#the cheese balls are banging

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 2: I’m The Son Of Rage And Love]

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

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

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Jesus Of Suburbia” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

On the shores of the Susquehanna River, just north of Harrisburg, you find a Wawa with no gas: bags on all the pumps, cars with their fuel caps unscrewed and dangling. This is a common courtesy adopted en masse, like rationing during the World Wars or flying American flags after 9/11. It signals that a car has already been siphoned, no gasoline to be found here, no transparent flammable gold made of eons-past decomposition. You wonder if in a few million years, some unfathomable new apex species will be drilling your liquefied remains from the lightless layers of the earth to power their spaceships.

“Then we got sent to Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling,” Rio continues, gnawing on a piece of beef jerky, Jack Link’s in a red bag, teriyaki. Mercifully, whoever took the gas left some of the food. You are sitting in the parking lot, a quaint zombie apocalypse picnic, trail mix and Rice Krispies Treats, Herr’s potato chips and Tastykakes, warm soda sipped from plastic bottles. Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the Tahoe. Jace is tearing the convenience store apart; he is convinced the employees must have kept a gun somewhere in case of robberies. You know he’s fine. You can hear him banging around and swearing in there.

“Then we built some schools and a hospital in Djibouti,” you say.

Aegon is baffled yet intrigued. “Djibouti…?”

“It’s on the Horn of Africa, near Ethiopia and Somalia.”

Luke snorts. “It’s nice of you to assume he knows where Africa is.”

“Huh.” Aegon tosses a green M&M into his mouth. “Djibouti is horny.”

Rio says: “And after that we spent like six months in Key West, and then we got shipped to Corpus Christi, where Chips very narrowly avoided getting impregnated by, marrying, and inevitably acrimoniously divorcing a Marine.”

Everyone laughs except Aemond, who gives you a teasing smirk. “Did you really?”

“Uh, no. He asked me out, I ghosted him, that’s as far as it went.”

“Why’d you ghost him?” Baela says, crunching on Utz Cheese Balls.

Aegon turns to Rio. “You want a Honey Bun?”

“You’re my Honey Bun,” Rio replies. Aegon smiles, his sunburn flushing darker.

You shrug, eat a handful of candied almonds, tell a half-truth. “I just didn’t like him enough.”

Rhaena yelps and points: a snake, black and maybe five feet long, is slithering across the parking lot. It passes beneath the shade of the Tahoe and then continues towards the bushes. A moderate amount of panic erupts.

Helaena glances up from her notebook. “Rat snake. Not venomous.”

Rhaena shudders. “Well, I still don’t like it.”

“Where were you stationed next?” Daeron asks Rio.

“Chinhae, South Korea. Wicked cool place. The people love Americans, the food is incredible. We were there to rebuild a pier that got wrecked in a typhoon. They have these cute dolphin-looking things, they’d swim right up to the edge of the water with fish in their mouths to try to give to us. Like cats bringing home mice for their owners.”

“Finless porpoises,” you say.

“Yeah, those. And after Korea, it was Diego Garcia.”

“Diego…what?” Rhaena says.

Aegon turns to Luke. “Try to act like I’m stupid for not knowing where that is.”

“Diego Garcia is a tiny little island in the middle of the Indian Ocean,” you say, a bit wistfully. “It’s technically owned by the British, but we share a base there, we use it for airfields and to refuel submarines, things like that. We were renovating the housing facilities for Camp Thunder Cove. At night we’d go to the beach, have a few beers, look out into the ocean and it was just…nothing. Wide open dark nothingness for as far as you could imagine.”

“That’s what we need now,” Helaena murmurs as she makes elegant cursive annotations in her notebook, the cover picturing different species of spiders, a pinktoe tarantula, a green lynx spider, a black widow. “Someplace to go where no one will find us.”

“So you’ve known each other since basic training.” Aemond’s remaining blue eye shifts between you and Rio, like he’s still trying to puzzle it out. There’s really no mystery. You’re friends, and you’ve always been friends, and you’ve never been more than friends, despite many of your fellow seamen’s jokes to the contrary.

You tear open a Slim Jim. Aemond rebandaged your hands this morning, though they barely hurt anymore; he touches you with a clinical, focused restraint. “Not quite that long. Rio enlisted a few months before I did, so we weren’t at Great Lakes together, and then carpenters do technical school in Gulfport, Mississippi near Biloxi, and electricians train at Sheppard Air Force Base in Texas. We met after we were both assigned to Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 1.”

“The First and The Finest,” Rio quotes the motto, grinning. “The original Seabees, founded during World War II. People called our battalion the Pioneers, which…is kind of ironic now.”

Aegon says, munching noisily on trail mix: “It’ll be so appropriate when you end up dying of a broken leg or the flu or in some other totally preventable way.”

“It’s so crazy, people died of anything back then,” Luke marvels gravely. “Tuberculosis, pneumonia, infections, starving, freezing, poisoning, getting kicked by a horse, giving birth…”

Rhaena shoots him a fearsome look and Luke shuts up, but of course he can’t take it back. There is a long uncomfortable silence punctuated only by birdsong and Jace’s muffled outbursts from inside the Wawa. Everyone looks at Baela, concerned, pitying, entirely unable to do anything to improve her situation. She is still eating Cheese Balls with one orange-stained hand, but the other rests on her belly.

“Clearly, the timing is less than ideal,” Baela says after a while, and if she’s terrified she doesn’t sound like it. “It wasn’t planned to begin with, but I was determined to make the best of things. I figured that I could still finish up my master’s degree with a baby, and Rhaena and our parents could help, and Jace would be done with law school soon, and it might be stressful for a while but we’d all get through it. And now…” She shrugs wryly. “Now all those plans are gone. Just gone.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Aemond says; a fierce low determination, a promise, a vow.

Baela smiles at Rio. “How old is your baby?”

He is caught off-guard, clears his throat, averts his gaze. Aegon looks over at him, alarmed. “Oh, he, uh…he’s little. Really little. He…” And Rio, so rarely at a loss for words, can’t continue. He eats his beef jerky instead.

You explain for him. “Sophie’s due date was right around the time the phones and internet went down. The last we heard, she was headed to Odessa to stay with Rio’s parents.” Aemond and his companions nod and don’t say what they’re thinking, but it’s swimming in their eyes: Sophie could have died, the baby could have died, they both could have died, you and Rio might be risking your lives to cross the continental United States for nothing. “Rio’s parents live in this…well, I joke around and call it a doomsday prepper cult, but that’s not really what it is, it’s just a farming community out in the middle of nowhere. People who have their own chickens and gardens, churn their own butter, don’t wear deodorant, make medicine out of tree bark…and a lot of them have kind of a survivalist mentality, they stock pantries and collect guns. So we figure we can reunite Rio with his family and then carve out lives for ourselves in relative peace.”

Rio reaches over to bump his fist against your shoulder. He is grateful. You punch him back, fairly forcefully; it’s like hitting a brick wall. Rio is as tall as Aemond but probably outweighs him by a hundred pounds.

You ask Aemond: “What’s in the Bay Area?”

“Our parents have a beach house. It’s up on a cliff by itself, pretty isolated, and surrounded by state parks. That’s where they were when everything shut down. I assume they’re still there.”

“Beach house?” Rio raises his eyebrows. “On a cliff?”

Rich kids. REALLY rich kids. “Your parents couldn’t just fly you to California in a private jet or something?” you say.

“Our pilots stole the jets,” Aemond replies, not realizing you were joking.

“Oh.”

“Jace and Luke’s parents were home in London, so getting there isn’t really an option, and then Baela and Rhaena…”

“Mum and Dad were on a business trip to Moscow,” Baela says. “I’d like to think they weren’t eaten, but…they were probably eaten.”

“I am so sorry,” you manage awkwardly.

A single zombie goes shuffling past the Wawa on the main street, a woman in a floral church dress, hair falling out of its curls, one pink high heel that clicks on the pavement, blood all over her mouth and chin. She notices the nine of you and begins to hiss, lurching closer. Daeron shoots her down and then trots over to retrieve his arrows, yanking them out of her cheek and eye socket. Rhaena winces. Aemond, distracted, bites into a Nature Valley granola bar. Aegon opens a can of Pringles, pizza-flavored.

Luke is peering through his binoculars, looking south towards Harrisburg. Faintly, you can see sunlight glinting off the gilded statue of a woman—the Spirit of the Commonwealth—that tops the green clay tile dome of the state capitol building. “What is that?”

“The sculpture?” you say.

“No. Farther away. Those big concrete towers, right on the water.”

Now you know exactly what he means…and you’d forgotten all about it. It’s an oversight you hope doesn’t cost too much. “That’s Three Mile Island. And we should leave so we can put more space between it and us.”

“Oh, fuck me…” Rio mutters.

Now everyone else is squinting to see the facility, barely visible from the Wawa. “Why?” Aemond asks you.

“Because it’s a nuclear power plant. And since the electricity is out everywhere, as soon as its backup generators fail, it will melt down and the whole area around it will become radioactive.”

Aegon puts two Pringles into his mouth so they look like a duck bill. “How do you know?”

“Did no one else go through a Chernobyl obsession phase in high school?”

“The professor mentioned it in one of my chemistry classes,” Aemond says, but he sounds doubtful; this must have been years ago, when he was consumed by med school prerequisites and had no space left in his brain for mere curiosity.

“Okay, listen up.” Rio knows the key points; he’s had to study different sources of electrical power. He demonstrates with dramatic hand gestures. “You have super radioactive reactor fuel, usually uranium or plutonium. You have a pool of water around it that circulates continuously. The heat of the fuel evaporates the water, which makes steam, which spins turbines, thus creating power. But if the external electricity fails, the water stops circulating, and the heat vaporizes all of it, and when there’s no more water the reactor fuel overheats and melts through the floor and poisons the earth, air, and groundwater. Any questions?”

There is a chorus of distressed chattering as people swiftly rise to their feet, clutching armfuls of snacks for the road. Jace comes trudging out of the Wawa, conspicuously not in possession of a firearm.

“No luck?” Daeron asks.

“Obviously not.” Then Jace snaps at Aemond: “Why were you stomping around all pissed off in the medicine aisle earlier? What were you looking for?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says quickly.

“Seriously, dude, what was it?”

“Nothing!”

“Damn, Plankton, calm down.” Jace shields his face from the sun, following Luke’s nervous eyeline towards the concrete cooling towers to the south. “What’s that?”

“Three Mile Island,” you say. “And we’re leaving now.”

Aegon yawns loudly. “I’m so full! Rio, can you carry me to the car?” And before anyone can tell Aegon to shut up, Rio has crouched down to let him scramble onto his back. Aegon cackles and waves his can of Pringles around as Rio sprints to the Tahoe. Now there are a few more zombies stumbling up the street, but you don’t waste arrows or bullets on them. Baela runs them down as she swerves out of the parking lot and drives northwest, heading towards Clarks Ferry Bridge where you will cross the Susquehanna River in a less populated area and commence the long slog to the Ohio border. She turns up the volume on the CD player: London Bridge by Fergie. Immediately, Rio, Aegon, Daeron, Rhaena, and Luke are singing along.

Baela checks the fuel gauge and looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “We have half a tank left.”

“We’ll find gas somewhere.”

“Aemond, it’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re not going to be able to walk to California.”

