#Howard…are you fucking my mom

[bucknastysbabe]

Sebastian saying fuck is my love language

[ophelieverse]

Aegon asking Ser Criston where tf he was when his son was being killed:

“you dumb fucking bitch i’m going to fuck you up”

[corpsentry]

ass in the air on my hands and knees searching for link/allen (romantic platonic idgaf in this economy) fanwork i scoured the ao3 tag dry and 8 years of tumblr posts and now i am Two fists deep in pixiv, dodging projectiles of pathetic ai porn, desperately looking for crumbs. i’ve done it again folks i found a more or less dead fandom and got stuck on the niche pairing of the main character and the guy who debuted with a bowl cut and now there is nothing to be done but CRY LOUDLY and then (some time later) EQUIP PEN

[the-faultofdaedalus]

every day i think about howard and maria’s deaths in the 2004 draft script

[munamania]

hang on i was actually drafting a post in my dreams let me see if i can finish the thought. im so pissed u ppl wouldnt just watch willow or put it on in the fuckin background if u had the chance do u know the searing pain in my heart i feel when i see them... :( do u know what we could have had. NO! you dont. but u could have

[intergalactic-io]

I know what a Oedipus Complex is but is there a Sorsha Complex where you hate your mom, not because of Freud’s penis envy, but because she’s an evil witch who demands you go around kidnapping babies?

Asking for a friend

[jlf23tumble]

I def agree that there were loads of great moments in both Stern interviews but like how can you not dislike that man Jen 😩 He’s literally one of the most dislikable, unpleasant pricks out there. He’s a raging homophobe, a notorious anti-black racist and he has degraded and humiliated women for decades. I’m not coming @ you by the way just wondering what is there to like about this dude.

So this reads like someone who hasn't listened to his shows in the last 10-15 years or so, but for me, it comes down to I love the parts I love, and I gtfo for the parts I don't, I'm an adult like that, lulz. I started listening to him after he had already mellowed out quite a bit, I know the crazy shock-jock early years would have been unlistenable to me (and he has gone on record to say unlistenable to him as well), but the period when I tuned in every day as part of my commute and work life? Yeah, I enjoyed it--and when I didn't love it (my god, do I hate most of his staff and regular callers), I just switched over to something else. The stuff I like about the dude? He's funny, smart, neurotic, a world-class interviewer, in love/borderline obsessed with his wife, a good dad to this three daughters, a ride-or-die for his black co-host (her cancer battle, what he went through to help her, my god, it's weep-worthy), a good ache for any "missing NYC vibes." It's a shame that his network (team??) makes it so hard and/or expensive to just cherrypick what you want to hear from his shows, and he HAS dialed down how much he works by a lot, but I would pay cash money to hear the old news hour, the interviews, the shootin' the shit with Robin about his weekend (and I would skip just about everything else, but that would still be about 3 hours a day back in the day). I've listened to him in full, in context, off and on for years, so maybe I'm too compromised for people who are easily offended, but I find quite a lot to like about him, sorrrrrry! (Also, hot take alert, I would reckon there are WAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY more women in the one direction fandom who have actively shit on women, humiliated them, than he has)

[bumblesimagines]

i didn't know who else to call. you're all i've got right now.

i can't keep doing this.

Cassie Howard

i didn't know who else to call. you're all i've got right now.

i can't keep doing this.

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, GN!Reader

A shout of victory left you and you pumped your fist up into the air, a string of giggles following when you heard Ethan groan loudly as Link came in 5th place. He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes as you bumped his shoulder with a smug smirk, the scoreboard placing you and Rosalina in 1st place. "Go ahead and place the order, Daley. Remember-"

"Pepproni and bacon, yeah, I know." Ethan set his controller aside and used the couch behind him to stand up, reaching down to pick up his Dorito bag from the floor before approaching the end table by the couch where the phones were charging. "Oh, hey, you've got like... two missed calls."

"Shit, is it my mom?" You perked up immediately, tossing the controller onto the couch and stumbling up onto your feet. Ethan shook his head and scooped your phone into his hand, raising it close to his face before the color on the screen changed and it vibrated. 

"Uh, 'C.H.'? Who's that?" Ethan raised his head to look at you, brows knitted together and his hand stretched toward you to offer the phone. "Why don't you just put their name and picture instead of some initials?"

"It's, uhm, the new guy at work." What the fuck did Cassie Howard want? You clutched the phone tightly in your hand, maneuvering around the pillows scattered on the ground.

"Why's he calling you at-" Ethan turned his phone on. "-almost eleven pm?"

"I don't know, dude. Maybe he got the night shift or something. I'm- I'm just gonna check, alright? You go through with our deal while I'll take this." You told him, slipping down the hall and into the nearest bathroom before fumbling for the light switch as you finally answered and held the phone up to your ear. The light flickered on and you nudged the door shut with your phone, your ear picking up the sniffling on the other end. Jesus.

"(Y/N)? Oh, my god, finally. I sent like twenty texts and- and I..." Cassie sniffled again, her voice sounding hoarse. You rubbed the bridge of your nose and inhaled deeply because who else would interrupt your night if not Cassie and her drama? 

"What is it, Cass? I'm a little busy right now."

"I-I need you to pick me up. Rue came by like, I don't know, two days ago and she told Maddy about me and Nate and- and now Lexi and Mom barely speak to me and nobody answers my calls. Everyone's ignoring me and they're acting like I'm a bad person. I can't be here right now. I didn't know who else to call. You're all I've got right now. I need you, please."

"That's hella depressing, Cass. You need more friends." You sighed. "And Nate? Why can't he pick you up?"

"He's ignoring me!" Cassie almost wailed, her sniffling mixing with hiccups and sobs. The soft rustling on the other end told you she'd likely taken to hiding under the covers to cry all day and it almost made you feel pity for her. If only she hadn't gotten herself into the mess by messing around with her best friend's ex-boyfriend, then maybe you'd actually feel bad. "Please, please, (Y/N). I'm- I'm home right now. I can pack a bag and- and I can- I can wait for you. I just... I need someone right now."

"Christ, fine, fine. I... I'll pick you up but you can't stay at my place for over two days, Cass. My parents will start asking questions and if people find out you're staying with me it'll cause problems. I'll talk to Nate, alright? If not him, I'll see if Aunt Marsha talks some sense into him. But... Cass, I can't keep doing this. I can't keep picking up after you and solving shit for you, alright? It's fun messing around but... I'm tired. After this, you and I are just friends, okay? I'll be there soon."

[bitterbutblue]

the person you're calling has turned into an ethereal...

let my last thought be you ☆ zzz x fem!reader

characters : Ellen Joe (platonic), Anby Demara, Grace Howard, Zhu Yuan

~ LMAOO U TURN INTO AN ETHEREAL AND ITS THEIR FAULT LMAOOOO.. also i wrote this for my fav artist yurieater69.. hi yurieater69.. <33

warning for zhu yuan's- INACCURATE POLICE TALK. PLEASEEEE IM A UNI STUDENT IDK ABOUT COPS ~

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let me see tomorrow ☆ platonic!ellen joe x reader

This was supposed to be one of their easiest missions yet. There wasn't even supposed to be any weapons drawn, for fuck's sake. Lycaon sent in you and her for a reason- an in and out hollows mission. You were her closest... coworker? Could she call you a friend? She would like to call you a friend. You were around her age, but you always managed to somehow balance this odd job and your school work flawlessly- something she deeply envied. You never seemed tired, always at the top of your game. For the longest time she despised you, until you two were sent on this mission.

Just the two of you.

And she realised there was much more to you than just perfection. Of course, perfection is only an idealistic dream but to her you were perfection. Your moments of weakness she found herself overlooking because she had already idealised you in her head. It was really only two hours, yet she found herself regretting not talking to you earlier.

But now, Ellen can only watch in horror, unable to move, staring in horror as you collapse to the ground. She finally manages to move, pushing herself off the ground, dashing towards you.

"Hey, hey, stay with me."

Cool, calm, collected. That's how a maid from Victoria' Housekeeping should be acting but as each second ticks by she can feel herself losing her calm. You lunge at her, fear swallowing your every move and thought as you grab onto her collar.

