged Up Hipster Twink’s Ass," he tuts and bats the hand away with a stern look.

"No. You’d come way too early and embarrass us both.”

“At the rate you’re going, neither of us are ever going to come,” Justin grumbles, but he keeps his hands away. "Edging is purgatory. I’d like the sweet release of paradise someday.“

Brian grins and goes back to his wallet, but there is only a Chipotle receipt in the spot where his condoms usually are. He looks up at Justin sheepishly. "Bad news, Dante. I’m out. Where do you keep yours?”

“Oooh. The lady is a traaaamp,” Justin sings teasingly, pulling his plastic lips back in a parody of a sensual smile. “Bedroom. Nightstand drawer. You get it, I’m not standing up.”

“Aye, aye, cap'n,” Brian says with a salute. He gets to his feet and begins walking out of the living room. "Hurry up!“ Justin calls after him, and Brian looks over his shoulder and grins wickedly as he slows down. He gets a pillow thrown at him for his efforts, and he cackles and speeds up to avoid it.

He’s only been inside Justin’s room once, and very briefly at that, when he and Courtney crashed Justin's apartment after a gig together in downtown LA. Courtney was wasted beyond help, and Justin’s place was close by, so Brian rang him at three in the morning and asked if Courtney could rest his pretty little Australian bird wings for the night. Justin waited for them at his steps, and together the two of them hauled Courtney from the Lyft to the bedroom. There was really only room for two people on the bed, so Brian bid them goodnight and faceplanted on the couch for eleven hours straight.

Justin’s room is a drag dump. Brian wades through piles of shimmering fabric and spiky heels before reaching the bedside drawer, which is surprisingly organized. There’s a basket of condoms, a bottle of lube, three black pens, and two notebooks. Nosily, he peeks into the notebook on top, and he’s met with sketch after beautiful sketch of cartoonish women–or woman, perhaps, as they seem to be varied iterations of Alaska, all big-haired and possessing of that unearthly hourglass figure. While the features are constant, their expressions run the gamut of human emotion. Some are, predictably, fierce and modelesque. Others are bright and toothy-smiled. Others are in tearful telenovela hysterics. Others still are grotesquely furious, only heightened by Alaska’s already excessively arched brows.

The one that stands out the most to Brian is the one where she’s expressionless, depthless. It’s the same size, same features, same ink, applied with the same weight as all the other sketches, but it seems smaller, less present somehow. Blank. It’s unsettling.

Brian doesn’t go farther than that, pushing the drawer shut and making his way back to Justin.

"How generous of you to remember that I’m sitting here, ass loose and buck-ass naked,” he quips. He’s got his long legs crossed and hanging off the arm of the couch, his Mae West smile a bawdy intrusion upon the grace of his equine features. All thoughts of the sketches evaporate from Brian's mind at the ridiculous sight.

“Your room is messier than the group-on dressing rooms we had at BOTS.” He massages Justin’s rim and then prompts him to turn over and drape himself over the arm of the couch. He gamely obliges. “Let’s pray your anal cavity isn’t half as bad.”

“Don’t worry, I douched. I thought I might meet someone at The Abbey tonight.”

Brian rubs the tip of his condom-clad dick around Justin’s entrance, and Justin’s back muscles melt at the gesture. “Hm. Too bad you’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, only barely. “You’re fucking terrible.” Brian pushes in then, reducing Justin to a surprised moan.

Justin relaxes quickly, opening up to his thrusts and receiving them with abandon, like he has faith in Brian and believes that he would give nothing but the best fucking that he could. Brian moves his hips in small circular motions, experimenting and trying to find that one spot that would send Justin keening. In the process, he has to grip the base of his cock to keep himself from coming before he finds Treasure Island. It’s difficult, with how tight and warm Justin is around him, not to mention the the way he’s running up and down the scale from deep grunts to breathy whimpers. It’s like every inch of Justin’s rectum—hell, his entire body—corresponds to a unique noise. It’s an impressive range Brian has discovered so far. If he fucks Justin long enough, he’s sure Justin can dethrone Mariah Carey.

They’ve spent too long sending each other into near-orgasm for this to really last a respectable amount of time, and soon Justin is a trembling mess beneath his equally trembling hands. He pulls out and stumbles down on the sofa, pulling the panting Justin over his lap and kissing his comedown away. Justin kisses back gamely, like he hadn’t just been fucked over to the next plane of existence.