Baela can’t think of a response. He’s right. Outside, the miles roll by in a blur of radiant, reptilian, early-summer green.

~~~~~~~~~~

Each time the interstate is blocked by a snarl of crashed vehicles or a backup too thick to navigate through—both common occurrences—Aegon digs the folded map out of his shorts and charts a new course for Baela to follow. This particular divergence might prove fortunate. The Tahoe has rolled into Distant, Pennsylvania, an Appalachian speck of a town, churches, coal mines, dilapidated old sheds. On the outskirts, perched on a hill and surrounded by oak trees, you find a small single-story brick house with a myriad of banners on the flagpole: an American flag, a Confederate flag, a black POW/MIA flag, Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024.

“Yeah,” Aegon says, scratching his scruffy chin as he peers up through the windshield. “I feel like they probably owned guns.”

“How do we know they’re not still home?” Baela asks warily.

“No car in the driveway,” Aemond observes. “No windows boarded up. They probably ran into trouble while they were out somewhere and never made it back.” Then he waits, the question upspoken. Are we going to risk it?

“We’re down,” Rio says after exchanging a glance with you.

Aemond turns to Jace. Jace—curly dark hair down to his shoulders, eyes on the house, chewing his full bottom lip apprehensively—doesn’t reply at first.

“You said you wanted a gun, Jace. All the Walmarts are cleaned out. This is what shopping looks like now.”

“Fine. Okay. Let’s go.”

Baela parks the Tahoe in the gravel driveway and tells Rhaena and Luke to stay inside with Helaena until the property has been cleared. The rest of you climb out, afternoon sun and mountain wind, dandelions crushed under your shoes. There’s a barn behind the house, you see now, gaps between the wooden boards and flaking red paint.

Luke is standing up through the open sunroof, inspecting the scene with his binoculars. “No movement.”

“We’ll take the house, if you want,” Rio tells Aemond. You’re clutching your borrowed baseball bat with bandaged hands, though it still feels unnatural; your M9 is in its holster in case of emergencies. Jace, Baela, and Daeron start plodding across the yard towards the barn. The grass is tall and mostly shaded, the oak trees decades old, massive, weaving a patchwork canopy of leaves.

Aegon trots over and slaps Aemond on his left shoulder, his blind side. Aemond says without looking at him: “I’ll go with them. You wait out here.”

Aegon drives an imaginary ball with his golf club. “I’m very sensitive to rejection, you know.”

“You’ll survive.” Then Aemond follows you and Rio to the house.

Rio tries the knob, locked. He doesn’t waste a bullet by trying to shoot the lock off the door, something that is far less reliable than movies would have you believe. He kicks it open instead, three tries and then the screws that secure the latch give way and the door swings ajar. You wait, counting seconds in your head, listening for growls or footsteps. There are no sounds except the breeze sighing through the trees, the warbles and wing flaps of birds. You steal a glimpse of the barn. Jace, Baela, and Daeron have unhooked the rusted iron latch and are venturing inside, Daeron last and glancing around watchfully, his compound bow already drawn. Rio steps into the house.

It’s hot, stifling, all the windows shut. But this has its advantages. You inhale deeply: no trace of decomposition, no black swampy nauseating rot, just dust and lemon Pledge and old-people staleness.

“Smells fine,” Rio says. And then, loudly: “Anyone home? We’re just looking for supplies. We don’t want to hurt you. If anybody is here, just let us know and we’d be happy to leave. And, uh, sorry about the door.”

You stay close to Rio as he sweeps through the living room—floral couch, television turned off, crosses on the walls—and then the kitchen, where bananas are turning black on the counter. Aemond is to your right; he’s placed you on his blind side. He trusts me, you think. When did that happen? You haven’t heard anything from Aegon or the barn. That must be going well.

In the bedroom, Aemond pulls the curtains open to let some light in. You search the drawers, the closet, under the bed. No weapons. The bathroom has 1950s-style pink porcelain, the dining room table is set for a meal that never happened. There is a deer head mounted on the wall, ten points, not bad.

“I can’t believe these fuckers didn’t have guns,” Rio says. “But where the hell are they?!”

You have always watched more than you’ve spoken. That’s why you’re good at shooting things, and why you’re still alive. Rio talks and you listen; Rio acts and you reflect. “Wait.” You turn to Aemond. “Did you see a cellar outside?”

“A what?” He is perplexed. “Like…a wine cellar…?”

“No. A regular cellar.” You walk back into the midday heat and circle the house, Aemond and Rio hurrying to keep up. Over by the barn, everyone else is stretched out across the grass, joking, relaxing, Baela with her hammer on the ground and her hands laced over her belly, Helaena cradling a praying mantis in her palms and showing it to Rhaena. Aegon is teaching Luke how to smoke with a pack of Marlboro Golds he found at the Wawa. Luke, game yet somewhat anxious, takes a puff and then immediately coughs until he starts retching.

“I want to try too,” Daeron says.

Aegon shakes his head, taking a nonchalant drag off his own cigarette. “Nope. Not for you. Illegal. You’re under eighteen.”

“I want to try!”

“Shut up, you can’t even vote.”

“Nobody can vote, the government has collapsed!”

You find it at the back of the house: a pair of large metal doors leading down into the underground cellar. The weeds have begun to encroach on them, wild violets and black nightshade.

“Awesome!” Rio says, lifting the doors open one at a time, the hinges shrieking. They’re heavy, but they cause him no trouble. Underneath is a staircase and a room dark with shadows; you can see a light switch that won’t work, the electricity long gone. Rio unclips the flashlight from his  belt—taken from Saratoga Springs, waterproof with a 90-degree head so it doesn’t roll, known as a Moonbeam—and ducks down into the cellar. It’s a small room, easy to clear, and then you can start inventorying your findings. Rio is laughing, ecstatic. There is a workbench, a coil of thick rope, an array of tools—screwdrivers, wrenches, hammers, saws—some homemade leather wallets and holsters, cans of Brillo color spray…and then a treasure trove of weapons mounted on the walls.

You scan the collection. “We got Marlin .22s, we got Ruger Magnums, we got Remington 12 gauges, we got hunting knives…and one Glock 20.”

“A lot of ammo under here, Chips,” Rio says, yanking boxes out from beneath the workbench and stacking them on the floor, organized by caliber.

“No scopes?”

“Not that I’ve seen yet.”

You lift one of the Remingtons off its hooks and examine it: dusty, unloaded, vines of rust on the receiver. “We’ll have to go through and sight all of them. I don’t think they’ve been used in a while.”

“That’ll be a lot of noise. But here’s the place to do it, I guess. Low population, and we’re not staying.”

“Exactly.”

“Sight them for close range, like ten yards?”

“Yeah, that should work.”

Aemond says, eyebrow raised: “I didn’t know the Navy used shotguns.”

“Everyone hunts where I’m from.” You put the Remington down on the workbench then pick up the Glock, a box of 10mm ammo, and a can of Brillo. “Come on. Grab one of those hammers. I’ll show you how to shoot.”

You bound up the cellar steps and out into the shade of the oak trees, not stopping until you are at the edge of the property. Across the backyard where he lounges on the grass, Aegon gestures to the barn and asks Luke: “What’s in there anyway?”

“Nothing. Saddles and a few dead horses.”

“Oh, dynamite, I gotta see the dead horses.”

Jace says: “Aegon, man, what is your diagnosis?”

You use the can of Brillo to spray a large chocolate-colored circle onto a tree trunk, then make another two feet above that. You count your steps as you walk back towards Aemond: approximately ten yards. You load a single bullet in the Glock, aim for the bottom circle, and fire. A hole appears at the very edge of the circle. You take the hammer from Aemond and give the rear sight a few knocks. “This isn’t recommended, but it usually works.”

Aemond is smiling. “Okay.”

You load the full magazine and try again. The bullet hits closer to the middle this time. “Here. Both hands.”

Aemond takes the Glock but hesitates. “Is…my eye…?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. A lot of people close one eye anyway when they’re aiming. I always do.”

He is relieved. “Oh. Good.”

You tap the underside of the Glock. Aemond obediently lifts it. “The line of sight is slightly higher than the barrel, so you have to account for that. And then gravity will pull the bullet lower, and the longer the range of the shot, the more it will drop. So when you fire, the barrel should be angled upwards just the tiniest bit, not horizontal.”

“Like throwing a football.”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s an arc, not a straight line. At first it’ll feel like you’re trying to do all these calculations in your head, and it will be overwhelming, but then it becomes muscle memory and you don’t even have to think about it.” Jace, Baela, and Daeron are now eagerly crossing the yard to help Rio carry the guns out of the cellar and receive their own lessons. “Alright, we’re going to start with a really terrifying enemy. I want you to shoot that tree.”

“What a formidable tree.”

“Aim for the top circle. And if you hit it, then you can practice on Jace.”

Aemond laughs, butter-yellow sunlight filtering down through the trees, the shadows of leaves flickering over his skin, a mosaic of flesh and earth. You ghost your open hand down the length of his arm as if adjusting the angle. Really, you just want to touch him, to feel his warmth and his stillness, the tension of his muscles, the rhythm of his pulse. He’s watching you, lips parted, goosebumps rising beneath your fingertips. Birds are chirping, sparrows and blue jays. High above, squirrels leap and scrabble through the branches. You pull your hand away.

“Look through the sights. The rear sight at the back of the barrel is shaped like a U, and the one at the front is an I. Is the I in the middle of the U?”

“I have no idea.” A pause as he reconsiders. “Yes.”

“Right, it is, and the bullet should go exactly where you want it to because I already sighted that Glock. I’ll show you how to do it later. Now shoot the tree.”

Aemond aims but doesn’t pull the trigger. He’s nervous; he doesn’t want to seem incompetent, pathetic. You imagine it is rare that he isn’t the one with the solutions.

“Hey,” you say softly, and he looks over at you. “You don’t judge me for not knowing how to cure people. I won’t judge you for not knowing how to kill them. Deal?”

Now he’s smiling again. “Deal.” He returns his attention to the tree, lets a few more seconds tick by, and fires. He hits one of the branches. “Oh, that is…embarrassing.”

“It’s not that bad. You hit something. Try again.”

More seconds, more birdsong, more wind through the grass and the leaves. Aemond’s second bullet pierces the trunk about six inches above the top circle. “Yes!” he cheers, boyish triumph on his scarred face.

You resist touching him. It is startlingly difficult. “That was really good.”

He lowers the Glock, and you click the safety on for him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say.

“Why’d you ghost that Marine at Corpus Christi?”

“I told you. I didn’t like him enough.”

“Okay, sure, but actually. What was wrong with him?”

“I’ve known you for like twenty-four hours. You think you’ve earned all my secrets?”

“Well, not all of them,” Aemond says, grinning. Rio is showing Jace, Baela, and Daeron how to load the .22s. Aegon is swinging his golf club in circles as he follows Luke into the barn. Helaena and Rhaena are giggling as butterflies land on their outstretched fingers. “But our time together could be very finite. It seems unwise to waste it by trying to preserve some amount of mystery.”

“You’ve convinced me.” You want to be known by him, you want to be understood. That is a frightening thing to realize. It’s like handing a stranger the keys to your home. Will they visit graciously, or will they rob you, ruin you, burn you down? “I haven’t seen many examples of love working out for people. I’ve seen couples who hated each other, and couples who split up, and a lot of women having to raise kids all on their own and turning into these…bitter, exhausted, hollowed-out versions of themselves. I never wanted that to be me. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like that was just one wrong choice away from becoming my life. I don’t want men to disappoint me. So I don’t give them the chance.”

You think Aemond is going to say something cheap, flirtatious, awful: Give me a chance, baby. I won’t disappoint you. Instead he says: “I haven’t known many happy couples either. I mean…Luke and Rhaena would be the closest, I guess. But they’re so young. I’m not sure if they count.”

“Rio and Sophie seem happy. But they’ve also barely seen each other in five years.”

“It does things to you, when you start to believe love might be doomed to end or tear you apart or turn to hatred. If it’s just an evolutionary mirage to trick us into reproducing, what’s the point of giving someone that power over you?”

“Exactly.”

“I feel like one of us should be trying to talk the other out of being so fatalistically cynical.”

“Yeah, totally. Okay. You talk me out of it.”

He chuckles. “No, I don’t think I can. You talk me out of it.”

You’re watching Aemond, realizing you like everything about him—his smirk, his height, his hands, the clear direct blue of his eye—and wondering what the hell you’re going to do about it. Then there is a scream from the barn.

What?? Who??

“Luke!” Aemond shouts, and takes off across the yard. Now you’re all running, even Rhaena and Helaena who don’t have anything to fight with. Everyone is yelling, their lungs heaving in wild June air, their shoes pounding against the earth.

Inside the barn, on a wooden floor strewn with hay, Luke is shrieking as he tries to push a zombie off of him with his bare hands. She’s an older woman, grey hair in rollers, yellow nightgown stained with gore. Something has happened to her feet. Both of her legs end in exposed tibias and flapping strips of purplish, rotting skin. Aegon is beating her with his golf club, but he can’t get a good shot at her head. If he accidentally hits Luke, he could make it worse, he could stun him or even knock him out, and he’ll be bitten in the few seconds it takes anyone to remove his undead assailant. Rio lunges to grab the zombie. She snaps at him with bared teeth and he retreats, drawing his M9.

“Don’t shoot!” Jace is saying. The air is putrid: dead horses, dead people. “You’ll hit Luke!”

Your own M9 is suddenly in your hands, the safety clicked off, one eye closed. “Luke, don’t move.”