"Ellen, Ellen I don't wanna turn- Ellen please-"

You both knew it was too late but you were panicking, tears falling before you even know it because you can just feel yourself falling down that abyss. All she can do is watch. She doesn't know what to do, she doesn't know you well. Should she hold you? Should she grab your hand and run? She can feel her own panic surfacing, eyes darting all over the place. Her head feels light, breathing shallow as she tries to calm herself because this isn't about her. This isn't about her.

"Ellen, call Lycaon, Rina, please, Ellen-"

Your begging is all she can hears and she's never heard you sound like this. So afraid, frantic, desperate. Your usual put together self now thrown away as you scramble to keep yourself together.

"Ellen, I'm scared. Ellen, please-"

Her instincts take over, rushing over to you. She holds you in an awkward embrace, collapsing to her knees as she pulls you in close.

"It's okay."

The words sound awkward coming out of her, and she can hear how choked her own voice is. She's scared, she has no right to be but she's scared. She doesn't want to lose you.

"I want my mom, I'm scared. I don't wanna turn, Ellen-"

The last thing you hear is her heartbeat and the last thing she hears is your cries before you go limp. And it's only a matter of time until you start moving again so she grabs her weapon as fast as she can. She doesn't even realise she's crying until she moves to stab her shears through your now-ethereal body. She doesn't even realise she's sobbing and her chest hurts until she hears Lycaon's voice calling out to her. The puzzle pieces click in his head when he sees your weapon lying on the ground and the usually stoic and emotionless Ellen Joe on her knees, tears flowing silently as she lets out choked cries of apologies.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

love me one last time ☆ anby demara x reader

When she fell in love with you, Anby swore to herself she would always put your safety over her own because to her, you were more than the world itself. Working with her in the Cunning Hares is and always will be a danger, and she knows she can't let her emotions get the best of it all. But you always saw it differently. You always wore the softest smile around Anby, one that had her usual stoicism fading into an embarrassed and shy smile. You were her exception, and that was the problem.

Yet this time it was all her fault. She led you guys the wrong way, deeper and deeper into the hollows while thinking you were on your way out. You told her it's okay, you told her that you trusted her no matter what and she just wanted to believe that but the sinking feeling in her gut had her growing more and more worried over time.

You play off how you feel something going wrong, because you wanted to trust her so badly but something was definitely not right. And your theories came true when you feel yourself growing dizzy and weak. Anby catches on, growing more and more panicked when you suddenly stumble and fall to the ground.

"Don't worry- I'll call for someone, I'll-"

"Anby?"

Your voice is so quiet, so hoarse. Her heart drops when she looks into your eyes because she sees it too now and she feels like throwing up. This can't be happening.

Was this... her fault?

"Just stay close."

You were hunched over, her kneeling next to you and she hated feeling so helpless. She hated knowing that right now it was happening all over again, she's losing someone and it's her fault.

"Don't talk like you're dying." She hisses out angrily, scrambling to help you up onto your feet but you refuse to budge.

"Anby please."

You sound tired, drained. If she listens carefully she can hear the hint of fear you are so desperately trying to hide from her.

"Just stay close."

You knew what was happening- you weren't stupid.

"It's not your fault."

Anby didn't register the tears falling until she feels your hand reach up to wipe away the stray tears that are falling from her eyes.

"I'm sorry."

She's never heard herself sound so vulnerable and afraid. The sound of her own voice has her shocked.

"It was bound to happen."

She hated how casual you sounded about it all, how you tried to swallow back the tremor in your voice.

"No it fucking wasn't." She's lost control now. She snaps at you despite the fact that she knows she shouldn't be doing that but she can't help it because she's so scared. "I could've gotten us out, I shouldn't have been..."

She trails off when she sees the look in your eyes. Even now it's still soft and loving and she wants to hold you forever. Instead she pulls you in for a hug. Tight, but gentle. Your hearts are beating against one another, like a perfectly tuned macine.

"It's okay. I'm still me."

She's breaking down now. She can feel how hard you're fighting to stay in this body for just a second longer.

"I love you, Anby."

She can feel herself shaking and trembling, swallowing back her sobs as she whispers out the last words you'll hear- right before piercing her blade through your still-human chest. You slump over, head in her shoulder, a ghost of a smile on your face as she sobs into your still body.

"I love you."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

let us love for another day more ☆ grace howard x reader

Perhaps it was time to put it all to rest. Maybe she had taken it too far this time. You had warned her not to get to carried away at night with her experiments and she keeps brushing you off, promising to be home soon... soon... soon.

You grew sick of waiting for her, so one night you decide to venture off to Belobog Industries on your own. She's been spending too much time with her robots (or her children, as she likes to call them) and staying out this late in New Eridu is always unsafe. So you drive to her, but on your way there you find yourself lost. The surroundings grow unfamiliar, and you feel a cold chill down your spine when you realise your situation.

You've fallen into a hollow.

Grace realises far too late that you're not picking up her calls, and that her messages aren't going through. She panics as soon as she realises, calling Koleda in a frantic rush. They woke Phaethon up at 1 in the morning (frankly, both of them we're still awake so was it really waking them up?). She follows the Bangboo into the hollow, Koleda tailing her.

"Seriously, sis, why didn't you just let her know you would be home soon?"

"Not the time, Koleda."

Koleda pauses when she hears her name slip out of Grace's lips. No pet name, no 'sis' or 'sweet pea'. 'Koleda'. Grace is scared. Her usual, lighthearted self now replaced with a pale, worried and shaky demeanour that has Koleda growing anxious too.

"She's okay, seriously."

"GRACE-!"

The Phaethon's panicked voice causes her to jump, she turns around, quickly identifying the source of the sound. Her heart drops at the sight.

The Bangboo is crouched next to this figure, who is slumped over next to their car. Grace could recognise that figure from fucking anywhere because that's you. That's her fucking wife. A pang of guilt hits her so hard she almost stumbles. She rushes towards you, picking up your limp body in her arms.

"Darling, baby, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

Your eyes fluttered open, breathing shallow as you looked up. A ghost of a smile forms on your face.

"Grace.. I made dinner for us.. at home.."

Your voice was weak, shaky and she can feel her throat closing up as she blinks back tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry baby-"

"Can you take me home?"

Koleda just stands to the side awkwardly, watching as Grace pulls your limp body close to her.

"Yes, let's go home, darling."

Grace knows the situation. Koleda knows the situation. Fuck, even Phaethon knows the situation. You're not making it home.

"I feel weird."

"I know, baby."

Grace pulls you onto her lap, your head resting against her chest as you struggle to breath properly. Ethereal matter is no joke, and Grace knows it too but right now she can't care that they're in a hollow with limited time. All she can think about is you.

"It's gonna be okay, just look at me?"

She can't even have it in her to remain calm, her words come out through her tears as she holds you closer. You can feel her regret through her actions, and you can feel her tears dripping down her face and onto the top of your head as she hugs you close.

"Grace... I wanna go home."

She breaks down now, sobbing messily as her cries echo through the night. She tells you false promises, tells you that you guys are going home. She tells you she will prepare a warm bath for you, and you guys can go to bed together, and sleep in the next day. She tells you it will be alright, and that she will make you breakfast tomorrow. You let out a content sigh, before closing your eyes.

Koleda takes this opportunity, watching you right as you turned to an Ethereal, and strikes it down. Grace can only watch as the rest of you fades from her arms into the air, hugging herself- as if clutching the remains of you to her heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

my mistakes haunt my nights ☆ zhu yuan x reader

The day she became the captain of N.E.P.S. was essentially the day she devoted her life to protecting you and people like you. Each night she would come home with a grateful smile that she could come home to you. You spend the rest of the evening cooking dinner together, laughing, talking about whatever case she had going on that day and whatever stupid thing your boss had told you to do during work.

Zhu Yuan put you first. She always had put you first.

So the one time she doesn't, it comes back to get her.