Justin laughs into his mouth and then pulls away. He rests his head on Brian’s shoulder and talks to his neck. “I feel like a fucking teenager.”

“You come like a fucking teenager,” Brian confirms. He wipes Justin’s hair off his forehead, but Justin shakes his head like a dog and sends sweat flying toward Brian.

“Better that than your slow-ass grandpa thrusts.” He smirks. And then, as if to prove his agile youth, he jumps off Brian in one clean motion. It’s hardly an impressive feat, but Justin, who has all the grace of a fumbling fawn, looks mighty proud of himself. Brian smiles, until Justin offers a hand out. “Time for your bath, gramps.”

Brian kicks him but takes his hand. “Is this how you won All Stars? Gerontophilia?”

Justin taps the side of his head with a finger, like he’s passing on some wise secret. “Gotta know how to play the game.”

Brian nods as he gets up and lets Justin pull him to the bathroom. "I’ll keep it in mind for All Star 3: All-Star All Stars, where I duke it out with Raven for second place.“

"Oh my god.” Justin halts walking and buckles over in laughter, tears collecting in his eyes. Brian has to drag the dysfunctional Laughing Track of a human being to the bathroom and push him in the tub.

“You’re a handful,” Brian sighs as he settles in the tub as well, facing Justin.

“I’ve been told.” Justin reaches up behind him and gets the warm water going.

“Can it, Joanne. Not bigger than Chad.”

Justin shoots him an intrigued look. “Is he really?”

“Bigger? Yeah. Although size is immaterial for bottoms. And you’re a much better bottom.”

Justin preens and shakes his imaginary peacock feathers. "Thank you,“ he inflects in Tatianna’s voice. "Don’t tell Sharon, but I think you’re a better top.”

Brian laughs. “You whore. You’ll say anything to get dick up your ass.”

“Playing the game, I told you.” Justin shrugs. He swirls a finger in the two inches of water collecting around their feet. “Honestly though? I don’t care too much for it. Sometimes it’s more work than it’s worth.”

Brian cocks his head to the side. “You coulda skipped douching. I’ve never tried scat, but I’m open to new possibilities.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t,” Justin observes teasingly. He reaches behind him for a bar of soap and runs it through the water before sliding it across his legs. “I’ll keep it in mind next time.”

“Next time?” Brian asks, smirking. He reaches out to steal the soap for his own use. “I know you like this cock.”

“I’ve never prided myself on having good taste,” Justin retorts, sticking his tongue out. He kicks the bar of soap out of Brian’s grasp and into the water. Brian chuckles and picks it back up as Justin settles down and continues. “I was about ready to whore myself out downtown tonight. I never did get around to coming since that night you called me.”

“I actually was going to let Trixie set me up with a friend of her boyfriend for drinks after our little artisanal pizza dinner—” another kick, dangerously near his balls this time. Brian shields himself and continues, “but your skeletal system allure was too much to resist. I texted the guy and told him I had the runs.”

“You’re not being subtle about your scat fantasy, are you?”

“Well if there’s anyone I trust to make me see the merits of scat, it’s your filthy ass.”

“Okay, I’ve never done scat and have no particular desire to try.” He slides down and submerges himself in the water now that it’s filled up half the tub.

Brian’s surprised at how easy it had been for him and Justin to fall in bed together. Well, couch. One minute they were having a kiki over Sharon’s insane come control, the next Brian was demonstrating some random trade’s sloppy grandpa kisses on Justin’s mouth. And then it was the most sensible thing to start making out heatedly, until they were both naked and sucking each other off.

That’s three Ru girls down. Brian quite enjoys sleeping with them, he decides. No pressure, and no overwhelmed, limp dick. Maybe he’ll ask Trix and her boyfriend if they’re down for some three-way fun times next.

In the meantime, when Justin emerges from the water, Brian’s there to greet him with a soapy kiss.

[ellahmacdermott]

Living on Bitcoin for a Week in San Francisco

When I decided, maybe against my better judgement, to live on bitcoin for a week, the plan was met by a combination of cautions and jokes from friends and loved ones: “Just don’t starve,” “Well, it’s the New Year, a perfect time to start a new diet,” “Will you be able to eat?”, “Have you really thought about it?”