“Kill it, kill it!” he pleads hysterically, pushing the zombie as far from him as he can, his palms sinking into the decomposing bruise-colored tissue of her chest and throat.

“Don’t shoot!” Jace orders, but you ignore him. He fades into the background with all the other frenzied voices. Your finger on the trigger, a boom like thunder, bits of bone and brains against the wall. Luke shoves the corpse away, trembling, sobbing. Rhaena flies to him.

Aegon spots the fresh blood on Luke’s right hand and panics. “Is that a bite?!”

Luke notices the wound for the first time. “I don’t know!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!”

“I don’t know!” Luke wails, tears flooding down his pink face.

“I thought you cleared the barn!” Aemond roars at Aegon.

“It fell out of the loft, we didn’t think anything was up there!”

Luke is blubbering: “I hit my hand against one of the stalls, I think that’s how I cut myself, I was just…I was pushing it away…I didn’t think it bit me…oh my God, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t want to die…”

“It only takes once, kid,” Rio says grimly, fidgeting with his M9, looking at Aemond as if for permission.

“Don’t touch him!” Jace hisses, stepping in front of his brother and clutching his bat. “No one is going to hurt him, it’s not a bite, you can’t prove it’s a bite!”

You reach for Luke’s bleeding hand. “Can I see—?”

“Get away from him!” Jace swings his bat. The tip of it connects with your skull, just a graze fortunately, but still enough to rattle you. Rio charges Jace, tackles him to the floor, starts throwing punches. Baela has apparently forgotten she’s heavily pregnant and is trying to pull them apart. You join her.

He’s going to demolish Jace. He’s going to break his nose or jaw or something. “Rio stop, I’m fine, stop!”

There is another gunshot, a cataclysmic earth-shaking explosion that makes the pain in your head surge from a ripple to a wave. Aemond is aiming his Glock skywards; a hole has appeared in the roof of the barn. “Stand up!” he commands. Rio and Jace reluctantly comply. You help Baela to her feet.

“Aemond,” Jace says. “You have to stop them, they’re going to kill Luke—”

“No one is killing anybody.” Aemond lowers his Glock. “Maybe he’s been bitten. Maybe he hasn’t been. And even if we knew for sure that he was going to turn, we don’t just execute people like this, threatening them when they’re terrified. We have humanity. We have compassion.”

There is a silence that strikes you as heavy, laden, holding meaning that escapes you. Aegon points at Luke. “So what the fuck are we going to do about him?”

“We’ll tie him up,” Aemond decides.

“What?!” Luke exclaims.

“There’s rope in the cellar. We’ll tie his arms and legs so he can’t do anything and keep him like that for a few days until either his hand heals up or he turns into a zombie. Someone will always have to be with him to help him eat and take a piss and also…you know. Deal with it if he turns.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says immediately.

Aemond’s voice is now gentle, sympathetic. “I don’t think you want this.”

“If Luke has to die, I should be the person with him.”

“You’ve never had to put someone down before.” And in this statement lives another: Aemond knows what that feels like. Aemond has had to kill someone when they turned.

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says again, this frail harmless doe-eyed girl, and you see a steeliness in her that you hadn’t thought existed.

“Okay,” Aemond relents. “When you’re asleep, Jace or I will take over.”

“It’s not a bite,” Jace murmurs, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“We’ll all find out soon enough,” Rio says, casting him a glare, then goes to fetch the coil of rope from the cellar.

Aemond cleans and bandages the wound on Luke’s hand. Then the weapons, ammo, and newly immobilized Luke are loaded into the Tahoe. Aemond asks you once everyone else is inside: “How’s your head?”

“Fine, I think.”

“Hurts?”

“Just a little.”

“Dizzy? Double vision?”

“No, nothing like that.”

He takes a quick look, parting your hair with his fingertips, feeling gingerly for blood and swelling. And this is becoming a serious problem: every time he touches you, you want more.

“Aemond…who did you have to kill?”

He doesn’t answer. For another moment his hand lingers by your temple, then Aemond turns away and climbs into the Tahoe. This time, no one sings along to the next song on the mixtape. Heads rest on windows, eyes are vacant and misty. Baela steers the Tahoe westbound on Route 1004, the Chainsmokers drifting through the speakers: All We Know.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Pick a card, any card,” Aegon says when he’s done shuffling. He fans out the entire Uno deck face-down and offers it to Rio, Aemond, and Jace. They each select a card, then Aegon picks one for himself. Finally, he holds out the deck to Luke, who stares up incredulously from where he’s still bound with rope and sitting on a curb in the parking lot of a Burger King just outside of Yarnell, Pennsylvania.

“Are you serious?”

“You’re an adult male, aren’t you? You think being in the middle of transforming into an undead murder machine exempts you from gasoline siphoning duty?”

“I’m fine!” Luke insists.

“Great. Then pick a card.”

“I can’t move my hands, you idiot.”

“Pick it with your mouth.”

“I hate you.” Luke bites his card of choice and waits with it clasped between his teeth, glowering.

“I want to pick a card,” Daeron says cheerfully.

Aegon refuses. “No. Too young. A baby.”

“Aegon, I’m seventeen!”

“Can’t enlist, can’t do jury duty, can’t buy lottery tickets, can’t sign up to drink gasoline. Okay, everybody show their cards.”

“I got a three,” Jace says, then yanks Luke’s card out of his mouth and reads it. “He got a skip.”

Aemond’s card is a nine, Rio’s a five, Aegon’s a reverse. “That means you lose, Jace,” Aegon announces, admittedly rather gleeful. “You had the lowest number.”

“This is bullshit, I had to siphon last time!”

“Then stop picking bad cards.”

“Jace, I can do it,” Aemond says.

“And get to be the martyr, as usual? No thanks. Give me the damn hose.”

Aegon roots around under the Tahoe seats and produces a long, semitransparent siphoning hose. “All the ones with the little pump attachments were sold out everywhere by the time we thought that might be useful,” he explains to you and Rio.

“That sucks, Jace,” Rio says. “I mean, literally, it sucks.”

“Next time we cross a bridge, I’m pushing you off it.” Jace takes the hose from Aegon, pops open the gas cap of the Dodge Ram 3500 you’ve found, and threads the hose down into the tank. He sucks on the other end and then shoves it into the Tahoe once the gasoline starts flowing. The fuel gauge was hovering just above E. Hopefully you can get at least a few gallons out of the Ram, another fifty or a hundred miles, maybe even two hundred, enough to get you across the Ohio border.

Jace is bent over and vomiting gasoline onto the pavement. Rhaena and Baela sit with Luke as Aemond feels his forehead and peers into his eyes. Daeron accompanies Helaena as she goes to scavenge inside the Burger King, her burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Rio is now holding the siphoning hose and watching the liquid gold pour into the Tahoe, his smile growing with each passing second. Your eyes fall on Aemond and stay there, his careful hands, his brow knitted with concentration.

A whisper from behind you: “We could fake date to make him jealous.”

You whirl to see Aegon, mischievous smirk, neon green plastic sunglasses. “That is a super generous offer and I appreciate the thought you put into it, but no.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dishonest. It’s manipulative. If something is going to happen with Aemond, I want it to be real.”

Aegon sighs. “No, you’re right, it was a dumb idea. I just figured I have a lot of experience.”

“Experience with what?”

“People pretending to love me.” He flashes a strange, sad smile, then follows Daeron and Helaena into the Burger King.

[rottenblur]

Say cheese|A.ANDERSON

Summary: An innocent gift of a polaroid camera is cute in thought, but of course Abby couldn’t keep it innocent for long. 600 words (very quick written)

Warnings: PWP???? Ish established relationships. Strap use. Abby calling the strap her cock , choking, overstimulation mention, strap sucking mention, polaroid nudes (she takes pics of you as she is fucking you with the strap) Abby calling you baby. Crying during sex,(due to overstimulation),,,,abby enjoying it.

Whoever thought giving you and Abby a polaroid camera was a good couple gift, you wish they could see you now.

Abby had your legs spread, fucking you for an hour at this point. In and out, in and out, your brain fucking gone.

“Abby please.” You say as she pounds into you with no mercy. “What baby? ‘s it too much?” She mocks you as she takes one hand off your chest, moving it down to your clit.

The bedsheets wet with sweat and your own slick, her hips banging off your ass in every thrust, leaving the room with a echoing wet sound.

She smiles at you picking up her pace with her hips, the tip hitting your cervix bound to be bruised tomorrow. Her fingers work lazy circles, on you, her boxers wet from you. Her arms and stomach wet with sweat, the whole room smelt like pussy and sweat.

“You’re doing so good for me baby.” She says watching the strap go in then out of you, how she wasn’t tired was confusing, you couldn’t understand it, to be fair you couldn’t understand anything right now.

You whine back to her not being able to make out words, your mouth open and hands placed above your head. You watch the way every time she thrusts in, her face tightens up as if she can actually feel inside you.

“Drunk all over my cock, so sweet.” She says, following it with a grunt as she speeds up her fingers. This pulls tears to your eyes and a moan from your throat. The overstimulation from cumming so many times was too much.

A wide smirk comes on Abby’s face when she sees your tears, she leans over, strap still fucking into you, grabbing the camera. “Wait Abby, what?” You try to see through your blurry, tearful eyes, then you hear a click followed by a flash blinding your eyes.

“So fucking sweet.” She continues fucking you, one hand on the camera the other rubbing tight circles on that sweet ball of nerves. Everything is sore from your neck down to your knees. Abby had a thing for you sucking the strap, the way your eyes filled with tears as you choked on it was gold to her.

Your face tightens up, as you feel yourself coming to your climax, tears still streaming down your face. Click then flash, you were scared to see how desperate you looked crying while Abby fucks you through your orgasm.

“You’re so pretty when you cry oh god.” She looks at you as you clench around her, grabbing her arm for support. She knocks your hand off, putting her’s tightly around your neck with the perfect amount of pressure. She picks up the pace, pulling more tears out of you, click then a flash.

She lays the camera back down, putting her fingers back on your clit as you whine to her. “Abby, ‘m gonna.” Her fingers matching the pace of her hips. “I know baby, cum for me, cum all over me.” You do, releasing all over her, your mind fuzzy as she fucks you through it till you’re heavy breathing and dripping down to the sheets.

She pulls out, taking her hands off you, neck sore, hole empty and achy. “So fucking pretty.” She says looking at the now developed pictures.

The next morning she sent you out to get the both of you coffee, it was nice, it was your time alone and Abby knew you loved it. She gave you her wallet as she insisted on paying. You get to the coffee shop, reach into her wallet to get the cash and pay but you drop it.

Three polaroid pictures fall out and onto the floor. You hand the cash over, stepping to the side to wait for the drinks you take a look. Hey, the two of you took more than just those pictures last night. It couldnt be them. You see yourself glossy, tear filled eyes, nude hickey covered body with Abby’s hand on your neck. You dont even dare to look at the other two.

A/n: MERRY CHRISTMAS (to those that celebrate it.) i didnt make it hella clear that it’s Christmas time in this just for the people that don’t celebrate it!! I got my inspo for this from “good decoration” by frank ocean hope yall like it bye bye

[losers-clvb]

apple pie and valentine's surprises // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x girlfriend!reader

summary: it's yours and dean's first valentine's day together! the pressure is on you both to make it perfect for each other, but things don't go according to plan.

content: fluff, reader is bad at baking, swearing, loverboy!dean

word count: 3k

note: happy valentine's day, my loves! in an attempt to bring a little romantic love into my life, i thought i would write a little loverboy!dean. enjoy!

masterlist

----

It was your first Valentine’s Day as Dean Winchester’s girlfriend. You knew you had to make it special. That’s what girlfriends did for their boyfriends, right? Though the two of you had been dating for just under nine months now, you had no clue what to do.

You could cook for him, but you and him cooked for each other all the time.

You could bring him… bowling, maybe? No. Dean was under a lifetime ban from the bowling alley after his ball had mysteriously found itself in the nacho cheese sauce at the snack bar.

It was hopeless. You hated this holiday, the expectations were too high.

“What to do, what to do…,” You mumbled to yourself, searching through the house for things you knew Dean was into.

Guns. Beer. That weird anime porn you had convinced him to stop watching around you.

Your eyes skirted past a half-eaten pie in the refrigerator. That was it.

Pie.

You were going to make him a pie. It was special enough. You cooked, but you rarely baked. It was easier to just buy it from the store or weasel some kind of muffin from sweet Mrs. Turner next door.

But it couldn’t be that hard. You knew how to cook. Baking was probably the same.

You gathered together your list of ingredients you would need from the store before dashing out of the front door.

----

Dean was in the same situation. Every single idea he had come up with so far only included the two of you naked. That wasn’t what you were looking forward to. Girls wanted sappy, romantic dates on Valentine’s Day, with flowers and chocolates and a bunch of other girly shit that Dean would have to look into. They wanted something out of the normal, something special, and you two had sex far too often for it to be considered “special”.

Dean had even resorted to going to Sam for advice. Sure, his brother wasn’t currently with someone, but he had more long-term girlfriends than Dean had. That’s where he was now, banging open the door to Sam’s room.

“Hey!” Sam shouted in alert, jumping at the sudden intrusion. “Do you ever knock?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dean brushed Sam off. This wasn’t the first time knocking had been an issue with Dean. “I need your help.”

“You break into my room to make me help you with something?” Sam asked, absolutely astonished at Dean’s nerve.