The unpredictability of New Eridu meant that anyone could fall into a hollow any day. Zhu Yuan knew that, so did you. And you trusted that if it were to ever happen, she would find you. And she promised she would. And like predicted, You and other civilians had fallen into a hollow one day. And Zhu Yuan intends to fulfil her promise.

It was just a rescuse mission, save those who have fallen in hollows. The civilians they were after had already been saved, yet they kept mentioning 'someone who ran off'. Zhu Yuan clicks her tongue in annoyance.

"Another one who ran off?"

"Captain?"

She quickly picks up the walkie talkie. They had managed to get the first group out, leaving her and Qingyi trying to find the others.

"Yes?"

"W-we found the others, but..."

"What?"

"We're north of where you are now, you need to come, fast. It's- it's your wife, we think she's-"

She runs. She runs before he even finishes his sentence. She hears the fear in his voice and that fear is what they can't have on field because that fear is what breaks them. Qingyi follows her, right at her tail as they finally find the group of PUBSEC officers that stand with their guns pointed up.

"Captain, she's-"

"PUT THEM DOWN."

She feels her heart dropping when she sees the sight in front of her. You were curled up into a ball, looking pale and sickly and so scared of all the officers that had their guns pointed at you. Your eyes widened when you noticed Zhu Yuan.

"Zhu Yuan- please, they won't let me leave..."

Zhu Yuan's heart stutters in her chest as she approaches you slowly, dropping onto her knees in front of you. She can feel the tears pricking at her eyes because she knows she's too late. She's encountered innocent civilians turning into Ethereals, she learned to predict when it was too late and when there was still time left to save them but this.

"I just wanted to see you at work." You croaked out weakly, holding onto her jacket.

Never has she ever let people see her cry, or have her fellow officers see her in a moment of weakness but she can't hold back this time. She takes in a shaky breath, feeling her tears fall from her eyes as she takes off her glove, before putting a hand to your cheek. You sigh at the skin to skin contact, leaning into her touch and that simple act has her letting out a pained sob.

"I'm sorry, baby-"

She wasn't fast enough. If she had come earlier, you wouldn't have ran to try to help the civilians. Curse you- curse you and your stupidly kind heart and your need to help everyone. Zhu Yuan just wants you to be selfish for once because if you're selfish then you would've still been here, smiling with the intention to go home.

"Are you going to kill me, Zhu Yuan?"

The fear in your voice is evident and Zhu Yuan shuts her eyes tight, taking in a deep breath as she pulls your head onto her lap. She moves a hand, gently stroking your hair. She feels the softness thread between her fingers, and you feel her tears drip onto your cheek.

"I just- wanted to see you."

You were shaking now, gripping onto her hand as if it's a life raft that could ground you, take you home.

"I don't want to die."

Zhu Yuan screws her eyes shut, biting down on her lip to prevent another sob from escaping but she can't stop her shoulders from quaking.

"Please..."

"I love you."

The words flow out of her, unstoppable. She knows this is the last time she can talk to you.

"I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough. I'm sorry, baby, I love you. I love you..."

"Zhu Yuan-"

Your words are hoarse and choked, your grip on Zhu Yuan's arm is so tight. She can feel your nails digging into her skin but she can't care about that in the moment.

"I don't want to die... please..."

"I love you-" she cries, moving to hold your hand tight "I love you, I'm sorry, I love you-"

And she can only watch in horror as you let out a sharp gasp, body freezing up as your eyes widened. And Qingyi steps in, firing a shot right through your head- right before you turned.

Officers could only stand and watch- another successful case, majority of the civilians rescued.

But at what cost?

She couldn't stop herself- she let out a scream, grabbing onto your body and holding it close as she sobbed out meaningless apologies that only fade into the night sky.

Zhu Yuan returned to an dark and empty home, cold and harsh. She takes off her jacket, now stained in your blood, and just stares at it. She stares, and stares, before her knees finally give out as she breaks into loud wails and sobs. She clutches the jacket close, it's the last of you she can hold onto. But also a painful reminder of why it's all she has left.

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 10: Through The Dark] [Series Finale]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, pregnancy, bodily injury, death, miscarriage, AND NO OTHER CLUES, HAPPY READING!!! 🥰

Selected Chapter Quote: “What made you want to be a therapist?”

Word count: 6.4k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya @helaenaluvr @hiraethrhapsody

Thank you for loving the insane and incomparable Comet fam. I hope you enjoy the series finale. 💜

Night sky, string lights, reverberating bass, warm wet verdant air like the earth the dinosaurs knew, swampy and thick with beasts. With his lazy, dreamlike smile—a kind contagious glow, pink sunburned cheeks that match the clinking Salty Dog in his hand—Aegon says: “What made you want to be a therapist?”

You won’t tell him the whole truth. But you’ll tell him part of it. “Sigmund Freud.”

Aegon is intrigued, raised eyebrows and a crooked grin. “The guy who thinks everyone wants to fuck their mom?”

“You would have liked him. He did a lot of coke.” You take a swig of your Salty Dog: rosemary, grapefruit, the singeing bite of gin. “He was the founder of talk therapy. And, yeah, some of the things he wanted to talk about were…unorthodox. Misguided. But still…”

“He just wanted to talk,” Aegon says softly, understanding now.

“This was the turn of the century, okay? This was back in the days when they were pulling people’s teeth out, locking them up in asylums, injecting them with diseases, cutting off parts of women that made them unruly, ungovernable, immoral.” You shudder. “And Freud said no, just talk to them. Just figure out what demons they have chained up in their skulls, dark dusty corners buried way down deep, and help them figure out how to move forward. It’s not about having a cure, a pill or a scalpel. I mean, how ludicrous would that be, thinking I was walking around with some failproof silver bullet to make all the pain of existence vanish? That’s insane. It’s about listening to people, and caring about people, and shining a light on what part of them already knew was there. I don’t have a cure for anybody. Not a single goddamn person on this planet. But I can help them find their own.”

Aegon watches you, contemplates you, studies you like something rare and fleeting. “You are going to be one hell of a therapist.”

“I don’t know about that. But I hope so.”

“I’ll find you. Maybe when you’re done with school you can work on me. I’d keep you busy, I guarantee it. I’m like Disney’s Haunted Mansion. Ghosts everywhere you look.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You are never going to remember me.” He is never going to remember this place, this time, the way he shared his light with me like a long-lost comet clipping by Earth.

“I might,” Aegon says. He sips his Salty Dog with his elbows propped on the table, his blond hair whipping in the indigo wind, grains of salt on his lips, reflections of string lights like stars in his eyes. “I really think I might.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Your arms thrown around his neck, your face buried in his black t-shirt, inhaling smoke and dust and the coppery sharpness of his spilled blood. You are sobbing uncontrollably, gasping, shivering, wild prideless tears and clawing fingers. Jace’s words circle in your skull like a moon around its planet: Nobody escapes the indignity of becoming a regret. Aemond is trying to calm you, to quiet you. His hands—large and dangerous and bloodstained and careful—are on your back, in your hair. You have to explain, to repent. You have to make him understand.

“I didn’t get pregnant on purpose,” you moan into him, a jagged rush like a hemorrhage. “I swear to God I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you. I wasn’t trying to trap you or fix you or use you. I’m in love with you, Aemond, I wanted you, and I still want you, and I thought you would hate me and I was terrified and I didn’t know how to tell you—”

“I don’t hate you, I could never hate you,” he’s saying, and more that you can’t catch; his words are a tide, flowing in and fading out. Now there is pain, deep and sharp and collapsing. Aegon is standing a few yards away, tears flooding down his sunburned face; they clear tracks in the dust that coats him, that coats everyone, that sticks to the blood on your legs. Cregan has pushed the others back, but still, you can hear their incorporeal voices: Jace asking what’s going on, Rhaena explaining, Baela shrieking, Criston shouting orders. Now Aegon has a rough hand on Aemond’s shoulder and is telling him something—insisting upon something—but you don’t know what. Language escapes you; language abandons you.