I had “really” thought about it and it seemed not only sensible but necessary. Nakamoto’s white paper calls Bitcoin an “Electronic Cash System,” and I hadn’t stressed the cryptocurrency’s utility as an actual method of payment.

My experiment would likely validate the strong opinions of skeptics (to whom bitcoin is either some nebulous scam at its worst or an outrageously valued trinket for prodigal hobbyists at its best) and that camp of maximalists who believe that bitcoin isn’t and never was digital cash.

It’s a problem that Kashmir Hill ran into when she did her own experiments, more so in 2013 than 2014. In 2013, her final conclusion was that she had “survived” the week, but by 2014, she had herself a ball spending bitcoin. She went from conquering San Francisco’s hilly landscape on foot and bike in 2013 (and the occasional, simple pleasure of pizza and cupcakes) to the luxury of Uber rides, wine tours and even a strip club visit just a year later.

She did well for herself the second go at it. I want to be able to do even better.

That as my mindset going into my own version of the experiment, picking up five years later from where Hill had left off. If she survived on her first attempt, then I damn well ought to be able to thrive, I thought, going into it.

Boy, was I dead wrong.

A day or two in was all it would take to break this expectation as I soon learned that my experience would be unlike either of Hill’s. I anticipated great merchant adoption and with it a greater variety of services through which to use my bitcoin. I thought I was walking into a more vibrant Bitcoin scene than half a decade ago, an opportunity rich with ways I could offload my coin.

Instead, I found (at least in San Francisco) that fewer merchants take bitcoin now than they did before and that the Bay area’s Bitcoin community, excepting those still active in it, had receded into altcoin enthusiasm and the flowering industry of “blockchain not Bitcoin” that had become the new darling of tech VCs and entrepreneurs.

Those still involved in the community took care of me though, and the week was just as easy or as difficult as I wanted to make it.

Living on Bitcoin Day 1: “That’s Not Going to Work”

I set out to live on bitcoin for a week in San Francisco.

Living On Bitcoin Day 2: Being “Unbanked” Has Been Easy … But Also Hard

On Day 2 of living on bitcoin experiment in San Francisco, I go on the hunt for some bitcoin-friendly eateries.

Living on Bitcoin Day 3: Brother, Can You Take a Sat?

I desperately comb the streets of San Francisco, hoping to find someone — anyone — who will accept payment in bitcoin on Day 3 of my experiment.

Living on Bitcoin Day 4: The Uphill Climb

Living on bitcoin has been a bit of an uphill battle. On Day 4, I try out some gift card options and move into the Crypto Castle.

Living on Bitcoin Day 5: An In-Store Buy At Last (Spoiler: It’s Pot-Related)

I finally make a point-of-sale purchase with bitcoin, hunt for Coinbase’s headquarters and chat with a young entrepreneur.

Living on Bitcoin Day 6: An Artist, a Dev and a Moon Boy Walk Into a Bar…

I continue my San Francisco experiment, spending bitcoin and attending a meetup in a crypto-friendly bar with some great, diverse company.

Living on Bitcoin Day 7: A Supposedly Fun Thing I’d Definitely Do Again

I finally wrap up my week of living on bitcoin in San Francisco with visits to 20 Mission and bitcoin artist cryptograffiti. But first, I’ll have to survive a storm out on the Bay.

Saying that I thrived while on bitcoin would be pushing it, but saying that I survived would be an embellishment.

So I’ll put it another way: I subsisted. Plain and simple, I got by without buying into a strip club’s tit-for-tat (tit-for-bit?) or splurging on a high-dollar meal like Kashmir Hill did in 2014 (though I could do that here in Nashville, dropping fat sats for a meal at Flyte). Sure, the drinks at Stookey’s weren’t cheap, but they weren’t a bottle of Dom either. I got by without even buying a meal from a merchant during my trip, relying on bitcoin-bought Uber Eats credit and friends to keep me fed.

My experience was both anticlimactic and blindsiding. I could have done it anywhere, something that I describe in the write-ups as fascinating and frustrating at the same time. I didn’t need San Francisco to spend my bitcoin (a city that, the week made quite clear, didn’t really want my bitcoin). Bitcoin didn’t need the merchants, though, to be useful; infrastructure, like Paxful and Bitrefill, made it useful.