“I’m not makin’ you, Sammy. I’m begging!” Dean breathed out dramatically, throwing himself onto his brother’s bed. Sam rolled his eyes in response, turning back to the pile of laundry he was folding. When Sam didn’t answer him, Dean lifted his head up to see what the hold up was about.

“I’m serious, Sammy.” Dean scoffed, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

“Okay, fine.” Sam sighed, stopping his chore to cross his arms in front of him. “What is your big problem?” He asked condescendingly. Dean narrowed his eyes at him but chose not to reprimand him for it.

“I don't know what to do for Valentine's Day.” Dean grumbled out, ignoring Sam's attempt to stifle a laugh.

“Seriously? That's it?” Sam laughed. Dean glared at him.

“Yes! It's a big deal, okay?” Dean defended himself. He was starting to regret going to Sam about this. Maybe he should have just Googled it.

“Get her flowers or something.” Sam dismissed his brother, going back to his laundry. Dean rolled his eyes.

“It has to be special, Sammy. I get her flowers all the time.”

“It doesn't have to be special. It's just another day.”

“Girls like special. They like this Hallmark holiday shit.” Dean argued.

“So…,” Sam said as he thought. Obviously Dean wasn’t going to just leave him alone. “Candles.”

“Candles?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Candles and rose petals.” Sam decided, nodding.

“Where the hell did you get that from?” Dean questioned, though he was going to use the advice. He had no other options.

“Come on, Dean. It’s in, like, all the romance movies.” Sam stated the obvious. Dean was looking at him like Sam had just dropped a puppy into his lap.

“You watch those chick flicks?” Dean teased, taking the opportunity to make fun of his little brother.

“Get out of my room.” Sam rolled his eyes. Next time he was locking the door.

----

Turns out baking was nothing like cooking. Sure, you used similar ingredients, but this shit was hard. What the hell was a dough blender and why did every recipe use it?

You had forgone the kitchen tool, opting instead to use your hands. It seemed to do the trick, even if the dough looked a little lumpy. Next, you had to bake just the crust in the pan. Easy enough, but why did you need to bake pie twice?

You pulled the pan you had bought from the store out of the grocery bag. You had a ton of options, but the moment you laid your eyes on the heart-shaped metal, you knew that was the one. It would make the pie extra special, and who didn’t love hearts?

The tricky part was rolling the dough out. You hadn’t gotten a rolling pin. The fact that you didn’t own one flew right over your head while shopping. Your mom always had one, but it was used more as decoration than anything else. You just figured it was something that magically appeared in a person’s kitchen.

You scanned the kitchen for something, anything that would flatten the dough out. Your eyes landed on the cupboard that held your cups. Perfect. Well, almost perfect. You shuffled through the mismatched glasses and found the most uniform one you could. It was tapered toward the bottom, making the act of smoothing out the top of your dough difficult but not impossible.

Once you had the dough pressed into the pan and in the oven, you turned around to survey your mess. Flour was clouding over most of the counter, butter wrappers had fallen to the ground, and you had gone through five -- yes, five -- mixing bowls while combing the ingredients.

“What the hell are you up to?” You heard from behind you. You jumped. No one was supposed to be home. Sam went wherever Sams went to during the day and Dean had rushed out of the door with a half excuse you didn’t quite believe. You thought you would have the space to yourself for at least a few hours. Apparently, Dean had thought the same of himself, if the bags he was failing to hide behind him had anything to say.

“Nothing!” You yelped out a bit too fast to be natural. Dean narrowed his eyes, trying to peek around you to look at your mess. You, in an attempt to conceal your gift to him, spread your arms out. “Stop looking!”

Dean chuckled at you, but when you were the one to eye his bags, he was doing the same thing.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, sweetheart.” Dean barked out, pushing the bags further behind him. You pouted playfully, but kept your arms out until he shuffled away. Dean was up to something, you knew it. You just hoped you wouldn’t have to wait too long to find out what it was.

----

“Oh no.” You breathed out. Everything was going very bad very fast. The apple filling that you had been brewing up in a pot was somehow not cooked yet burning at the same time. Your mess had quadrupled itself. The pie crust had puffed up far too much, leaving virtually no room for filling. And somehow there was an apple skin stuck to the ceiling, though you were sure you hadn’t peeled the apples that viciously.

You scrambled around for your phone. The recipe was supposed to be displayed on the screen, but the page had refreshed and you were brought back to the top. After scrolling for what felt like an hour, the story about the baker Laura Lee’s great-great-great-grandmother’s apple farm -- like you gave a shit about that -- flying past your eyes, you finally figured out what you had done wrong.

1/4 cup of apple juice

1 tablespoon of cinnamon

You had switched the two around. You had thought, at the time, that it was far too much cinnamon but had brushed it off as a secret family recipe, as Laura Lee had boasted. That was why the pot was smoking now, even after you had turned the burner off.

Okay, but it didn’t explain the crust. What could you have done wrong? Every ingredient was correct, with the correct amounts, yet the puffed up pan seemed to laugh at you.

Roll out the dough, blah, blah, blah, cut to size, blah, blah, blah, place in pan with pie weights on top

Wait, what the fuck were pie weights?

After a quick search you had learned that pie weights were the things that kept the fucking crust from rising, as yours had. Great. Just great. You didn’t have time to remake the crust, nor the filling. It was growing close to the time when you and Dean had decided to celebrate the holiday. You would have to make do. You were nothing if not resourceful, a lie you told yourself as you dumped in what filling you could fit over the crust. You shoved the dish into the oven, slamming the door shut out of frustration.

Now to clean. Why was baking so damn messy?

You dropped your dishes into the sink, promising yourself you would do them later, though Sam would probably get to them first. The tedious task of scraping each and every apple skin scrap off of the counter distracted you from another presence entering the kitchen. You hadn’t noticed anyone was there, in fact, until their arms wrapped around you.

You tensed up before the scent of gunpowder and sandalwood told you it was Dean. You sighed out in defeat, twisting around in his arms. Dean had a crooked smile on his face, amusement in his eyes. You frowned back at him.

“You weren’t supposed to see all this.” You informed him, wrapping your own arms around his neck. Dean pulled you in closer with his hands resting just above your butt. He shrugged.

“It’s kinda hard to miss, sweetheart.”

You just nodded, another sigh leaving your lips. This wasn’t perfect. This was messy and completely wrong. Nothing had gone according to plan.

The beep of a timer alerted you to the fact that your pie was done, or as done as it was going to get. You wiggled out of Dean’s grasp and pulled your creation out. It wasn’t perfectly golden brown like you had expected and the apples looked dried up. You spun around to let Dean get a look of his gift. His face lit up.

“Pie.” He voiced out, walking to you. You dropped the pan onto the counter and crossed your arms.

“Not really.” You criticized, eyeing over every flaw the dessert held. Dean paid no mind to this. You had gone out of your way, out of your comfort zone, to make him something he loved. Sure, it didn’t look like the traditional pies he had eaten, but coming from you meant it was going to be the best kind of pie.

“Ah, come on. It’s…,” Dean searched for something that would comfort you, “a special family recipe.” He finished, snapping his fingers at the quick thinking. You smiled gratefully at him, but it didn’t make the disappointment go away. Dean frowned at your continued displeasure.

“I’m sure it tastes better than it looks.” He said while pulling a fork from the silverware drawer. He dug right into the middle and pushed the apple/crust mixture into his mouth. You watched in anticipation. The immediate disgust on his face made you look away, embarrassed. He was wrong. It didn’t taste better, if anything, it tasted worse.

“Delicious, best pie I’ve ever had.” Dean lied, nodding and forcing a smile onto his face. It took some work, but he was able to swallow down the food. You shook your head and walked away from the counter, arms wrapping around yourself.

“Don’t lie to me, Dean.” You mumbled. You hated that you had failed at making something for him. He was just appreciative that you had thought of him at all.

“Hey, no, no, no,” Dean repeated, rushing in front of you. You looked up at him and felt a little lighter. That always seemed to happen when you looked at him. He always made a bad day a bit better.

“It’s amazing, sweetie. I mean, anything that’s heart-shaped has to be, right?” Dean smiled brightly at you, hands resting on your shoulders. You scrunched your nose up at the statement, but a small laugh left you. Dean took that as a sign he was getting to you.

“I’m gonna eat the whole freakin’ thing.” He announced, turning to go back to the dessert. He wasn’t going to like it, but if it made you happy, he would do it. I mean, he’s gone to Hell and back, this couldn’t be any worse.

“No, stop.” You grabbed at his wrist. Relief flooded Dean. He really didn’t want to eat that again. You stretched up and placed a kiss on his lips. “Don’t torture yourself for me, De.”

Dean kissed you now, before pulling away and grasping your hands in his.

“Your turn.” He announced, a wide smile on his face. You furrowed your eyebrows, wondering what he could possibly have in store for you. You let out a noise of surprise when he walked behind you and placed his hands over your eyes.

“No looking.” Dean said as he slowly guided you across the kitchen. You were bad at walking without seeing. You kept tripping over your own feet. You gripped onto Dean’s wrists for support.

“Do you have your eyes closed too?” You asked when you felt your hip bump into a wall. You could imagine Dean’s eye roll.

“Just keep walking, sweetheart.” He grumbled out. You realized he was leading you to your shared bedroom, the path becoming a bit more familiar. You shuffled along, your socked feet softened your steps. You felt Dean tug you to a stop, announcing the fact that you had reached your destination.

“Three, two, one…,” Dean mumbled into your ear before giving your sight back to you. You blinked to clear your vision, looking around the room. Dean had you and him standing in the middle of the room. The curtains were pulled closed. The only light in the room came from the candles scattered around the room. Your eyes softened at the sight of rose petals littering the floor and bed, a box of chocolates laying on the pillows.

“I love it.” You whispered, not wanting to break the soft aura of the room. You turned around to face Dean. He wore a dopey smile on his face. You threw yourself into him, kissing him.

Dean had done much better than you had. This was perfect. The candles, the petals, the chocolates, all of it looked straight out of a movie. You didn’t question where he had gotten the idea from. All you could focus on was the way his hands fell to your hips.

You both moved in sync as you made your way to the bed. Dean lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, as he walked. You let your fingers weave into the hair on the back of his head. It was all amazing, all you could feel was the desire coming from Dean. It was so distracting, the rest of the world, including the candles, faded from your attention.

You hadn’t even noticed the small fire starting on the carpet until you smelled the burning of the fibers. You pulled away from Dean. You yelped at the flames reaching up higher and higher. In a fight-or-flight type of reaction, Dean dropped you to go bat at the fire with a stray t-shirt that had been laying on the ground. You landed on your butt with a thump. There would surely be a bruise there later on. You held yourself up with your hands behind your back, watching as Dean cursed to himself. The fire was ultimately put out, though the blackened spot on the carpet still smoked with the memory of it.

Dean looked to you, chest heaving from the intensity of what had happened. You both stared at each other, eyes wide. No one said a word. Dean had messed up. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to play firefighter tonight -- at least, not unless you had asked for it. He had failed at making this one thing special for you.

A small giggle coming from you interrupted his thoughts. Dean watched as you doubled over in laughter, a bit of flour still coating your hair from your attempted baking. Your laughter somehow pulled his own bout of chuckles from him. He found himself pulling you up from the floor and you both laughed together, folding into each other’s arms. You two looked like lunatics, standing over a smoking chunk of carpet while laughing.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.” Dean laughed out, leading you to the bed. You shoved the box of chocolates to the floor, climbing under the blankets. Dean followed behind you, pulling you to lay on top of him.

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” You kissed his nose.

You weren’t perfect. Dean wasn’t perfect. Your relationship wasn’t perfect. But it was okay. You had each other, that was all you needed. You two would live everyday, being imperfect together. There was one thing that was clear: this was yours and Dean’s first, and last, attempt at a perfect Valentine’s Day.

[claimedcrossbows]

Served! Sanji x Fem!reader

Slight anime spoilers/foreshadowing.

This is OPLA Sanji though.

-

You were laid down in your quarters trying to keep the vomit down after you had been sick the entire night. Your head was killing you and you were simply not ready for whatever chaos was happening downstairs, but you had a kitchen to run, so you slowly got dressed, and slowly made your way downstairs to absolute anarchy.

“Y/n! We’re out of crawfish and it’s tonight's specials!” Your little sister says immediately approaching you.

“How did we run out of crawfish?” You groaned.

“Rasha forgot to order more and the nearest port ship is still a day away.” She explains frantically.

“Substitute it for lobster in the mac and cheese, and 86 the Crawfish Etouffe Balls.” You demanded hoarsely your vocal chords still fried from vomitting all night.

“Y/N are you okay? You look awful.” Your sister says looking at your haggard appearance and your overall sweaty pale face.