There are sirens and flashing lights the color of rubies, roses, tangled arteries. Aemond scoops you up and carries you towards them. There is only enough room for one person to ride in the ambulance with you; there is no discussion of who it will be. The rest of Comet has to wait for the Escalades to arrive at your parents’ farm. You do not try to steal a glimpse of the damage, felled trees and scattered fence posts, dead cattle and pillaged earth. You are filled with enough wreckage already; you are built of it, bones made out of bent nails, nerves of barbed wire.

Needles into your arms, chemicals into your bloodstream: something that deadens the pain and muddies your thoughts, makes them slow and heavy and unpanicked, like you are watching this happen to somebody else. In an exam room, nurses strip your clothes away and wipe the red from your skin, routinely, absentmindedly, as if it is of no consequence, as if the future you had taken for granted has not just been drowned, immolated, eradicated from existence like a dying star. They give you underwear fitted with a bulky postpartum pad—the same used by mothers of living children—and a hospital gown that Aemond marks with bloody fingerprints when he touches you. Then the nurses leave you to wait for the doctor with your IVs and your fogbank mind and your glazed eyes that stare blankly at the sterile white walls.

Aemond is smoothing back your hair from your face, and you are reminded of how he held Aegon when he was dying on your bedroom floor in the MGM Grand. You remember once thinking that Aemond is like storms and rogue waves, and that’s true; he turns lethal and then goes kind again, strikes and then soothes. He says once you are alone, each word painstakingly chosen: “I’m sorry that because of how I’ve acted, you felt you couldn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry I lost the baby.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I must have. I’m bleeding too much.” You can feel it, blood and clots that ooze, gush, drain away leaving you cold and hollow.

The exam room door opens, not a nurse or a doctor but a man in khaki cargo shorts and a filthy neon green tank top and matching Crocs, clop clop clop. “Hey, Stargirl,” Aegon says, sad and gentle. He holds up a venti-sized plastic cup. “I brought you a Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino.”

You blink groggily, not knowing what to do with it. Aegon puts the clear cup in your hands, the green straw between your lips. It’s sugary, cold, rich, topped with a swirl of whipped cream and chocolate syrup. It brings you back a little bit, a few unsteady steps towards the real world.

“Where the fuck is the doctor?” Aemond asks him.

“The nurse said she’s on her way. They’re understaffed.” Aegon shrugs apologetically: Missouri bullshit.

“You get somebody in here, right now.”

“What do you want me to do, threaten to stab medical professionals?! How about you punch some of their teeth out, I bet that would help.” Then Aegon sighs shakily and covers his own face with his hands. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t mine, you know?” Wasn’t, isn’t, will never be. “We haven’t…not since…it’s not…” He looks at Aemond with large, shining, ocean-blue eyes. “It’s not possible. You have to know that. You can’t be the way that you are sometimes. You don’t get a few weeks to come around to doing the decent thing. You have to believe her.”

And Aemond says softly: “I do.”

The door opens again and a doctor steps through it, mid-forties, thick black-rimmed glasses, dark hair secured in a businesslike low bun. Aegon ducks out of the room; the doctor gives him a brief quizzical glance before introducing herself to you. You can’t seem to latch onto her name. You answer the questions she asks you as she readies the ultrasound machine: ten weeks along, blunt force trauma to your back, where and how it hurt before the pain was drugged out of you. She unfastens a tie on the side of your hospital gown and opens it just enough to spread the cool gel across your belly and then glide the transducer through it. She peers at the grainy screen. She’s checking for a heartbeat; she’s checking to see if you’ll need a D&C to help expel a partial miscarriage so you don’t go septic.

“I lost it,” you sob, breaking down again. “Aemond, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t. Please don’t.” He kisses your temple and then rests his forehead against yours, tears glittering in his river-clear right eye.

“Well,” the doctor says with practiced, vaguely sympathetic composure. “You lost one of them.”

You look to her, not understanding. “One of…?”

She angles the monitor so you and Aemond can see. “Fraternal twins often have separate amniotic sacs and placentas. So depending on the positioning of the fetuses, it is possible to miscarry one but not the other. This one on the left here…” She indicates it with her index finger. “It’s…it’s no longer viable, unfortunately. You’ve already passed most of it. But this one on the right…” She squints at the screen, repositioning the transducer. “From what I can tell, it seems to be holding on. Let me see if I can…” She moves the transducer around, pressing it into the yielding flesh of your belly. And then you hear it: a fierce defiant drumming, a whistling like wind through leaves. “I thought so,” the doctor pronounces, smiling. “There’s the heartbeat. The pulse is approximately 155 beats per minute, which is typical.”

One of them? I didn’t lose one of them? “Aemond…?”

When you turn back to him, he’s staring at the flickering black-and-white whirls of bones and blood flow on the ultrasound screen. And the expression on his face is one that you’ve never seen from him before, serene like when he’s with animals, awed like when he studies the galaxy, and something else too, a great shifting, a clicking into place, tectonic plates and ocean currents and storm clouds unraveling into clear skies. “It’s alright?” he says, not taking his eye from the screen.

“It is,” the doctor confirms. “Measuring a little bit small for ten weeks, but that’s to be expected for a twin. I don’t think you’ll be able to tell the sex for another month, but it’s alive and well.” She freezes the image on the screen, sets the transducer aside, and cleans the gel from your belly. “Based on my experience, in cases like this, I’d say there’s a better than 50/50 chance the surviving fetus can be carried to term.”

You say: “What can I do…? I mean…there must be something I can do to help it…to help it live…”

“We’ll give you medication to stop any residual uterine contractions and antibiotics to prevent infection. I’d like to admit you for observation, just for a day or two. And I would recommend bed rest for several weeks. Until you’ve reached your second trimester, at least.”

“Yes. Anything. I’ll do anything.”

“And sir, you’re…” The doctor peers at Aemond through her glasses, really scrutinizing him for the first time, his brutal scar and his blind left eye and his stillness and his wonder. “You’re the father?”

Aemond nods, still gazing at the screen like a constellation in the night sky, like a comet only glimpsed once in a lifetime. “I am.”

The doctor beams. “Congratulations,” she tells both of you. And then she leaves to arrange for you to be admitted to the hospital.

“I’ll stay,” Aemond says. “When the band flies to New Orleans tomorrow, I’ll stay here with you.”

“No, Aemond.”

“I’m staying. I’m not going to leave you. You need me, the baby needs me.”

“No,” you say again. “What we have now is wrong. It’s painful and volatile and doomed.” You lay your palm against his scarred face, and he doesn’t finch away. “You have to figure out who you are after Comet. And so do I.” Tears in your eyes, tears on your cheeks; but on your lips is a soft, patient smile. “Aemond, I don’t want me and the baby to be a distraction from the work that you still desperately need to do. I don’t want to be a temporary fix. I don’t want to be your life raft. I want to be…if I’m going to be anything to you…” Your thumbprint ghosts across his cheekbone, tender, reverent. “I want to be your home.”

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t speak; drops like rain spill down his right cheek, dyed pink by blood from the fresh lacerations that riddle him, new scars and ancient pain.

“What are you thinking?” you say.

“I’m thinking that you’re right. I fucking hate it, but you are.” He swipes away tears with one bloodstained hand, then he settles it on your not-yet-showing belly, a place of ruin, a place of hope. “When can I come back?”

“When you’re ready. And only you’ll know when that is.”

The exam room door opens again, and your parents rush in like water through a cracked dam. They are frantic and fretting, peering around bewilderedly.

“Lord almighty, what the hell happened?!” your dad booms; and your mom doesn’t even think to chastise him.

“I’m okay, Daddy.”

“You got hit by somethin’? Are they gonna do an x-ray? Your mother and I finally made it back home from church, trees and power lines down all over the place, and that boy was waitin’ on the front porch to tell us where you were. You know, the big one. The one with the godawful ponytail.”

“Cregan,” your mom offers.

“Cregan,” your dad says.

“It’s a man bun, Daddy. How’s the farm?”

“We ain’t too bad off. A couple cows dead, half the herd out wanderin’ since the pasture fence blew away. Me and the dogs gotta bring ‘em on back, but your mother and I had to see you first. Did they check you over good? Can you come home today?”