As the series unfolded on social media, plenty of other bitcoin-to-gift-card services, like Fold App and Bidali, reached out to me on Twitter, reaching for a chance at a PR plug (don’t get me wrong, though — I respect the hustle). I used what I knew going into the experiment, though out of the three exchanges that I demoed (Paxful, Bitrefill and Gyft), I stuck with Bitrefill for its convenience and efficiency.

I probably should have tried some of the other options, and I fully support any company building this infrastructure because, without it, the experiment would have been over by day two (or I would have had to swallow the probability of a seven-day fast as I wrestled with how much I cared about my journalistic integrity).

So I learned that this experiment is either too easy or too impossible, depending on how you frame it. What else I learned (in a strictly Silicon Valley context):

The general public’s enthusiasm for Bitcoin has been dampened with the market.

Interest in altcoins and blockchain has, in part, replaced this enthusiasm.

Because of this interest, there’s at least one place (The Boba Tea Shop) that accepts a motley of altcoins but not bitcoin.

Fewer places accept bitcoin now than in 2013–2014.

Places stopped accepting bitcoin either because their payment processors went under or because transaction times and fees were outrageous during the peak of the 2017 bull run.

Transaction times were pretty quick and fees weren’t high (none of my transactions took over a minute the whole week unless I opted for a low fee).

Even if merchant adoption has waned, infrastructure using bitcoin to leverage services (e.g., Bitrefill, Paxful, etc. for buying gift cards) has progressed.

Bitcoin ATMs aren’t as cool as they sound.

Merchants who don’t accept bitcoin will either be annoyed/amused/confused when you ask if they do.

An unfortunate number of places that used to accept bitcoin don’t exist anymore.

You still can’t buy coffee with bitcoin (unless you buy a gift card first).

Pretty much all resources for locating bitcoin-accepting venues (like coinmap.org or Edge wallet’s merchant finder) are outdated.

Mobile wallets are still too clunky and unreliable for mass adoption.

You don’t need a payment processor to do a point of sale and I wish businesses would understand this.

Bitcoin OGs are still around.

If you decide to live on bitcoin for a week, they will help you out.

You could get hammered on bitcoin in San Francisco with liquor-by-the-drink (or bottle).

Bitcoin is (obviously) best as a store of value.

Because of this, it has its faults as a payment method, but the community is aware of these faults.

Coinbase has become a monolithic entity that is hard to penetrate.

This experiment is not all-encompassing and would play out much differently elsewhere.

That last point might be a bit foolhardy to make before I actually try it, but I was told on day one by a Czech booth exhibitor that Prague would be a breeze. Aaron van Wirdum corroborated this claim, adding that his home in the Netherlands (specifically Amsterdam and Rotterdam) would be a great testing ground for the experiment. Jared Harrell, a community manager at Quantstamp and Canadian native, told me Vancouver would be worth visiting while pouring praise on the Canadian bitcoin community’s constitution and significance (my editor, another proud bitcoin Canuck, has also implored me to have a go at it in Canada).

I’ll get there eventually (I hope). I intend to replicate this science experiment to get a larger sample size, and I have a hunch that I’ll get different results in different jurisdictions. For now, New York, Canada (Quebec/Ontario), Czech Republic (Prague), Netherlands (Rotterdam/Amsterdam) and the U.K. (London) are on my list of test subjects, and, for the new experiments, I’ll attempt a heightened level of difficulty for the variables (including not using Bitrefill, Paxful, Gyft, etc.).

Latin America is another place that comes to mind, probably the place that best exemplifies why this experiment is worthwhile. As the economic and political situations in Venezuela worsen, bitcoin’s relevance in the region is on prominent display, and its utility is infecting neighboring countries as a diaspora of Venezuelan refugees pours across the economically battered country’s borders.

At the end of my experiment, I had the privileges of eschewing my bitcoin wallet in favor of my real one and I was elated to get to use cash (whether physical or digital) again. For those (and they’re out there) living unbanked or under the duress of a faltering monetary system, the experiment never ends — it’s a struggle they reckon with daily.

So I also learned that, over the course of the week, I didn’t need to live on bitcoin, so the choice to was gratuitous and a bit opportunistic (it gave me something fabulous to write about and has supplied my cocktail-party-conversation reserves with endless new material). But I also learned that, if I needed to, I could live on bitcoin, just as a growing population of underserviced and financially neglected citizens across the globe could right now.