“Great, now go do as I told you, and make it quick rumor has it a critic is dining with us tonight!” You say the last part loud enough to attract your team of cooks attention.

“YES CHEF!” A chorus of voices ring out as you nod and all but wobble your way to the fridge for some much needed seltzer water.

Of all the days for one of the most known critics on the grandline to come pay your restaurant a visit it just had to be today when you could barely stand up right.

Fortunately for you you had a great team of chefs under your command as you watched them all hurry about prepping and making numerous dishes that looked about as masterful as could be.

You were by far one of the best restaurants on the grandline, your restaurant resided on a small beach in a lighthouse where many ships sailing by frequented your restaurant when they were in need of a good meal and conversation.

And you were no doubt one of best female chef’s the grand line had ever seen.

At just age 7 you had won your local cooking competition taking home a wonderful gift basket of exotic spices that had eventually lead you to your well known name of The Spice Queen.

You specialized in Cajun styled cooking, but you could cook just about anything in any style, you were well versed in cuisine having read numerous cookbooks throughout your life, you even knew quite a few special recipes to help revitalize sailors who were in need of more than just a flavorful meal.

Many pirates sought you out after large scaled battles that left them in tatters, if anyone asked any of those pirates what saved their lives and healed their wounds, they would name you.

Which is how you got your second name, as The Crock Pot Doc.

Yep, one taste of your special famous soup was said to cure a man on his death bed.

But none of that mattered if you couldn’t pull off a perfect dinner service tonight of all nights. You had to make sure this critic was absolutely blown away and you weren’t about to let a little food poisoning stop you.

So you chugged your seltzer water and began mincing and julienning veggies.

That was until a loud bang echoed throughout the entire lighthouse followed by a bunch of screaming and crying.

You quickly put down your knife and made it to the dining area where you absolutely could not believe your eyes at what had unfolded before you.

“WE NEED THE CROCK POT DOC, BRING THEM,PLEASE HURRY!” A man in a straw hat yellled looking around the room of patrons and chefs who had also exited the kitchen to see what was happening.

You stepped forward trying to process the sight before you, a group of pirates had barged into your restaurant all with desperate faces and who you could only assume was the captain carrying a orange haired woman who looked to be on the brink of death.

“I’m her, what the hell is going on??” You asked trying to wrap your head around this and the current state of your dining room that has been nearly destroyed by their barging in.

The straw hat man hastily made his way toward you carrying the woman with desperate eyes.

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and you have to save my friends life.” He said shakily but with a determination you could respect.

You laughed in disbelief, this man trashes your dining room on a special night and expects you to just save his friends life??

“And why would I do that?” You scoff looking at the state of the girl who looked worse than you felt.

“Because I’m the man who will be king of the pirates, and I promise I will pay you whatever you need and more if you save Nami’s life.” He says unwavering.

A few of your cooks scoff and laugh, “King of the pirates? This kid?” One of your cooks laughs.

You frown, “I don’t work for free, especially not when I have a important critic frequenting my restaurant tonight, there’s a doctor village not to far from here maybe a day’s travel at the Drum Kingdom-”

“She doesn’t have a day!” Luffy stresses.

Your frown deepens, your about to protest before a wave of nausea makes you wince. “Look I don’t have time for this I’m sorry but you need to leave-”

“Madam.” A voice behind this so called Captain Luffy rings out and you look past the kid and sees a tall blonde man in a black suit stepping forward, his face tense but gentle as he addressed you. “I understand your busy, but she will die if she doesn’t receive some kind of medical attention and I hear your not only one of the best cooks on these seas, but your cooking even rivals most medicines prescribed by doctors.” He says as he walks up to you.

“And you are?” You ask raising a skeptical brow.

“Sanji, The best cook in all of the east blue and maybe the world Mam’.” He says confidently as he shoots you a wink.

You immediately laugh, “Wow you have a lot of nerve to say that to my face.”

His face drops as he immediately shakes his head, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to offend you I just-”

“Well you wouldn’t be a good cook if you weren’t cocky, so there must be some talent behind your words.” You say crossing your arms. “Your Sanji, Chef Zeff’s prodigy I assume.” You say watching his eyes widen.

A small smirk crosses his lips, “Ah, so you’ve heard of me madam?” He says flirtatiously.

“Yeah, I heard a flirty handsome chef trained by Chef Zeff himself has been making his name in the culinary world as one of the best chef��s out here.”

“Oh really?” He says his smile widening.

“Yeah, but it looks like they only got the flirty part right.” You smirk back watching his face drop.

“Sanji’s the best cook on the grandline!!” Luffy immediately defends.

“Yet he can’t make a healing dish?” You interject.

Luffy grunts in annoyance, “Look we don’t have time for this Nami’s dying will you help us or not!?” He shouts angrily.

“N-”

“You say a food critics coming tonight right?” Sanji suddenly says.

You turn to him and nod, “Yes and I need to get ready-”

“You look sick, how do you expect to impress a critic and you can barely stand up right?” He asks staring directly into your eyes.

“How the hell do you know i’m sick?” You questioned.

“I know when a lady’s suffering.” He says gently.

You didn’t know how to respond to that so you just let him continue.

“So how about a deal, I help lead your cooks tonight and pull off an exsquisit meal to impress the critic, and you in turn heal my friend?” He says.

“And what makes you think you can make any of my dishes East Blue Boy?” You challenge, honestly intrigued by the cockiness of this man.

“I’m a fast learner mam, just give me a sample of what needs to be cooked and i’ll make it.” He says.

You were about to deny this foolish request until the sounds of numerous peoples stomachs gurgling suddenly caught your attention.

“Uhhhggg, Chef Y/N we don’t feel so good.” One your top chefs say holding their stomachs.

“Neither do I.” Chef Rasha groans.

“Oh no..” Another chef groans running out the room and into the bathroom.

“I feel fine?” Your little sister says looking at you in disbelief as more and more chefs ran out the room in distress as you watched your customers quickly flee out the front door.

You couldn’t believe this..your entire staff had contracted food poisioning.

You look between Luffy and the dying woman and then back at Sanji as your stomach churned even more.

Uhg.

“Fine, but my little sister will be your sous chef, she’s basically the mini version of me so listen to her directly got it?” You say approaching the blonde man who’s flirtatious smile made its way back onto his face.

“Anything you say Madam-’ ”And please stop with the Madam, Call me Chef, Y/N.”

“Chef Y/n, beautiful name, fits a beautiful woman.” He says.

Your stomach churns again as you quickly grab your little sisters chef hat and proceed to heavily vomit directly into it.

“Wow Sanji, your flirting literally made her vomit.” A man says placing a pitiful hand on his shoulder.

“Shut it Usopp!” Sanji hisses. “I’m going to have my friends help me considering your now understaffed, is that okay?” He asks looking at your concerningly handing you a handkerchief from his suits pocket.

“Fine, but don’t let that one” You say pointing to luffy. “Anywhere near the food.” You say getting a strange vibe from the straw hat boy just from the way he was eyeing your customers abandoned plates of food they had left.

“Trust me, I wasn’t.” He admits.

“Fine its a deal.” You say reaching out your clammy shaky hand that he immediately picks up and kisses.

Your face contorts into disgust as you take your hand back, just who did you let in your kitchen??

-

Hey guys wanted to do a little Sanji One shot I think this will be a two parter but I thought it would be so cool if Sanji met another incredibly talented chef who just so happened to be a woman right before we meet Chopper at the Drum Kingdom arc!!

[dearabby1990]

Through hell or high water Gareth Emerson x Reader

Being the new kid was never easy… ever since your parents divorced you’ve found yourself in this cycle of getting used to some place and then having to up and leave again. But not this time finally somewhere to plant some roots even if it wasn’t the fanciest place in the world a permanent home of any sort sounded like heaven to you. Your moms sister forever the family savior helping your mom put a lump some down on a trailer in forest hills trailer park in Hawkins Indiana. Moving in had been a hassle beings your mom had to start her new job right away leaving you unpacking the moving truck all by yourself. You got a majority of it inside except for the large furniture items causing you much frustration. You grab your long black hair with bleached out bangs forever loving to be the odd ball not giving a flying fuck what anyone thought of you and not being anywhere long enough to give a shit anyway. You grunt sitting on the back of the truck fiddling in your pockets for your cigarettes and failing to find your lighter before a ringed hand offers you one causing you to jump back surprised by their presence “holy shit I didn’t see you scared the shit out of me man” you clutched your chest catching your breath as he laughed “sorry neighbor.. wanted to see if you needed any help over here my uncle and friends just came out and saw you try and she hulk that dresser you’re gonna throw your back out” as he offers you a light “thanks you live around here too?” He lights his own shaking his head “yeah right over there my names Eddie come on over I’ll introduce you to everybody” you smirk “okay Eddie… it’s nice to meet you the name is y/n” you offer a hand to which he shakes “come on over I’ll introduce you to the guys and the old man” you follow him over seeing a small group of young guys one particularly catching your attention as you both stare at each other a moment before looking away “hey guys this is y/n… y/n this is uncle Wayne” “nice ta meet cha darlin” he offers a kind smile which you return “this is Dustin” you nod “cool hair you kind look like Rogue” you laugh “I’ll take that I love x men” they all look bewildered “you read comics?!” “Yeah I collect them too I have a ton” you smirk “this is Mike and Lucas” “hi” both shyly say in unison you waive “this Jeff and freak” “hi guys” and this is my best friend Gareth “hi” he says shyly cheeks bright red something not unseen by Eddie who wears a shit eating grin “hello” you duck your head from his gaze before Wayne breaks the awkward silence “Alright gentlemen let’s help the lady out everyone get over to the truck and we’ll finish helping her get everything inside” your eyes bulge “oh! You don’t have to do that really it’s oka-“ cutting you off “no no no now what kind of neighbor would I be watching you try and struggle with all that when we have a bunch of hands over here to help ya out it’s not a problem really” “thank you really I appreciate it” you turn directing them towards the truck as the boys all file in figuring out who should grab what and work together getting everything inside you hurry to your room pulling out your phone plugging it into the outlet happy your aunt called ahead just for you to make sure you felt at home in the new place you pull out the phone book looking up a local pizza place “uh hello yes delivery please.. uh 34 cherry tree terrace Forrest hills trailer park… yes 3 large cheese 3 large pepperoni and four 2 liters just mix them up but preferably Dr Pepper for one if you have it?… okay great no that’s all… 30 minutes? Okay have a good night” you hang up running back into the living room as the guys file in carrying the sofa in eddie and gareth working their way through the door with it. “Um i really appreciate the help so… for a thank you… I… kind of ordered a bunch of pizza I hope plain and pepperoni is fine?” They all turn to you smiling eddie smacks gareth to get him to talk “uh yeah that’s good and uh no problem really” he tries not staring too long working his way inside setting down the sofa as Mike and Lucas carry in the dining room table.

After everything’s inside a tap at the screen door you skid to the front door with your wallet “what’s the damage?” You ask “18.50” you hand him $25 “have a goodnight thank you!” As you carry it through the entryway gareth sees you and jumps up “here let me help with that” you blush again “thanks” “you’re welcome” you set everything on the coffee table and go to grab plates and cups in the living room the boys bicker all though you can’t understand them from where you are. “Dude Gareth totally likes her his face is so red right now” Mike cackles “shut it wheeler you been goo goo eyeing her too” Eddie says as he swats the back of mikes head “gareth go help the girl in the kitchen and quit being a chicken shit we can all see the hearts in your eyes… I’m not an idiot she’s a smoke show if you don’t go for it then I will” he tests his friend watching his eyes go wide as he stumbles his way into the kitchen causing Eddie to chuckles “hey.. need any help in here..” “yeah can you go in that box next to you and pull out enough cups for everyone while I dig out the plates?” He nods smiling bringing over small amounts of glasses eventually emptying the whole box without realizing it as he admires you. You look at him his eye his freckles feeling a warm fluttering sensation in your chest you smile and rub the back of your neck before looking at him again “you have really beautiful eyes” you blurt out before slapping your hand over your mouth he laughs “thanks but I think yours are way more beautiful” “huh” he takes a deep breath “look I know you just got here and all and I understand if you don’t want to or think we’re freaks or whatever but… would you wanna maybe catch a movie.. or something Saturday?” You smile “I don’t think youre a freak… at least not as much of a one as I am” you laugh “but I don’t see why not I’d really like that” he seems surprised by your answer stumbling a bit catching himself on the kitchen counter “you… really?.. okay cool” digging his toe into the flooring like a shy schoolgirl “how’s 8 is that good?” You pretend to think for a moment “hmmm yeah that’s cool” you shrug he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding onto while helping you carry everything to the living room Eddie looking at both of your beet red faces shaking his head laughing to himself “okay guys here ya go help yourselves and there’s cola, Dr Pepper, root beer and orange soda in the kitchen” everyone digs in Eddie has gareth go with him for a drink “so what happened? Spill!” Eddie whisper yells “I uh… I asked her to goto the movies this Saturday” Eddie grins “and?..” “she said yeah” he slaps Gareth’s back “that’s my boy there ya go now you could potentially have a prom date good for you” gareth shakes his head at his friends teasing both getting a drink and heading back to the sofa. Everyone eats while you all get to know each other talking music and comics not realizing how much you all have in common. You start unloading one of your boxes for your room when they see a tattered d&d book Eddie’s eyes light up “holy shit do you know how old this is?!” You blush “uh yeah I do actually because it was my dads he taught me how to play” they all turn slowly and doe eyed “you have to join hellfire we definitely could use another girl” dustin blurts out “what’s your class and level?” Gareth asks “Level 20 Half elf” they all look extremely surprised “LEVEL 20?!” Mike yells you nod giggling showing them your old campaign book from back in Chicago. The boys take turns skimming throughout the pages along with your sketches and character pages of old friends. “This is amazing” “yeah totally” Eddie and Gareth talk amongst themselves before looking up at you. “Have any interest in joining hellfire?” Eddie asks “hell yeah” you stick your hand out to shake his “and you’re name is?….” “Lady Luna level 20 half elf” you curtsy as he bows and both laugh. “Thanks for the help tonight guys I really appreciate it” “no problem neighbor we’ll get out of your hair but if you need a ride to school tomorrow I leave at 8 sharp just come on over” “thanks Eddie”