“Sweetheart, there’s…” Your mom’s voice is alarmed. “There’s blood on your gown, on your face, what happened?”

“Well, I, um, the thing is…” You try to tell them. You begin crying again instead. As you sniffle and avert your eyes—afraid, ashamed—Aemond stands and extends one large, scarlet-streaked hand. Your dad shakes it tentatively. And then Aemond explains for you: the child you’ve lost, the child you’ve kept, what has to happen next.

“I am responsible,” Aemond says as they gape at him, half-ecstatic and half-horrified. “And I know that this didn’t exactly happen in the traditional way, and I know that there is a lot of work left for me to do to prove myself worthy of your daughter. But I hope in time you’ll be able to forgive me. Because it seems that we’re going to be family.”

Your mom squeals and hugs Aemond. Your dad hugs you. They stay until you are settled in your own private room—small bed and clean sheets, drugs trickling into your veins—and only then do they listen to your insistence that you’ll be okay until morning, that they need to go home to take care of the farm. They leave with their arms around each other, exchanging murmurs like vows. Then Aemond asks if you feel well enough to see the band. They want to say goodbye.

“You’ll miss me,” Jace says confidently, then swoops in to smack a kiss on your forehead before anyone can stop him, bouncing dark curls and smirking mouth. Aegon jabs him in the ribs, Criston rolls his eyes, Aemond glowers like he’d enjoy putting Jace in need of another 28 dental implants. “If you ever get sick of mentally ill blonds, just let me know. The kid doesn’t change anything. I dig MILFs.”

“Thanks, Jace. I guess.”

“We’ll still see you around, right? You’ll visit us, we’ll visit you?”

“Yeah. I won’t disappear.”

“Good.” And then again, more somberly: “Good.”

Rhaena is dabbing at her gentle, doe-like eyes with a Kleenex, leaning into Luke for support. Criston is gallant. Daeron is optimistic. Baela is exasperated that you told Rhaena you were pregnant but not her.

“I didn’t tell Rhaena,” you counter. “She just happened to be the person who accompanied me on my ill-fated adventure to procure Plan B in Tokyo at like 2 a.m.”

“Which did not work,” Rhaena adds, sniffling into her Kleenex.

“A cautionary tale,” Jace says to everyone. “You hear that, fellas? When in doubt, wrap it before you tap it.”

Baela nods at you. “Luckily, she doesn’t seem too disappointed.” Her eyes flick reticently to Aemond where he sits in the chair closest to your bed, a presence in the room like skies that could turn in an instant, quiet, preoccupied, protective, dazed. “And neither does he.”

“I’m not,” Aemond confesses. He laces one hand through yours and brings his lips to your knuckles, willing the baby to live, willing himself to be better for you both.

“We’re going to talk later,” Cregan tells him sternly. Talk about what it means to be a father.

“Yes,” Aemond agrees.

And then Cregan says goodbye to you too, his cool greyish eyes growing peculiarly warm, his steely exterior chipping away like flecks of old paint.

Aegon is last, the only person left in the room with you and Aemond. Grinning beneath sad eyes, he presses a hand to his heart, and then to yours, and then to your belly. Starboy, Stargirl, Starbaby. Then he says: “Do you want me to hide under your bed so they can’t kick me out when visiting hours end?”

You smile tiredly, exhausted and in pain, pain of the body and pain of the soul. “You have to go, Aegon. Thousands of screaming fangirls will be waiting for you at Arrowhead Stadium.”

He is stunned. “I can’t perform tonight, obviously.”

“Yes you can.”

“No, I definitely can’t.”

“You can,” you say. “You have to. And more than that, you want to. You’ll regret it if you don’t. You live for being Comet’s disaster playboy. I’m not going to take that away from you.”

And then Aegon whimpers: “You can’t leave me.”

“You’re leaving me first.” You beam up at him, caressing his sunburned face, threading your fingers through his disheveled hair. Aemond observes this with curiosity but no suspicion. “This isn’t goodbye, Aegon. I’ll see you again. You can add me to the long list of girls you FaceTime.”

He laughs. “Okay, Stargirl. Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“For more than a day, right?”

“For all of them. Forever.”

And then he’s gone, riding that elliptical orbit out into all the corners of the world that he will glow for: New Orleans, Miami, Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paulo, Bogota, Buenos Ares, Lima, Santiago.

Aemond swears to you: “I’m coming back.”

“I hope so.”

And he tilts up your chin and kisses you, tasting like smoke and dust and blood and desire, and it takes every atom of you, every string of muscle and rusty speck of bone marrow, not to crumble and beg him to stay. You are still at war with the part of you that wants to surrender as he stands and walks out of the room. He does not look back; he can’t without losing his nerve.

In the night, he returns to you, long after visiting hours have ended. Perhaps hundreds of millions of dollars have a way of making formalities disappear. He is only a silhouette in shadows like dawn, dusk, midnight. Aemond climbs into the hospital bed and catches you as you fold into him, whispering to you that everything will be alright, telling you how sorry he is, lulling you into a fitful sleep against his chest, his warmth, his heartbeat. And in the morning when you wake up alone, you wonder if any of it was real.

Did I dream that he was here? Did I dream that I ever met him at all?

But no, he has left you proof, something tangible, permanent. On the nightstand is Aemond’s small square vintage lighter; Targaryen is etched into one side. And there is something else too, a single piece of black paper with two sentences of starlight-colored ink:

I’m coming back.

I love you.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s October, and the leaves are turning from emerald to topaz, garnet, tiger’s eye. You carve pumpkins with your parents on their front porch. You bake apple crisps and sweet potato pies. You feed the pigs, brush the Australian cattle dogs, buy baby supplies with Aegon’s Amex Black Card. You decide to let the grad student and her Giant Flemish rabbit keep your apartment downtown until your lease is up in the spring. You’d rather be here on the farm, even when you’re not on bed rest anymore. You’d rather be home.

You listen to Comet Donati, The Script, Coldplay, One Direction. Rhaena and Baela mail you boxes of crochet comets and stars and planets for the baby’s room. Aegon mails you boxes of Comet’s new donut-themed merch. Now your dad sometimes tends to the beef cattle in boy band t-shirts. Aegon FaceTimes you two or three times a week, sends WhatsApp messages nearly every day. But you rarely talk about Aemond. It’s too painful, it’s too much of a temptation. You cannot imagine others seeing him, hearing him, speaking to him without needing to do it yourself in the same way that you need oxygen and gravity.

The week before Halloween, you begin spotting. You sob hysterically as your mom drives you to the hospital, convinced that you’re losing this baby too, that everything you touch is damaged and defenseless and doomed. You’re fine, as it turns out, and the baby’s fine too, but even after you’re back at the farm you can’t stop shaking, can’t stop imaging the wet heat of blood on your thighs.

You break down and call Aemond. And you talk for five hours until the sun rises, you in a rocking chair on your parents’ front porch, Aemond on a hotel balcony in Santiago, Chile in the shadow of the Andes Mountains. He says he’s working on something, but he’ll come back now if you ask him to, he’ll board the jet and land in Kansas City in time for supper at the farm, and you can hear the backsliding desperation in his voice: Please ask me to come back. Please just fucking ask me.

But it’s not time yet. He’s not ready, and you both know it. You agree not to call each other again until Aemond returns to you. If he returns to me. Neither of you can sleep for days afterwards. Neither of you can open the door a crack without the other rushing through.

One morning you shuffle downstairs in your Cookie Monster pajama pants and oversized NSYNC t-shirt to find your dad eating a heap of homemade pumpkin waffles in front of the television in the den. All five Australian cattle dogs are perched expectantly at his feet. “Them boys of yours are on Good Morning America.”

“What? Really?”

Yes, they are; they’re celebrating the conclusion of their record-breaking world tour and teasing a new album with an interview and two songs. You catch the end of the first one, their new single called Magic, during which the boys run haphazardly around the neon-lit studio, Jace tears off his donut-themed tank top in protest, and Aegon flubs no less than three lyrics.