Bitcoin is monetary sovereignty, and this experiment is being stress-tested every day.

You didn’t need me to show and tell you that but that also doesn’t mean I won’t do it again.

If you have tips or places you think Colin should visit, drop him a line on Twitter (@AsILayHodling) or email (colin@bitcoinmagazine.com).

This article originally appeared on Bitcoin Magazine.

from InvestmentOpportunityInCryptocurrencies via Ella Macdermott on Inoreader https://bitcoinmagazine.com/articles/living-bitcoin-week-san-francisco/

[cryptswahili]

Living on Bitcoin for a Week in San Francisco

When I decided, maybe against my better judgement, to live on bitcoin for a week, the plan was met by a combination of cautions and jokes from friends and loved ones: “Just don’t starve,” “Well, it’s the New Year, a perfect time to start a new diet,” “Will you be able to eat?”, “Have you really thought about it?”

I had “really” thought about it and it seemed not only sensible but necessary. Nakamoto’s white paper calls Bitcoin an “Electronic Cash System,” and I hadn’t stressed the cryptocurrency’s utility as an actual method of payment.

My experiment would likely validate the strong opinions of skeptics (to whom bitcoin is either some nebulous scam at its worst or an outrageously valued trinket for prodigal hobbyists at its best) and that camp of maximalists who believe that bitcoin isn’t and never was digital cash.

It’s a problem that Kashmir Hill ran into when she did her own experiments, more so in 2013 than 2014. In 2013, her final conclusion was that she had “survived” the week, but by 2014, she had herself a ball spending bitcoin. She went from conquering San Francisco’s hilly landscape on foot and bike in 2013 (and the occasional, simple pleasure of pizza and cupcakes) to the luxury of Uber rides, wine tours and even a strip club visit just a year later.

She did well for herself the second go at it. I want to be able to do even better.

That as my mindset going into my own version of the experiment, picking up five years later from where Hill had left off. If she survived on her first attempt, then I damn well ought to be able to thrive, I thought, going into it.

Boy, was I dead wrong.

A day or two in was all it would take to break this expectation as I soon learned that my experience would be unlike either of Hill’s. I anticipated great merchant adoption and with it a greater variety of services through which to use my bitcoin. I thought I was walking into a more vibrant Bitcoin scene than half a decade ago, an opportunity rich with ways I could offload my coin.

Instead, I found (at least in San Francisco) that fewer merchants take bitcoin now than they did before and that the Bay area’s Bitcoin community, excepting those still active in it, had receded into altcoin enthusiasm and the flowering industry of “blockchain not Bitcoin” that had become the new darling of tech VCs and entrepreneurs.

Those still involved in the community took care of me though, and the week was just as easy or as difficult as I wanted to make it.

Living on Bitcoin Day 1: “That’s Not Going to Work”

I set out to live on bitcoin for a week in San Francisco.

Living On Bitcoin Day 2: Being “Unbanked” Has Been Easy … But Also Hard

On Day 2 of living on bitcoin experiment in San Francisco, I go on the hunt for some bitcoin-friendly eateries.

Living on Bitcoin Day 3: Brother, Can You Take a Sat?

I desperately comb the streets of San Francisco, hoping to find someone — anyone — who will accept payment in bitcoin on Day 3 of my experiment.

Living on Bitcoin Day 4: The Uphill Climb

Living on bitcoin has been a bit of an uphill battle. On Day 4, I try out some gift card options and move into the Crypto Castle.

Living on Bitcoin Day 5: An In-Store Buy At Last (Spoiler: It’s Pot-Related)

I finally make a point-of-sale purchase with bitcoin, hunt for Coinbase’s headquarters and chat with a young entrepreneur.

Living on Bitcoin Day 6: An Artist, a Dev and a Moon Boy Walk Into a Bar…

I continue my San Francisco experiment, spending bitcoin and attending a meetup in a crypto-friendly bar with some great, diverse company.

Living on Bitcoin Day 7: A Supposedly Fun Thing I’d Definitely Do Again

I finally wrap up my week of living on bitcoin in San Francisco with visits to 20 Mission and bitcoin artist cryptograffiti. But first, I’ll have to survive a storm out on the Bay.

Saying that I thrived while on bitcoin would be pushing it, but saying that I survived would be an embellishment.