You spend the rest of the night unpacking boxes and putting things away so the house was set by the time your mom gets in from work. After all the unpacking you hop in the shower and plop on your mattress the bed can be put together tomorrow as you pass out for much needed sleep from the long day you had. Maybe Hawkins isn’t so bad after all.

[the-bi-space-ace]

I have a migraine coming on so I present to you:

How the clones react when they have a headache:

Rex: takes so many pain pills. Refuses to let this stop him. Drinks water constantly. And yet. This man refuses to try a snack to fix his headache. Cody has had Fives and Echo hold him down so he can make Rex eat a granola bar. (The granola bar helps Rex refuses to admit it.)

Cody: refuses to admit anything is wrong. Total hypocrite. Will bully everyone else into pain relievers, snacks, and water but will never take his own advice. Quite like his above mentioned brother he will never admit to something working and has to be tricked into doing something to relieve the pain.

Fox: chews on espresso beans to make his headache a caffeinated headache. Also is just in a constant state of discomfort from not sleeping enough. His headache would go away should he drink water or nap but the man would rather down another energy drink and move on.

Wolffe: will be grumpy about it until he can nap. Is really good about finding some sort of relief and is quiet about his pain. (Likes when someone will rub his head though that helps he won’t ask for it though.)

Fives: biiiiiiig mad. Super baby about it. Immediately wants an aleve and a snack but somehow thinks drinking something with sugar will help??? Instead of water??? And he’s somehow correct every time??? Lays his head in Echo’s lap and requests a head massage and promptly falls asleep.

Echo: I think he’s good about managing pain because he doesn’t want it to impact his ability to do things. He carries snacks and water and will take a reliever if pushed (although he says he doesn’t want to take it because he doesn’t want to ‘waste’ supplies on himself. Take the damn pill Echo you’ll feel better.) Refuses to be alone when he’s in pain and would always prefer someone to just sit nearby if he’s going to nap. As long as it’s dark and calm he’s pretty quiet about it. Tries to hide it 9 times out of 10 but he’s got nosey friends and they somehow always know and bully him into taking care of himself.

Hunter: oof. Poor guy gets migraines. Can never hide it. His eyes hurt so bad. His brain feels like it’s banging against his skull. Has to take some sort of medication immediately otherwise he gets sick. He’d prefer some solitude to be in pain alone but sometimes someone will take his bandana off and play with his hair to help.

Wrecker: Hates headaches but gets them concentrated right behind his eyes. Is not quiet about the pain and will request literally anything to make it go away. Tech is excellent at playing doctor here and knows exactly the combination of things to make it go away and keep Wrecker comfortable.

Tech: if it’s bad enough he will take a sedative and pass out for twelve hours and wake up fine. Does not fuck around and will not remain uncomfortable. He gets the slightest inclination of a headache and he’s eating a mini candy bar and a piece of cheese and also drinking eight ounces of water in five minutes before trying a pill that he knows will target the root cause of the problem. Scary efficient and competent.

Crosshair: oh boy. Will make it everyone else’s problem. He hates headaches. He’ll curl into a ball in whatever dark corner he can find and snap at anyone who tries to talk to him. Best bet is to silently bring offerings of food and water and leave him be until he feels more comfortable. He will never admit it but sometimes really quiet talking or even singing can help him at least feel better.

[simplydannie]

@kais-va no angst as you asked lol this is one I did awhile ago but forgot to post it! (I scrolled through my account and I swear I didn’t see this one anywhere!)

The twins have been doing community service under the watchful eye of the Trolls. This time their service takes them to Vacay Island where a day off means a day in the sun… unfortunately, for Vennie, that’s doesn’t turn out so great.

It was really bright and really sunny day on Vacay Island. On top of that, it was very busy. Tourists have been swarming in left and right; tourists of all species.

On the beach near the water were 3 figures: two tall with green hair and pale skin, one little purple one no bigger than a tennis ball. Velvet wore a two piece golden suit and a large sun hat. Her long hair tied in a flamboyant ponytail, bangs curled around her forehead. Round sunglasses shaded her eyes and rose pink lipstick on her lips. Her brother was to her left. He wore golden trunks to match his sister and black round sunglasses. His hair wasn’t styled in his normal updo. Instead he let the water take its role, allowing his hair to sweep in a type of faux hawk near his eyes. He no longer wore his green lipstick to match his sister; this time he was his own man.

In between them lay a small little purple Troll sprawled out on a small beach chair. Green rectangular sunglasses blocked his eyes, a smile across his face. The three sighed in unison.

“This...” said Floyd.

“Is...” continued Velvet.

“Perfect.” finished Veneer.

The three lay with their arms behind their head as they soaked up the bright, smiling sun.

“...Wow! Revenue up 40%. Let’s get some more cheese melted for some more nachos! Let’s get those drinks up and ready. We got more coming in.!” Bruce’s voice trickled and boomed as he got closer to the trio. “Velvet, your idea of opening our doors to Mount Rageons everywhere was Sp-ec-tac-U- lar!”

A sly smile crossed Velvets lips, “I know, I know.” She beamed.

“Ahem.” Floyd coughed, lowering his sunglasses side eyeing her.

“I mean, you’re welcome. Anything I can do to help.” She rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Maybe a little less attitude, but better.” Floyd beamed.

“I really don’t know why I am going through this behavior intervention. It’s really pointless.” Velvet said.

“I don’t know, you seem more barable now... fun even.” Veneer smirked. Velvet grabbed her towel smacking her brother across the face.

“And you’ve became a more smart ass than usual... I hate it.” She sneered.

“Love you too sis.” Her brother laughed.

“This conversation is going a lot better than most-oooohhhhh wow.” Floyd took off his small sunglasses and gasped towards Veneers direction.

“What?” Veneer gaped. Velvet turned towards her brother for a good look…. She then bursted out laughing.

“Oh my god- what?...What? ...WHAT!?” His voice began to grow shaky and nervous.

“ I don’t know, you tell me. Can I have some grilled cheese with the that tomato soup sir?” Velvet said between laughs. Tears began rolling down her eyes as the laughter continued. Veneer gaped at her clueless.

“What?! Tell me!?” He begged. Before Floyd could respond Poppy and Branch joined the trio… their eyes going wide when they saw Veneer.

“Omg Vennie!” Poppy exclaimed, “Like red is definitely your color but not like this!”

Branch joined Velvet in laughter…. Which made Veneer even more anxious… Why is Branch laughing too? He thought.

“Dude, have you ever heard of “sunblock��?” Branch asked with a smirk on his face.

“Duh! Floyd gave me some!” Veneer desperately tried to look around for something to see himself on.

“ Which one? I gave you two, and one was NOT sun lotion.” Floyd declared. Velvet continued laughing handing her brother her mirror.

“Priceless.” She sneered.

Upon looking at himself.... he saw it. His cheeks were flushed red. The redness flushed his face, neck, torso…all the way down to his legs. Velvet was right, he looked like he had jumped in tomato soup.

“No, no, no, no, no!!” He stammered. He reached for his towel and wrapped his entire body... well as much as he could. “No one said anything!”

“Well I didn’t get a good look at you until now.” Floyd said, “you better put something on before it starts peeling.”

“Oh Vennie, youll be fine! It doesn’t look that bad.” Poppy tried to say.

“I look like a freaking tomato, Poppy!” Veneer said.

He eyes the beach from side to side: it was jam packed with people. Anyone could’ve of seen and anyone was going to see if he walked out of there... a red glowing stick.

“Vels hand me your towel!” He demanded.

“You have your own!” She exclaimed.

“Ya but yours is longer. Covers more. Pleeeeeaaase!” He begged.

“I mean there’s not MUCH to cover anyways.” She smirked as she laid back closing her eyes again.

“Velvet.” She turned to see Floyd standing up right with his arms across his chest. He lifted one eyebrow giving her a stern look.

“Uuuuggghhh. Boys are much more drama queens than girls are yknow. Here moron.” She tossed him her towel.

“Thank you!” Attempting to wrap himself like a burrito, Veneer stood up and made his way toward the resort.

Leaving his sunglasses on, he twisted and turned, avoiding any eye contact that he could.

“Excuse me. Sorry. Coming through.” He said as he weaved his way around the crowd. ‘Almost there, almost there’, he thought to himself..….

OOF.

He accidentally ran into a Vacationer carrying a tray of food and drinks. Veneer tumbled to the floor loosing grip of his towel.

“Sorry my dude… whooooaaaa.” The Vacationers eyes widened upon seeing Veneers red glowing skin.… Everyone there gaped as they saw him….everyone.

“No, no thats my bad!” Veneer desperately reached for the towel and wrapped himself up again. “Uuuh have a good day!” He ran…. He ran straight toward the room he was staying in.

Once inside he went straight towards his bed, burying his face into his pillow…. He was NEVER going to show his face after that again.

“Stupid Veneer.” He told himself as he buried his face deeper into his pillow.

[anonymouschishiyaimaginesandmore]

The Adventures of Dilf!Chishiya Intro

Minors, do not read! Contains mentions of smutty behavior!

MASTERLIST (up-to-date)

This is the Intro to the Dilf!Chishiya One Shot Series

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Alice in Borderland/Imawa no Kuni no Alice characters or original stories, only the plot of this fanfic. Alice in Borderland/Imawa no Kuni no Alice characters and original storyline belong to Haro Aso, who made the Manga the Series is based on.

Trigger Warning: Questionable Behavior from a 43 year old man Summery: Its an Intro, dunno what else to say

Chishiya Shuntaro was 24 years old when he slept with a woman who he now calls his wife. At least legally. Because beside that, there is nothing between those people who only shared one night together and shit if Chishiya could turn back time and go back to this day, he would slap the hell out of his younger self, who for some reason got hella drunk that night and forgot to wrap it before he tapped it.

Too bad. The product of that fateful mistake is now 18 years old and aside from slutting around her school, dumb as fuck and sucking out the money straight from his wallet. And Chishiya?

He is now 43 and hates the two females living in his house, banging idiots like them under his roof and throwing money out of the window like they earned it and didn’t just rely on him and his good running career as a well-known and famous Surgeon.

Chishiya hated them with all his guts. His wife used the growing glob in her belly to get his father to, pretty much force him into a marriage he never wanted because, no son of his is going to dishonor him and make a bastard and in his fathers eyes, it was time for Chishiya to settle down anyway, why not doing it with the daughter of a good celebrated IT company who had the best reputation in all Tokyo?

Chishiya could name at least 5 reasons why, but the truth is, if he wouldn’t have married that gold digger of a woman and named her crotch goblin with his last name, life would have become a hassle anyway.

His father would have withdrawn all financial support and Chishiya knew without that, this fateful night would have sucked him dry of all income for at least the next 18 years anyway, so why not making it official?

The dyed blond man never planned to stay faithful anyway. Having his little side affairs here and there. At least he kept it securely under the blanket, not like his “Wife” that banging guys all over the city, telling them her sob story of how mean her husband is and cold and unloving.

No wonder that half her jewelry are gifts from random man who fell for her trap long enough to spend themselves stupid. Chishiya didn’t care. He let the people around him talk behind his back, tho they did it terribly obvious and lived his live in a fucked up suburban townhouse Street, where every building looked like the next one and everyone smiled with their perfectly 3mm moaned front yard, their 2 and a half private school children and of course the pool and the grill in the back. Always running and serving grilled cheese and nowadays vegan burger options on sunny days during Neighborhood parties.

Chishiya hated it. He hated all of it and he hated the always smiling man of every family more who he had nothing in common with, beside the stupid house he couldn’t stand and the fact that none of them knew when to pull out in time.

Until one sunny day, he set down next to one of this man circles, hearing what those monkeys had to say about growing up and their yearning taste for something fresh. He was there, but not really listened and that’s when Chishiya realized something.