Robin Roberts is saying: “Now stay tuned for a very special performance coming up next after a commercial break. We’ll be moving to our outdoor stage in Times Square where a sizeable crowd has formed, and we’ve been told that Comet has a surprise in store for us! What do you think it could be, George?”

“I don’t know, Robin,” George Stephanopoulos replies gamely. “But no matter what it is, I’m sure it will have all those young ladies out there screaming!”

Lara Spencer chuckles. “And not just the young ladies either. I’ve been known to attend Comet concerts on occasion.”

Robin says: “Oh no, Lara, are you a Cregan girlie?”

“Okay, yes, I confess, I am kind of a Cregan girlie…”

You get yourself a plate of pumpkin waffles and return just in time to see the camera panning over the crowd outside: shouting, cheering, waving posters and showcasing their homemade t-shirts.

Robin Roberts announces: “And now, with a cover of One Direction’s Through The Dark, here is the illustrious, incomparable, incredible Comet Donati!”

“No way,” you murmur, staring rapturously at the screen.

“You like that one?” your dad asks, tossing pieces of waffles to the dogs.

“It’s my favorite.” And Aemond knows that. I told him in Singapore.

The stage is empty as the first acoustic notes ring out. Then Daeron trots into view—radiant and cheerful in his donut merch—to sing the first lines:

“You tell me that you’re sad and lost your way

You tell me that your tears are here to stay,

But I know you’re only hiding

And I just wanna see you…”

Aegon appears next, clopping in his sparkly pink Crocs. He flips his hair around and winks mischieviously into the camera as he sings:

“You tell me that you’re hurt and you’re in pain

And I can see your head is held in shame,

But I just wanna see you smile again

See you smile again…”

And now the crowd is not just loud but deafening, and you’re so shocked the plate of pumpkin waffles tumbles out of your hands and onto the floor for the Australian cattle dogs to devour, because who bolts out onto the stage next is not Cregan or Luke or Jace but Aemond Targaryen, wearing Aegon’s beloved donut merch and his Adidas sneakers and his scar and blind eye bare for the world to witness. They don’t seem to take any notice of his maiming at all. They screech and hyperventilate and reach for him, awed, ecstatic, touching his outstretched fingertips and his sneakers like the relics of a saint. He is focused, perhaps nervous, but he is smiling. His voice is velvet-smooth and pitch-perfect.

“But don’t burn out

Even if you scream and shout,

It’ll come back to you

And I’ll be here for you…”

The others arrive, and now all six of them are singing the chorus in harmony as they traverse the stage, dodging each other’s chaotic spins and leaps, waving to the crowd, checking on Aemond with encouraging furtive grins and squeezes of his shoulders. Luke is beaming. Jace shoves Aemond playfully and almost gets flung off the stage in return.

“Oh I will carry you over

Fire and water for your love,

And I will hold you closer

Hope your heart is strong enough,

When the night is coming down on you

We will find a way through the dark.”

“Huh,” your dad says. “They ain’t no Johnny Cash, but they’re pretty good, I reckon. I thought Aemond wasn’t on stage much anymore.”

“He’s not.” And you smile wistfully as you watch him, right here with you and yet a world away, real and yet intangible, facts and myths and faith. “But now he knows he has a choice.”

On warm nights, you sit on the wraparound front porch and flick Aemond’s square metal lighter to life, shut it, ignite it again, a lonely golden spark in an ocean of darkness, a star in the night sky. And voices circle in your mind like satellites:

I think history is important.

Whoever you are when you’re in high school…that’s sort of who you are forever, you know?

I’ve never met anyone like you.

Aemond would want to be involved.

What the hell do I know about being a decent father?

Our father never cared about us.

It’s not just for me. It’s never been just for me.

“Please come back,” you whisper to the infinite emptiness of the universe, so softly you can barely hear yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s November, and you are finally showing more than you can hide beneath hoodies and sweaters. The attendees of your parents’ Southern Baptist church—who glimpse you at Walmart or McDonald’s or Freddy’s Frozen Custard or 7-Eleven—gossip about you ceaselessly, venomously, with pity but no compassion. And your parents, who have been politely ignoring jibes about you for a decade, do more than just ignore it this time. They clear out their church mailbox and walk out the front door together and never go back. They’ve been shopping around for a new place of worship. Your mom says they might get really experimental and try out the Methodists.

Rhaena sends you pictures from her and Luke’s trip to the Mammoth Site in South Dakota. Baela has you on speakerphone when she tells Jace she wants to take a break. She’s completed two ballet school auditions already, and has scheduled two more; at least one acceptance seems imminent. You call Cregan to ask him how to prepare for parenthood. You call Criston to ask if he’d be willing to serve as a reference. He writes you a five-page recommendation letter and tells you prospective employers can contact him any time, day or night. You are hired as a therapist by the University of Missouri. For now, to accommodate your high-risk pregnancy and copious doctor’s appointments, it is a part-time remote position. Your parents are at last forced to get internet for the farmhouse. Your dad starts watching beef cattle raising tutorials on YouTube. And oddly, when you begin taking appointments with college students struggling with breakups or parental pressure or substance abuse, you don’t feel nervous at all. You feel like you’re doing exactly what you were made for.

One morning, you receive a WhatsApp message from Aegon: I wonder if bumblefuck Kansas has the Rolling Stone…

Missouri, you reply, and then you go to Walmart to check. Sure enough, there are numerous copies in the magazine aisle, and that’s a good thing, because a plethora of teenage girls are scrambling for them. Aemond is on the front cover, smiling faintly; his scar and cloudy blind eye are neither centered nor hidden. And he isn’t wearing black. His suit is a deep, lush green like jade, summer grass, ivy. The title reads: Aemond Targaryen is Out of Hiding.

You begin reading. He talks about exactly what happened at the Budokan. He talks about the label’s unilateral decision to excise him from the band. He talks about feeling lost, humiliated, pitied, ignored, unlovable. And then he shares what changed him. He says that he met with other survivors of facial trauma: soldiers, professional athletes, people involved in car and motorcycle accidents. He says that he sat down with half a dozen different therapists until he found one that he really liked. He chronicles the process of finding purpose again in a way that is truthful and inspirational and yet—to you, anyway—conspicuously vague. He is still somewhat involved with Comet’s songwriting and will likely perform with them once or twice per year, he wants to advocate for people living with disabilities like his…but what else? What else?

I think what I want people to know is that progress isn’t instant, and that nobody can do it alone, Aemond writes. I’m only where I am today because of the support of a lot of extraordinary people. I want to thank Comet Donati—Luke, Cregan, Aegon, Daeron, and Jace—as well as our tour manager Criston Cole, who is like a father us. I am immensely grateful to my mother Alicent and my sister Helaena. I am indebted to the fans for the unconditional love they have shown me.

But most of all, I owe my recovery to a therapist from the American Midwest. She can be a little pretentious sometimes, but we don’t fault her for that. She’s earned it. Thank you, Stargirl. I hope this planet is treating you well.

Smiling, glowing, you close the magazine, take it to the checkout counter, purchase it along with five KitKat bars. The baby can’t seem to get enough of them.

Two days later, you have another ultrasound done—your fourth—and at last you are able to give Aegon the answer he’s been zealously hounding you for. You message him on WhatsApp: You’re going to have a niece!

!!!!! he replies almost immediately. And then: Name her Aegonella.

Probably not!

As if you have any better ideas??

You share a few from your list: Celeste, Luna, Aurora, Halley…

Aemond literally just said Halley, Aegon types back. Like right before you did. And then: He’s very excited, omg, omggggggg it’s so cute. Thirty seconds later: Wish you were here :(

“Me too, Starboy,” you murmur as you sit on the couch in the den with Belmont sprawled across your lap. Then you send: I’m scared he’s not coming back.

He is, Aegon replies. He’s working on something. You’ll like it.

And you have to believe this, blindly, faithfully, trusting that something is real even when you can’t see it. You have no other choice.