So I’ll put it another way: I subsisted. Plain and simple, I got by without buying into a strip club’s tit-for-tat (tit-for-bit?) or splurging on a high-dollar meal like Kashmir Hill did in 2014 (though I could do that here in Nashville, dropping fat sats for a meal at Flyte). Sure, the drinks at Stookey’s weren’t cheap, but they weren’t a bottle of Dom either. I got by without even buying a meal from a merchant during my trip, relying on bitcoin-bought Uber Eats credit and friends to keep me fed.

My experience was both anticlimactic and blindsiding. I could have done it anywhere, something that I describe in the write-ups as fascinating and frustrating at the same time. I didn’t need San Francisco to spend my bitcoin (a city that, the week made quite clear, didn’t really want my bitcoin). Bitcoin didn’t need the merchants, though, to be useful; infrastructure, like Paxful and Bitrefill, made it useful.

As the series unfolded on social media, plenty of other bitcoin-to-gift-card services, like Fold App and Bidali, reached out to me on Twitter, reaching for a chance at a PR plug (don’t get me wrong, though — I respect the hustle). I used what I knew going into the experiment, though out of the three exchanges that I demoed (Paxful, Bitrefill and Gyft), I stuck with Bitrefill for its convenience and efficiency.

I probably should have tried some of the other options, and I fully support any company building this infrastructure because, without it, the experiment would have been over by day two (or I would have had to swallow the probability of a seven-day fast as I wrestled with how much I cared about my journalistic integrity).

So I learned that this experiment is either too easy or too impossible, depending on how you frame it. What else I learned (in a strictly Silicon Valley context):

The general public’s enthusiasm for Bitcoin has been dampened with the market.

Interest in altcoins and blockchain has, in part, replaced this enthusiasm.

Because of this interest, there’s at least one place (The Boba Tea Shop) that accepts a motley of altcoins but not bitcoin.

Fewer places accept bitcoin now than in 2013–2014.

Places stopped accepting bitcoin either because their payment processors went under or because transaction times and fees were outrageous during the peak of the 2017 bull run.

Transaction times were pretty quick and fees weren’t high (none of my transactions took over a minute the whole week unless I opted for a low fee).

Even if merchant adoption has waned, infrastructure using bitcoin to leverage services (e.g., Bitrefill, Paxful, etc. for buying gift cards) has progressed.

Bitcoin ATMs aren’t as cool as they sound.

Merchants who don’t accept bitcoin will either be annoyed/amused/confused when you ask if they do.

An unfortunate number of places that used to accept bitcoin don’t exist anymore.

You still can’t buy coffee with bitcoin (unless you buy a gift card first).

Pretty much all resources for locating bitcoin-accepting venues (like coinmap.org or Edge wallet’s merchant finder) are outdated.

Mobile wallets are still too clunky and unreliable for mass adoption.

You don’t need a payment processor to do a point of sale and I wish businesses would understand this.

Bitcoin OGs are still around.

If you decide to live on bitcoin for a week, they will help you out.

You could get hammered on bitcoin in San Francisco with liquor-by-the-drink (or bottle).

Bitcoin is (obviously) best as a store of value.

Because of this, it has its faults as a payment method, but the community is aware of these faults.

Coinbase has become a monolithic entity that is hard to penetrate.

This experiment is not all-encompassing and would play out much differently elsewhere.

That last point might be a bit foolhardy to make before I actually try it, but I was told on day one by a Czech booth exhibitor that Prague would be a breeze. Aaron van Wirdum corroborated this claim, adding that his home in the Netherlands (specifically Amsterdam and Rotterdam) would be a great testing ground for the experiment. Jared Harrell, a community manager at Quantstamp and Canadian native, told me Vancouver would be worth visiting while pouring praise on the Canadian bitcoin community’s constitution and significance (my editor, another proud bitcoin Canuck, has also implored me to have a go at it in Canada).

I’ll get there eventually (I hope). I intend to replicate this science experiment to get a larger sample size, and I have a hunch that I’ll get different results in different jurisdictions. For now, New York, Canada (Quebec/Ontario), Czech Republic (Prague), Netherlands (Rotterdam/Amsterdam) and the U.K. (London) are on my list of test subjects, and, for the new experiments, I’ll attempt a heightened level of difficulty for the variables (including not using Bitrefill, Paxful, Gyft, etc.).