Something that had skipped his mind for years, since all children in this neighborhood seemed to be almost the same age, but now grew up into more than that.

His neighbor’s daughters, stepdaughters, goddaughters, whatever and nieces. They all grew up right under his eyes and while Chishiya never saw them as anything else as annoying little barbies, screaming and tossing balls over his fence and shattering another window, all of these girls, all of them…they were now right in front of him, giggling their 18 years old asses off in way too tight bikinis and short shorts and oh don’t forget the tiny skirts.

Damn, Chishiya started to love these tiny skirts. They were his new favorite, especially when the wearing darling dropped something and had to lean down to get it.

Oh yeah, Chishiya realized that day, that his live wasn’t over as he thought so. In fact, a new season of summer just begun and the way it looked from his point of view, it carried many shades of possible fun Chishiya couldn’t wait to take a bite of. Or maybe two? Three? Who knows.

Chishiya believed for years that this kind of buffet has closed for him forever, so imagine his surprise and wide eyes as it opened with all it had to offer. How should he say no to all those new and sweet looking options?

Fuck Vegan food, Chishiya thought, licking his lips and spreading his legs just a little wider as one of the girls made her way towards him, with swinging hips and an innocent smile that contrasted hardly with her choice of clothing.

“Mister Chishiya” she addressed him and the man who suddenly loved his neighborhood more then anything hummed a low “Hm?” as a response that made the girl only smile wider, biting her lower lip as she leaned forward onto his sitting figure.

Her cleavage pretty much pressed itself into his view, but Chishiya didn’t minded it.

“You look a little…thirsty.”

With an outstretched hand she offered the blond male who was double her age her glass of Coca Cola, which Chishiya took gladly, tho he didn’t like the sweet beverage much, but how could he say no when it was delivered to him so willing? Chishiya thanked the young doll in front of him for her eager friendliness and took a sip.

“If there is something else I can help you with…” the girl said, swinging her body from left to right and winking delicious “Let me know ya?” Chishiya saw the playfulness in her eyes. The luscious want paired with sparking lust that only a blooming flower like her at the peak of her age could deliver. Coaxing him with her bright eyes and the long lashes and who knows what if he dared to scroll his eyes lower. A young perfect flower indeed. Ready to be picked and blossom between his legs in all her glory.

The way she stood there. So naïve with no idea what good and arousing things the world had to offer. She probably got a glimpse here and there, but Chishiya wasn’t some hormonal cockdriven teen. He could show her so much more and by the look of it, the girl would welcome all his advice.

Yeah, Chishiya though to himself, leaning back in his seat and following the beauty walking back in her parent’s direction, but not before flashing him another one of her electrifying smiles, sending shivers down his spine and exciting him in ways he thought wasn’t possible anymore.

Fuck veganism, today he was going to get some real meat and by the alluring look of it, he would love it to the bone with all his skills and desire. A charming thought.

Summer is finally here. And it looks fantastic.

[bangtanhoneys]

BTS & Grace - 25 Weeks

The practice room was filled with sounds of unreleased music, some heavy breathing, the squeaking of shoes, someone dropping a bottle of water on the wooden flooring and the mutters of the staff. It was the typical chaos expected of BTS and even after their military service, they were still the same lunatics when it came to dance practice. Of course, there were changes to muscles, structure, punctuality and how everything was planned to the finest detail. 

Some things, however, could not be planned to the finest detail.

With the boys back all together from the military, their comeback plans were finalised and put in place. A new album was in the making with a single having been released about two months ago and a tour was in the planning stages. It had been thought out, in great detail, with all eight members signed on and ready to go. 

Yet, life never listens to plans. 

Life finds a way. 

Grace had been the sole member to represent the group as the boys completed their military career and her final solo concert coincided with BTS 12th anniversary. The following months allowed her to relax for once while the last members finished their service and she could enjoy having Seokjin home, could enjoy not worrying about music for once. 

The plus sign on a pregnancy test threw every plan out of the window. 

It wasn’t planned, it never is. It was wanted but later on. However, life found a way as Bang PD jokingly said when he was told the news. And any fear or worry about what was going to happen slowly shifted when the team came together to make adjustments. 

The tour would go ahead but without Grace. She would still be there but behind the scenes, dealing with a newborn baby if all went okay. BTS would play as seven members, 6 uncles and 1 Dad. 

For now, she was still part of the process and still part of practice. The 25-week baby bump had stopped her fully dancing but she could still sing and she wasn’t going to miss a single practice, interview or the like until B-Day as Jungkook had taken to calling it. B-Day for the day she was meant to give birth. 

The boys had been over the moon and beyond with joy at the news. Finally, after many hints and a bit of begging, Seokjin & Grace were going to make them uncles. In Jungkook’s case, he was finally going to be a big brother and big brother had taken to following his mother wherever she went. If Seokjin wasn’t there, Jungkook was. 

Jimin and Taehyung were twins of loud support - kings of snacks, blankets, and foot rubs. 

Hobi had been a bouncing ball of sunshine and was already buying clothes for a child whose gender nobody knew but they all had a feeling of what it would be. Namjoon immediately started researching and buying pregnancy books, DISPATCH catching him once and sending the media into a flurry of rumours. None of which were denied or talked about. 

Yoongi had taken it upon himself to build the nursery and buy the furniture. That was his job and nobody was going to take it from him. He was also secretly making a lullaby album for the future. 

And Seokjin - well he was a bit of a worrywort. Constantly worrying about everything, mostly if he would be a good father because he would be on the road most of the time and he was childish yet mature, strong yet weak and every moment was a worry. But he was excited, just like the staff were, just like the families were. 

The first Bangtan baby. 

And the first Bangtan baby was getting a taste of the song IDOL. 

Grace had a microphone in one hand, the other hand on the side of her stomach where her child seemed to be hitting in time with the beat and in front of her on the table was a selection of snacks. The doctor had told her to snack daily on carrots, cheese, yoghurt and some apple wedges with strawberries and tangerines. So it was a constant process of munching on a baby carrot then sing her lines then munch on something else. 

It wasn’t too bad. She’d rather be eating than sweating. 

“How’s baby Bangtan doing?” Yoongi asked, coming over once the song was done to steal some tangerine segments. 

“Baby Bangtan was enjoying IDOL and were dancing up a storm, if the pain in my ribs is any indication,” Grace sighed then frowned when she realised what Yoongi had stolen. Seeing the look on her face, Yoongi quickly sat down and began peeling the other tangerines. If there was one thing he was going to do, it would be not getting on Grace’s bad side. Her mood swings have been a bit unpredictable lately. 

“Noona, I’ve got your black tea,” Jimin said as he placed the mug on the table before sitting beside his noona. 

Tea - the only drink she could have twice a week. And it had to be black, not her normal drink which she missed. 

“Ah here comes Joon with his daily pregnancy fact,” Yoongi muttered with a grin as he finished peeling one tangerine. 

Namjoon ignored the smaller man and glared at Jimin for giggling. “25 weeks so 6 months, we’ve got 3 months to go. Baby should start developing blood vessels in their lungs and their nose will start to work as well,” he read off his phone where he had downloaded an app to keep track. 

“We? What we? I think it’s Grace and I who have 3 months to go,” Seokjin wandered over as he pressed a towel to his skin to dry it from the sweat.

“No hyung, we all have three months to go until the bangtan baby is here,” Jungkook said while coming up behind the older man to give him a light slap to the neck before settling down beside Grace. 

Grace could see Seokjin’s mouth begin to open with his traditional ‘ya!’ but Taehyung beat him to it, shoving his phone in front of his face. “Jin-hyung, what do you think of that t-shirt? I think we should all get one for when the baby comes. It says Team Bangtan Baby.”

“Team Bangtan Baby,” Hobi grinned as he took his place next to Jimin. “That kind of works. Can we use that when we start doing RUN BTS again? We can have baby-themed episodes. Who can change a nappy the quickest?”

“You won’t be able to do that hyung, you can’t stand the sight of sick so how are you going to deal with dirty nappies?” Jimin asked, pushing the mug of tea closer again. 

“I can deal with it, I’ve changed since the military you know,” Hobi glared at the younger man while puffing up his chest. 

“Hobi-hyung, you screamed and jumped when you bumped into that mannequin the other day,” Jungkook pointed out from where he lay his head against Grace’s stomach, grinning when he felt the light kicks. 

“I’m feeling very ganged up on here,” Hobi muttered as he pulled out his phone and distracted himself. 

“How are you feeling anyway, Gigi?” Namjoon asked, turning the attention back to the woman in question. 

“Hemorrhoids are fun,” Grace said in the most deadpan way she could causing Yoongi to giggle behind his hand and for Namjoon to stutter. 

“Boys! As much as it’s fun to torture your female member, we’ve got practice to get to,” Sung-deuk called from the other side of the room. 

There was a collective groans and sighs as they all stood up. Grace smugly grinned, holding up her strawberries and leaning back against the chair that had been provided. “Go on boys, I’ve covered you for over a year. Now it’s your turn. I’ve got some baking to do here, only three months to go.”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

The Sweets of my labour this weekend, LOL.

Chocolate Truffles

Peanut Butter Cookies (from Kraft Crunchy Peanut Butter Jar)

Peanut Butter Balls (family recipe)

Cream Cheese Christmas Cookies (can't find the original recipe)

Sugar Cookies, and

Chocolate Chip Cookies

I have about 2 dozen of EACH in my fridge and freezer and have no room for actual food LOL. OOPS. I hope my coworkers enjoy these on Friday LOL. Last week of work for the year, thought I would go out with a bang, hahahaha. I still also want to make Brownies and Rice Krispie squares, but those are best same-or-next-day, so that's my Thursday Night Plan LOL.

[marytimonyofficial]

sleater-kinney as told by carrie brownstein (12/03)

Corin and I met in 1992 in Bellingham, WA. Her band, Heavens to Betsy, played at a gallery downtown. I was too young to be in college, barely seventeen and not too happy about being in a remote town in northern Washington. I told her I might be moving out of there. Sure enough, the next fall I transferred to a different school, one in Olympia where Corin happened to be living. A lot of other folks were there as well; making music and art, recording one another in basements and putting out records on their friend's labels.

1994. We started the band in a duplex. It was brick, held four people, one of us living in the garage. Nutritional yeast was the cheese, was the meat, was the spice. It took us a week to discover that The Smell was a rotting bag of potatoes in a bottom drawer. We pirated cable and concocted a chore wheel that turned out only to be decoration. Corin left a message for me one day saying that we would call ourselves "Sleater-Kinney". Up until that moment it had only been a road in a neighboring town. Now it was us. If band names were like baby names, we had picked a Gilbert or Sinclair or Beatrice. When we said, "We've picked out a name", we always got a "Hmm", or a head scratch, or a comment as soon as we left the room, like "that poor kid will be teased endlessly". Never listen to other people's advice about your band name. Otherwise, you will end up with an Ashley, or a Madison.

Two years and four drummers later and we get the inimitable Janet Weiss. (I'm leaving a lot of the in between out. Props to Misty, Stephen, Lora, and Toni). We met Janet through mutual friends. On a late summer night she came over to Corin's house with her sticks and her cymbals. We went down to the basement. She had learned "Call the Doctor", played it flawlessly, hit hard so that you got a lump in your throat, tamed the long roll in the middle of the song. Next Corin and I played something that we were calling "Dig me Out". Janet made up a drum part, fierce and solid, we could practically bang our heads against it. Then we were three.

Since then it's been what you'd expect. Limos and hot sauce. Mansions and beach balls. Mini golf, mathematics, groceries, cedar blocks, baby pools, and puppies. Or something like that.

[fipindustries]

while i am at it, things i find really hot in women (more shameless horny posting):

*booba, full, buxom, not gigantic or beach balls, just good supple mounds, proper breasts

*biceps, i want a gunshow, i want proper dukes, and a back that reflects the orography of the grand canyon

*conversely, soft, made of marshmallow, a pudding girl, thicc and sweaty as cheese.

*freckles, bangs, big round eyes with maybe even bigger rouder glasses

*buck teeth, or braces

*curly hair, a mane, a chaos cloud, a proper bush. also a bush in other parts as well, and hairy armpits. and thick eyebrows

*a good schnozz, a nice proper, distinguished nose, a beak that ould make a sculptor sweat

*a dick (optional)

*honestly, just trans, any trans girl at all by default

*androginous, particularly in clothing style, honestly, basically the exact style i expect from men

*confident, loud, funny, maybe even aggresively so. willing to curse. emphatic body language, little regard of personal space, overtly familiar with you.

*a weirdo, a freak, noticeably autistic

*super chill too, again, much like with men, someone who is comfortable in their own skin, someone that can take care of themselves