You beg your dad not to slaughter any of the pigs for ham, and he reluctantly agrees. At Thanksgiving dinner, half the dishes on the table are vegan. You’re trying out new recipes. You jot down the ones you like best in a notebook Luke sent you: black pages, white ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December, and there are stockings hung by the fireplace and a blanket of snow on the ground. You and your parents pick out a Christmas tree at a local farm, and your dad chops it down and throws it in the back of the Ford F-150. Inside your mom’s CD player in the kitchen spins David Archuleta’s Christmas album. As your bump grows, you keep running out of clothes that fit; Aegon is always happy to mail you more donut-themed merch. Thanks to his persistence, they stock nearly every size known to humans. Baela gets her acceptance letters. Aegon gets to make out with Taylor Swift in the Colosseum. They are photographed together in Rome by paparazzi one day and then never again. A week later he’s with Selena Gomez in Ibiza. A week after that he’s spotted with Camila Cabello in New York City. The wheel keeps turning, his route through the solar system long and meandering.

Emergency! Aegon texts you one afternoon as you’re sipping hot apple cider at the dining room table and assembling a 500-piece puzzle depicting the sinking of the Titanic.

You know better than to take him too seriously. You reply, in no hurry: ?

Aemond says I can’t hang out with Starbaby unless I stop taking so many drugs?!!?! Fascist?!??!?!?!

Hang out. Like they’ll be going to clubs and Crocs stores together. You grin and reply: I mean yeah, that sounds accurate.

Well fuck, Aegon says. Guess I better start doing those substance abuse education modules again!

On Christmas Eve morning, your parents are at their slightly-less-judgmental replacement church. You are trying out a new recipe in the kitchen: vegan snickerdoodles. The whole house smells like cinnamon and vanilla. Beyond the window over the sink, snow falls in fluffy white bundles like rumpled bedsheets, like clouds. The Australian cattle dogs follow you around hoping for dropped cookies, their claws clicking on the hardwood floor. David Archuleta is singing O Come, All Ye Faithful. You keep bumping into things; you forget how big you are. Your belly seems to grow by the day.

Your iPhone buzzes. It’s a WhatsApp message from Aegon that puzzles you: Hey, I promised I wouldn’t bother you guys for the first few days but I really need the Netflix password and he’s not answering my texts, rude, so could you ask him for it please??? And then a few seconds later: Please. I just really want to watch Grey’s Anatomy.

You stare at his message, not understanding. You reply: Ask who…?

After a moment, Aegon sends back: …Never mind :)

“Really?” you gasp to yourself in the hushed peace of the kitchen, not wanting to believe, not wanting to be disappointed. You peek out the window. Nothing.

You open Google and search Aemond Targaryen. One of the first results is an article from the Kansas City Star published one hour ago. The headline reads: Comet Donati Heartthrob Opens Farm Animal Rescue Outside of Kansas City.

“Oh my God.” You scroll madly, skimming the text. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

One of Aemond’s quotes reads: I wanted to go where the need is. A sanctuary like this in San Francisco or Boston wouldn’t be anything special, wouldn’t be as necessary. But here in Missouri, at the epicenter of industrial animal agriculture in the United States? There’s a lot of important work to be done here. There are a lot of lives I hope to be able to save. We’ve been purchasing animals from auctions and taking in others that have been seized from situations where they were abused or neglected. In addition to our own efforts, I’d like to help launch similar rescues throughout the Midwest, and increase public access to vegan alternatives…

There are photos of him posing with animals: a towering, scarred, ancient mule named Vhagar, a three-legged goat called Sunfyre. In all the pictures, Aemond is smiling. And here in the kitchen of your parents’ farmhouse, so are you. Without thinking, you reach back to touch your fingertips to the black-ink words beneath your Comet Donati crewneck sweatshirt. You hear the lyrics— I’ll come back for you if it kills me, Comets clip by again after eons and so can I—and you know them to be true like space, time, gravity, love.

You look out the window again and he’s here, speeding down the winding path of the driveway, snow dust streaming out behind his Gold Star like the tail of a comet.

[violetmuses]

Versus - A. Aretas (Part III) 💔

Title: Versus - A. Aretas (Part III) 💔

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: One decision will change everything.

Tag List: @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @nobodygetsza @peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @deja-r @hyper-trash-panda @amethyst-loves-bucky 🏷

Part I ❤️‍🩹

Part 2 ❤️‍🩹

=====

2024

Shortly after your home settled down from those unexpected visitors, this doorbell rang once more.

Checking that RING camera again, you realize that Armando returned to the porch this time.

“What, did y'all forget something?” You barely opened the door, almost nervous.

“C'mon…” Aretas tried.

“What?” You don't even understand his point, not yet at least.

“I don't have much time before leaving, but we're doing this together.” Armando grounded reality.

“Say less.” You vowed, rushing to prepare for the battle yourself.

******

Outright monster James McGrath veiled his dark operations by working through one abandoned alligator park located somewhere deep in Florida.

“Armando's with Callie! Trail ‘em.” Mike Lowrey gritted his teeth amid crossfire and set your instructions for the mission.

McGrath just kidnapped Mike's wife Christine and even took Captain Howard's granddaughter Callie hostage. You fumed, raging from within.

___

“We're right here!” Callie lifted both palms for your vantage point just in case.

Yet wounds riddled Armando's body as this tree anchored his weakened presence.

“She…put me down by this tree. I'm okay…” His accented English struggles through pain, rightfully so.

“Kay…” Nodding down toward Armando, you're still protective despite everything.

“Hands up, Detective!” Marshal Judy Howard prompted your attention.

Raising both hands slowly, you turn around as expected.

“Mom, please don't hurt anyone!” Callie reveals tears, noting Aretas and you. “Armando saved my life and the detective looked out for us.”

“Move out of the way, Callie.” Judy continued staying armed.

“Mom, no!” Right when Callie shouted once more, Judy pulled the trigger.

Your body fell backwards as red dampened this tactical gear.

Yet, one lethal bullet pierced directly between your eyes, marking Judy's instant plan.

“Let me up, let up!” Right away, Armando wants Callie to help him stand from the ground, but immediately signals his father. “Mike, Mike!”

Seconds later, Detective Mike Lowrey joined this spot in the wilderness alongside Marcus Burnett as Judy keeps holding that firearm.

“What the fuck?!” Mike and Marcus shouted over this permanent view of your dead body.

“What happened?” Mike glanced toward Judy, both distraught and angered.

“I aimed for Armando but…”Judy revealed the truth about your death. “She wanted to protect him and Callie…”

“Aw, damn!” Genuinely crying, Marcus knelt toward your body this time.

“We can't call it in. Everyone will see Armando first.” Judy sniffled after holstering the firearm.

“What do you suggest?” Mike sought true guidance.

“Go. Leave with Armando before I change my mind.” Judy held her daughter Callie, but Mike understood this point.

Leave before everyone freaks out.

====

2025

Despite everyone marking calendars regardless, time slowed down.

The Miami Police Department lost joy while Marcus and Mike stopped laughing together.

Even your pictures still greeted desks at the precinct, showing camaraderie and highlighting true friendship.

“Listen to this, man.” Bringing his cell phone, Mike walked toward Marcus one afternoon.

“Hey, Lowrey! It's my day off.” Your laughter chimed this old voicemail. “Are we still planning cookouts for the department? I'll be there, just don't let Marcus eat Skittles. See you later, bye.”

“She'd sit in the corner with a plate now.” Marcus almost chuckled to avoid pain.

Memories could last forever.

[crobones]

[kicks open the door I just closed] AND ANOTHER THING

when a ghoul is turning feral, they say their name. they repeat it, over and over. "Roger. My name is Roger." like a chant. to remind themselves who they are. to hold onto the last bit of humanity they have left, because maybe if they hold tight enough, they can beat it. or maybe they can just hold on until help comes.

Cooper wasn't just distracting Roger so he could get a clean shot. He was reminding Roger of something good. BlamCo Mac & Cheese. His mom's apple pie.

When someone can't be saved, you don't want them to just focus on the fact that it's over. It's done. Waiting in that anxious fear for their every breath, because they don't know if it will be their last. Or, in Roger's case - and the case for any Ghouls out there still surviving - their last moments of control.