Latin America is another place that comes to mind, probably the place that best exemplifies why this experiment is worthwhile. As the economic and political situations in Venezuela worsen, bitcoin’s relevance in the region is on prominent display, and its utility is infecting neighboring countries as a diaspora of Venezuelan refugees pours across the economically battered country’s borders.

At the end of my experiment, I had the privileges of eschewing my bitcoin wallet in favor of my real one and I was elated to get to use cash (whether physical or digital) again. For those (and they’re out there) living unbanked or under the duress of a faltering monetary system, the experiment never ends — it’s a struggle they reckon with daily.

So I also learned that, over the course of the week, I didn’t need to live on bitcoin, so the choice to was gratuitous and a bit opportunistic (it gave me something fabulous to write about and has supplied my cocktail-party-conversation reserves with endless new material). But I also learned that, if I needed to, I could live on bitcoin, just as a growing population of underserviced and financially neglected citizens across the globe could right now.

Bitcoin is monetary sovereignty, and this experiment is being stress-tested every day.

You didn’t need me to show and tell you that but that also doesn’t mean I won’t do it again.

If you have tips or places you think Colin should visit, drop him a line on Twitter (@AsILayHodling) or email (colin@bitcoinmagazine.com).

This article originally appeared on Bitcoin Magazine.

[Telegram Channel | Original Article ]

[chwpromoblog]

TATE AHADI. college sophomore; nineteen. cengiz al. OPEN.

and, as travis birkenstock once said:

“I joined this program and there's steps. There's...uh..”

BEFORE THE PARTY;

If you had to describe Tate Ahadi in any way, it would be the human equivalent of a puppy. The guy was a great big ball of positive energy. He was one of the rare people who lived in Rosewood that didn’t find themselves thrown into any of the childish teenage factions that came up. He sort of just floated over all of that, that being because no one could tie him down with that ridiculousness. If he wanted to talk to someone, he was going to do it. Their financial background, the number of followers they had on instagram or what they wore on their body wasn’t going to stop him from being kind of his fellow man. Sure, there were people who hated the fact that he was this great big ball of energy and they wished to stomp that out of him but Tate refused to be anything but the cheerful person that he was. In fact, he didn’t feel anger towards those who went out of their way to be mean to others. No, he felt sorry for them. They were obviously acting this way because they couldn’t find a decent dealer.

You see, Tate lived quite the mellow life. All he needed in this life was his trusty skateboard and weed. How he saw it, why be mean towards people when you could just save all that energy and light up a spliff? That seemed like a better time for everyone involved. And trust him, he knew this for a fact. 

Just take a look at his last name. Ahadi. It wasn’t his original last name, merely one given to him when Mr. and Mrs. Ahadi adopted him at the young age of two. Sure, he along with his adoptive brothers were highly regarded by his father. The heirs to his kingdom, the men that would keep the Ahadi name well and alive long after his death. But Tate knew that his adoption had solely been a product of business and tradition. Before Tate and his two young brothers had joined the Ahadi family, his father and mother had already been blessed with a child. A daughter, by the name of Jupiter. Tate often referred to the eldest Ahadi child as best sister anyone could ask for and she truly was. But his father wanted sons, because no one could take away their families name then. So rather than risk the chance having more daughters, he took luck in his own hands. He adopted three sons, all of Middle Eastern decedent to raise in his image. Now, it wasn’t that Tate was thankful for the life that he’d been given because he indeed was but as he got older, he just saw his adoption for what it was. Rather than allowing Jupiter, a perfectly capable and intelligent woman take on the mantle... his dad had given him this amazing life so that he could take on the a business. 

One that Tate didn’t even want. Not that Tate would ever say this aloud— he was scared to even think how it was that the man would react at the news. He was sure that to his father, he was indebted to him. Whether he wanted the family business or not, Tate would have a hand in it.

So how was a kid to deal with that overwhelming pressure? With weed, of course. He still remembered the first time he’d taken a pull. It was at a Rosewood party that Jupiter had dragged him to, she could tell that he’d needed it due to the fact he just couldn’t put the words to paper. What better way to clear up some writer's block than with a party? A party in which his sister and the coolest guy to ever walk the streets of Rosewood, Pink Floyd lit him up. Sunny Sativa was what he’d been given. He would never forget that night. Not would he forget how good everything was when high. Music was better, food was a whole lot better, life was better. 