*again, super nerdy, incredibly invested in some niche hobby which she cant stop talking about. very concerned with rationalism in a very philosofical sense. some who is passionate about empiricism, in a romantic sense. someone that feels like the muse of math. who finds deep spiritual fulfillment in phisics, who sees the transcendent beauty of equations. who gets overwhelmed and cries when seeing planetary orbits. a train fiend

*someone who has that victorian sense and sensibility, who cares about big ideas in a mythological sense. someone who could stand as the goddess athena, or thecla, the kind of lady who stands in front of a burned building with wild hair blowing everywhere and gives an impassioned speech about transhumanism and antideathism and is capably of inspiring a whole angry mob to lay down their weapons and be kind to each other

*cuddly, touch starved, handsy. the kind of person that likes to be all over you and writhe like an eel.

*driven, entrepenurial, always with some project in her hands

*kinky, slutty, very open about their sexuality, willing to show their body without any compunction, to them being nakes is the same as being dressed, willing to try everything under the sun, panting and salivating and blushing whenver anything tangentially related to her kinks is mentioned

*maybe even a bit of a femcel, honestly, an edgy girl, a girl who is slightly problematic, the kind of girl who visits 4chan or even worse places. a bit of a toxic gamer girl. a gremlin

*a posh british accent, or french, or scottish, or new york/boston, or slavic

*a proper milf, maybe some chicken scratches, some grey hairs, some birthing hips. a wordly woman who is comfortable in her age, the definition of a finely aged wine. this is a woman that is going to treat you as her favourite toy and take care of you at the same time. the school teacher you wanted to be groomed by when you were a teen

[madseance]

A collection of posts I've found that get reblogged on specific dates each year. Feel free to add to the list.

—————

(Note that there may be one-day discrepancies between sources, due to time zones.)

January

9: Spiders Georg (2013)

February

14: Rest in pieces James Cook, you haole bitch (1779)

March

10: Super Mar10 Day

April

4: Down with Cis Bus (2014)

7: Leland Melvin Day (2008)

8: @Harry_Styles: RIP Baroness Thatcher .x (2013)

13: Neil banging out the tunes (2006)

28: Put Baby in Pelican Mouth (2017)

28: Ed Balls (2011)

May

3: My friend Jonathan started his business trip

20: Yahoo! to acquire Tumblr for $1.1 billion (2013)

25: Raccoon Birthday Party (1997)

June

28: Everything happens so much (2012)

July

20: Really big frog (2015)

August

6: Curiosity rover sings "Happy Birthday" (2012)

12: stepped on a plum (overripe plum) (barefoot) (2021)

12: Sue the T. rex's unearthed day (1990)

September

24: No Internet Dinosaur's birthday (2014)

October

1: Assorted cheese

16: God, I wish that were me (2012)

19: None pizza with left beef (2007)

November

5: Guy Fieri Day

December

9: Stylish but illegal monkey (2012)

[lastlycoris]

[The air above your bed seems to waver and shift, like a mirage. When you put your full attention to it, it becomes increasingly clear, coming into focus like a magic eye puzzle.

Soon on your bed you plainly see what is a large red tote bag that can be opened with a zipper. Around the strap is a little note that reads:

Hi! Thanks in advance for letting me meddle! Love meddling. Anyway, much like your phone, this bag and its contents will only be perceivable to you. On the subject of its contents: use your imagination! Anything that can conceivably fit in this bag- from a single malt ball to a whole torpedo sub, along with any tools needed to eat it. To get you started, I've included a mini charcuterie board with sealed bags of cured meats, fruits, cheese cubes, and crackers. Also a homemade cola and some peanut butter chocolate chip cookies (let me know if you like them). Put whatever you don't eat back into the bag and seal it and it will go away! Cheers!

Not mentioned but clearly visible in the bag, along with the rest of its promised contents, is a plastic toy centipede with a smiley face.]

The sudden air shimmering like a mirage surprised her initially, but Euridice never felt like she was in danger. It's clear to her someone was trying to send something. And if it were dangerous, the potted willow tree in her jail cell would've alerted her to it.

The red tote bag, which came into view like a focused telescope, fell onto her bed without any fanfare, but what caught her attention was the little note on it.

Euridice read through the note quickly - and when she read what was in it, her gaze towards the bag immediately became covetous. Opening up the bag in a hurry, she took out the peanut butter chocolate chip cookies first. She wasn't a big fan of sweets, but after having no sweets for the past couple days, she'd been craving them immensely.

The peanut butter chocolate chip cookie tasted like salvation - like letting go of a stress that she hadn't known she was carrying . It was sweet and nutty and delicious - and she almost didn't mind the shadowy hand peeking out of the floor and nabbing at a cookie.

Almost.

She quickly took hold of the creature's wrist - and immediately realized the disparity in their strength. Immediately, she and the cookies were sent to the floor. She crashed - but the cookies didn't.

She finally got to see the creature that's been stealing food from her - at least food from another world. The dark grey cryptid was vaguely shaped like a small girl except it didn't have a face - though that didn't stop it from chewing on a cookie. On top of its head was something vaguely shaped like a Y with two horizontal lines underneath - a Yuan symbol - China's symbol of currency. And she couldn't help but wonder if she was being taxed for these multiversal transports.

More importantly, the cookies were stacked on top of its head, its bangs forming the shape of a plate. It lifted part of its body out of the floor to place the cookies back on the bed. It then took another cookie before disappearing from view.

She blinked.

Okay. Fine. She'll forgive it just once because it saved her cookies - even if it was its fault they nearly fell in the first place.

Munching on another cookie, she notices the small toy centipede with a smiley face, getting her definite answer on who sent the food here. She pulled out her phone.

[ Thank you, Luna. I received the food, and I definitely found the cookies delicious. You are a life saver. It also seems like it attracted the local cryptid too because it took one also - and then another, so I guess it liked it too. I'll definitely get into the charcuterie board too. Once again, thank you. ]

[jigglypuff1994]

The Devil Wears Gabriel - Chapter 16

A female radio host with a thick, Midatlantic accent sounded from the old-school static radio. "This is Nadja Chamack, coming live to you from Paris Radio Station. I'm gonna drop a dime, folks! We've got a jam at the Theatre des Champs-Elysees. Another akuma goon is throwin' an ing-bing. Don't get the eagers now! I'm sure the big cheeses are on their way to rough 'em up! Stay safe. Stay inside. Tune in for more news here on PRS." The radio clicked, leaving a static sound blaring in and out of the speakers. 

Marinette groaned, "Lukaaaaa." Her face half pressed into her pillow, facing him. Her mind lingering between the real world and dreamworld. Sleepily with a raspy voice, she asked, "Can you turn down your phone? I'm trying to sleep." 

Viperion chuckled, looking over Marinette's form. He shook her awake, nudging her with light pressure. "Mari." 

Marinette grumbled into her pillow and nudged him away. Turning her head, she shot him a dirty look in the dark before nuzzling back into her pillow trying to go back to dreamland before the impending doom of her career came to an abrupt end. 

Viperion shook his head staring down at his girlfriend and swiped his hand over his face. As he came up with an idea, a cartoonish lightbulb lit up above his head. He snapped his fingers, exclaiming, "Hot Dog!" Happy with himself, he walked over to the lamp on her bedside table and turned it on.

A bright light shone into her face, causing her to grimace. This made for an even grumpier Marinette. Opening her eyes, she grabbed his pillow, aiming at him to throw when... Hold the line - something wasn't quite right with his normal snake outfit. She did a double take on him, blinking the sleepiness from her eyes. His hair was slicked back under a boater's hat with a ribbon lining. He wore a pinstripe suit, vest and pants, with a bowtie and long sleeve button up shirt. Wingtip shoes in place of his teal, flat shoes.

And - Horsefeathers! Are those shoe spats? Not even her traditionalist 'that's not how it's done' grandfather would wear those! Those were popular a hundred years ago! 

Finally, to put it all together, a shimmering, metallic mask sat around his eyes. It was strange how she could see his full mask now that his bangs had been pushed back. The small change accentuated the slit pupils in his eyes. 

She had so many questions. Nothing but an akuma could possibly explain why her boyfriend became Harold Hill from The Music Man. 

When Marinette fully came to after a moment, her eyes bugged out of her head as she took in the sight around her. Everything was in black and white, including them! She shivered, covering her arms as she felt a cold Spring breeze run through her. There's something off about the whole situation. 

Marinette glanced around the room. Anything modern-day had been replaced with nineteen twenties decor and equipment. Instead of her normal cellphone on her bedside table, she saw a rotary phone. Their pictures had been replaced with various black and white old-timey sitting photos of the couple, friends and family. The dressers now made of unpainted, real wood instead of the faux wood exterior. The bedframe had a brass and iron detailing which was not there before. The black out curtains framing the doors to the balcony now were embroidered with little birds and flowers. 

"This is balled up!" She spoke aloud, covering her mouth immediately after. "What did I just say?" A heavy MidAtlantic accent sounded from her which took her aback. Looking on the wall, she noted the time on the clock was 449. Only a couple of hours before she was going to be up. She leapt up from bed. "Applesauce! These akuma goons!" She cried. Maybe Hawkmoth wasn't a night owl, but he was a punk! 

Viperion yelled back from the living room. A tinge of annoyance in his voice. "C'mon, Mare! Transform! Let's blouse!" He leapt out the balcony and headed toward the akuma without delay. 

"I'm not a dewdropper! I'm coming!" Marinette huffed. "Tikki, spots on!" Looking down at her outfit, she had become another member of the early 20th century.

Staring at her feet, she noticed her shoes were two-toned Mary janes. She touched the edging of her flapper style dress, noting the material was chiffon. Gracefully, she ran her gloved hand down her elbow length sleeves. Spots were scattered throughout the dress, and black lace detailing trailed down on the outside of her sleeves, across her hips, and around her collarbone to her neck. A long, black pearl necklace hung around and down her neck past her bosom. With both hands, she touched her head and realized she was wearing a cloche hat. On her nape, even without a mirror, she could tell her hair was neatly styled in a chignon. Finally, she observed that her gloved hands were black with little black buttons along the sides. She ran her finger gently across the buttons on her right thumb. 

"Goofy!" she breathlessly said. Nodding at herself and slowly acknowledging that this was actually reality. Touching her mask, she could feel sequins and little beaded details. 

No, her mind wasn't playing tricks on her. This wasn't a dream. 

Whoever this akuma was must really dig The Great Gatsby era.

On another note, why was the 1974 adaptation better than the 2013 adaptation? Maybe it was the song selection and accompaniments... Jay-Z and Fergie were certainly choices for the 2013 soundtrack. Did they really capture the time period of the Roaring twenties well? She'll have to debate this with Nino sometime; he'd give better insight into what albums and scores made for good movies. 

She exclaimed, "Let's get moving!" Running out to the balcony and tossing her yo-yo in the air toward the theater where the akuma was spotted.

She arrived at the building overlooking the theatre across the street. She examined the team. Everyone seemed to be following the same jazz age dress code. Normally, they all had to be zapped to have an akuma affect them. This one must be exceptionally powerful - better keep her guard up. She didn't want a repeat of the last one. Subconsciously, wringing her hands together, she remembered the throbbing aches in her hands that she gets from time to time. Not sending her magical cure to fix the akuma damages has lasting effects. She knew she took Tikki's magic for granted. 

Viperion and the team were assembled and discussing the akuma - or at least, that's what she thought they were discussing. 

The team were talking amongst themselves, but Viperion and Chat were in a scuffle of their own. Uh-oh! Walking up slowly and silently, Ladybug listened in. 

Viperion's hands were balled into fists. "You know what?! I've been more than patient with you so far." He rattled off his issues, listing them one by one. "I've listened to your pining, your one hundred different nicknames for my girlfriend, your stupid puns, and your pompous attitude for too long. Your infatuation needs to end! You need to let her go."

"Or what?" Chat's relaxed, nonchalant question stirred Viperion's anger. 

"I told you already. You can be replaced. Easily." He spit his words, taking a step closer to Chat. Nose to nose, he threatened.  "Let. Her. Go." 

Chat guffawed, bringing his hands to his cheeks in a mocking way. "Oh, dearie. Whatever shall I do? This is it, folks! Bimbo here is calling the shots. Spread the news! The snake's officially declared before us and the gods that he is the big cheese of the group." He snorted. Challenging V by straightening his shoulders, he boldly said, "Last time I checked, my Lady was in charge. Not you." Poking him in the nose. Gently taunting Viperion as a show of 'what are you going to do about it?' 

"Yeah? Well, we're together, and you can't stand that she's mine. That she chose me." Viperion emphasized. 

Chat shrugged, dusting his shoulders. "She won't be yours for long." Shooting Viperion a knowing look. "I know her. I also know how much better off she'd be with me. I've always known. But now? I mean, can you feel it?" Nothing happened. Chat took a deep breath, facing up to the sky. Exhaling loudly, a large, cocky grin on his face. "The time's finally right! And your days together are numbered." 

-----------Continued on Link-----------

[tapsoda]

hey man i just wanted to say that i LOVE fishing, yeah man, sharks on the turf. i also love bow and arrows. yeah i also like dino chicken nuggies and plain cheese pizza, bang energy too. orange flavored anything 2 die for bro. i love hitting golf balls dude how crazy is that.. golf carts? dont even get me started man