That night he’d been introduced to his escape and truth be told, he’d never let it go. Tate probably hasn’t been sober since that night when he was sixteen and he liked it that way. 

But don’t think that just because he’s lived this mellow life, it means that he’d slacked off and became some sort of bum. Not at all. Mostly because the Ahadi’s wouldn’t have accepted that from their son. While Tate was a bit of a spaz— when it came to school, he was definitely intelligent. The guy was more than capable to hold his own with the smarter students that Ravenwood University had to offer. Don’t worry, the student body and faculty had been just as shocked as you probably are right now. No seriously, they had been so skeptical of his intelligence that they made him take his SAT twice just to be sure he hadn’t cheated his way to his score. But his scores had only improved the second time he took it. Tate Ahadi was actually really smart, genuinely so and that intelligence had allowed him to create such things like the cross joint, not only a beauty to behold but an innovation to the joint game. 

Actually if you venture underneath the house that that Tri Lamb built, you’ll find that he’s been putting those agricultural and civil engineering majors to good use. He’d was growing his own strains of marijuana in the basement, solely for scientific purposes. And yeah, sure he sold it to a couple of his friends every so often. But it was strictly for science and he would stick to that.

Tate refused to surround himself with anymore shady activity, he had enough of that trying to navigate the family business. Not only that but he had a lady to win over. And sure, his own weed lair could probably do that for him but he’d rather win her over with his gentlemanly charm. Oh and his jokes, of course. 

Who was the lucky lady? Taissa Manaying. Just like the day he’d smoked his first blunt, he remembered the day the two met vividly. In the dining hall, during lunch on September thirteenth. They bonded over a sick drawing of  Usagi Tsukino on display on the front of her notebook. As their eyes met, Tate felt something he’d never felt before. His heart began to race out of his chest, his hands suddenly got clammy and he couldn’t stop smiling. It was like love at first sight, he swore he felt that fat babies arrow and everything. For a while there, the two were inseparable. But like most great things in Ravenwood, that didn’t last for very long. Taissa had also become friends with Chanel Horowitz, who had basically made her her personal Barbie doll. Everything he’d come to like about Taissa was suddenly gone. The awesome band tees were replaced with expensive blouses, her crazy curly hair he’d stick messages in was now super straight.... and sure, Taissa looked beautiful but at what price? Making her yet another one of those rich girl types that looked down at guys like him? 

If anything had the power to mess with his high, it was that.

DURING THE PARTY;

You could only imagine how disappointed Tate was when his best friends, Egan Uppal and Rowan Wang had bailed on the party. Not that he wouldn’t have fun at the party without them, but there was nothing like a party with your best buds by your side. But his disappointment would soon be the last thing on his mind as he’d somehow gotten the attention of Taissa. 

Taissa, who looked like a total babe that evening. Not that she didn’t always, but man... tonight, he was just speechless at the sight of her. He got over it after a shake to his head, but still... he was in awe of her that evening. Luckily, for him, it seemed like she felt the same way. So often, Taissa and him were interrupted by Chanel, Dylan or one of the meatheads that were into her but tonight, it was just them. No one was coming between them and he couldn’t be happier with how the evening that turning out.

Actually, he found a way to be even happier. He was not only getting to spend time with Taissa but he was getting to smoke on a roof with her as well. He couldn’t wait to tell his friends all about this, they would probably tease him and tell him that he was lying but this was real. He’d pinched himself, he was still right next to Taissa enjoying the finest weed he’d grown. Tate had been staring at her for a moment, she was really beautiful. How was someone this stunning? He’d turned away from her, for only a second to pull out another joint to find that Taissa was no longer next to him. 

Rather, the shingles on the roof had began to slip and they were taking her with them. Tate didn’t hesitate to spring into action, grabbing her arm before she fell over the edge of the party. Below, a crowd had began to form. They screamed at him to pull her up, not that he intended on letting her go. Never. He mustered whatever strength he could, which wasn’t much given he was all bones but he’d managed to get her over the edge and into his arms. The crowd below broke into applause, but he didn’t care about that due to the fact that his heroics had gotten him a kiss from Taissa Manaying. 

It’d gotten him several actually.

It only cemented what he already knew, he really loved parties.

alternate faceclaims and prompts.