The sad fact of the matter is that, feral ghouls are still alive. They're not zombies. They hunger, they drool, they eat, but they can hide, too. They can gather. Being feral isn't dying, it's worse. They've not even just gone to base instincts - they've lost any and all sense of self preservation. They can sprint and throw themselves at prey because the body has simply become a vehicle for that hunger.

They don't hide or gather to stay safe. They do it because it's easier to take down someone if they're surprised and outnumbered. So yes, a feral ghoul can think. But only insofar that they can find a way to feed that hunger.

But even animals have some sense of self-preservation. (Unless, of course, they're rabid.)

To be feral is to experience such complete ego death that a person has no sense of identity outside of hunger and fear. So they try to hold onto control by reminding themselves who they are. "I am Roger." And so, it's not too far of a stretch to say that a person's humanity lies within their memories.

Cooper asked Roger if he remembered what food tasted like, back when he could taste. Before the radiation and necrosis. As most people know, certain senses like taste and smell can trigger a stronger memory than any words or chants.

What Cooper did to Roger was a mercy. It was simple. It wasn't a countdown or closing his eyes, just so that the last thing Roger could feel is fear. He reminded Roger of something good, like the taste of apple pie. Of his mom. Of being a kid again. Ghouls are people, but for those last few seconds, Roger was the most human he'd probably been in twenty-eight years.

And so what's going to happen when the Ghoul runs out of vials? Not Cooper, but the Ghoul. The character. The facade Cooper Howard has been wearing like a second skin. It's wrinkled, irradiated, and necrotic, but it's tight. It's safe. It's kept him alive. To survive, he willfully distanced himself from his humanity and became a monster. Cooper Howard didn't die. He's been buried alive in a coffin for centuries, feeding off of scraps. But he put himself in there.

So when the Ghoul runs out of vials, he'll do what they all do when they're trying to hold on. They'll hold on to their humanity by tooth and nail. "I am Cooper."

It'll be the first time anyone who didn't know him before the bombs ever hears his name. The first time Lucy connects who the Ghoul is to who Cooper Howard was, back when he was human.

It clicks in her head, subtler than a light switch. She should be happy. She should be ecstatic! She's meeting her favourite hero from her childhood! But all she can feel is sadness. She saw what her mother became, and she quickly proved to the Ghoul that she can put him down when the time comes. If she can do that for her mother, she can do that for him.

But how will she give Cooper those last seconds of humanity? Does she think he deserves it? Fuck deserving it, she'll decide to do it just because it's the kindest thing to do. But she didn't know him before. Didn't know his favourite tastes and smells. But she can probably guess.

Maybe it's the scent of his wife's perfume. Maybe it's the taste of hot coco. Or maybe it's Janey. Just Janey. In any form, any memory. So Lucy does that for him. And after two centuries, Cooper Howard finally remembers how it felt to be human. If only for a few moments.

[record scratch]

I don't want to end it on that. It's too much, even for me. Cooper Howard remembers his humanity and holds on long enough. He's saved. (Hey, Maximus carries RadAway, maybe he can carry other drugs.)

Now Cooper has to sit and deal with the tidal wave that is his humanity fully resurfacing so strongly after several lifetimes. The Ghoul has done a lot of things Cooper would disapprove of. More bad things than any good things he ever did when he was human. But they were all choices he made. Cooper's always been there. Just below the surface. He buried himself in that coffin. And what's more monstrous - to kill and be cruel to survive, or to hide from the responsibility and act like it was someone else all those times? Who is the monster, the Ghoul or Cooper Howard?

Inner turmoil. GIVE ME INNER TURMOIL.

meanwhile, Lucy can lose sleep over the idea that you should never meet your heroes. That maybe she likes the monster, better - but she doesn't know which is which either. They find themselves. They find each other. They find themselves inside of each other. Cannibalism, vore, allegory, etc, etc. they find his dick inside her. Happy ending. fuck you. fuck me!

[itsanerdlife]

Wicked Intentions 10

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader // (Seriously close) Steve Rogers x Reader // Clint Barton x Reader // T’Challa x Reader.

Warning: Violence. Language. Bullying. Girl Fights. Name Calling. Degrading Comments. Angst. Degrade of Woman (to a point). Criminal Life. Illegal Shit. Fights. Alpha Males. Stalking.

Characters: Peter Stark. Howie Stark. Bucky Barnes. Steve Rogers. Clint Barton. TC (T’Challa). Ben Reilly. Cledus Kasady (CK). Brock Rumlow. Gwen Stacy. Wanda Maximoff. Becca Barnes. Amore Lorelei. Kitty Pryde. Frank Castle. George Barnes. Joe Rogers. Winni Barnes. Pepper Stark. Wade Wilson. Eddie Brock. Warner Strucker. Barney Barton. Bobbi Morse. Pietro Maximoff. Logan.

A/N: This is a Bully Romance. High School setting. Mafia Family Life. Woman are on a lower level than males in their world. Just a heads up. This is the third installment of the series. Bad Intentions, Cruel Intentions, and Wicked Intentions.

Credit: Huge shout out to @ml7010 for all the help, pushing, hyping up, putting up with my changes midway through. If it wasn't for this peach, y'all never would have gotten this series or nearly as far as I am now.

“Howard.” I saunter up to my brother who’s leaning on the bar with multiple empty glasses in front of him. “We need to talk.”

“No.” He mutters.

Looking around, from side to side. He looks at me confused.

“What are you doing?” He sighs.

“Looking for who the fuck you think you’re talking to, big brother.” I look him up and down.

“Seriously?” He lifts a brow at me.

“Cause it sure as fuck can’t be me. One to many and you forgot who you’re talking too?” I ask, snatching away his glass when the tender puts a new one down. “He’s cut off, or I’ll hit you so hard, you’ll need a hospital to see right again.” I warn him. He blinks from me to Howie before hurrying away.

“You’re not mom.” He huffs at me.

Taking a sip, I nod. “Should we get her?” Lifting a brow at him.

He huffs, flushed and flustered.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Looking him over.

He sighs, dropping his head back. “Nothing, Y/N.”

“Oh, my name? Okay, alright, I see how it is.” I nod.

“Don’t be like that, you called me Howard.” He groans.

Nodding slowly, I stare at him.

“Don’t do that.” He sighs.

Continuing to stare at him.

“Stop.” He whines.

He fidgets and huffs.

“Y/N stop!” He blurts out.

“You disgust me, Howard.” My lips curl at him. Downing the drink, I shove the glass at him. “You hurt her. I swear on whatever god I believe in; I will fuck you up.”

“Really? I disgust you. Look at all you’ve done, Y/N. Look at all the issues we have because of you!” He shoves his hand at me.

I stare at him, watching him. He swallows, eyes glassy, rumbled hair more so than normal. His suit wrinkled and untucked. I nod once, mouth turning down slowly, I blink at him.

“Fuck, that’s not. Y/N,” he blabbers, slurring.

Stepping back from him, watching him start sweating.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighs, guilt moves over his face.

“Yes, you did.” I laugh softly looking away from him. “I’m the problem, I got it. You’re going to put you being a fucking weak ass pussy on me. Make me your scape goat.” Turning my eyes back to him. “Fine. You’re done.” Flicking my eyes up and away from him.

“What?” He blanches instantly. “Smalls,”

“I have no time for a pussy with no spine.” I scoff at him. “I’m nobody’s scape goat, Howard. You’re done. I’ll protect Becca, without you. See yourself out, and if you don’t, I’ll be sure to tell our fathers and her brothers.” Looking away from my brother, I find Bucky moving towards me. Heading for him, his arms slip around me.

“What’s wrong?” He looks down at me with worry.

Shaking my head. “Can we please cause trouble tonight?” I plead up at him. He chuckles, pulling me into him.

“Don’t you always cause trouble, Chaos?” He grins at me.

“Mhm, but I need more.” Grinning up at him.

He shakes his head at me.

“Oh, let’s break in Bobbi!” I bounce on my toes, grabbing his hand, pulling him with me.

He laughs, “Oh now I see what you’re up too.”

“Gwen’s pregnant I don’t get to have any fun lately.” I turn walking backwards, pleading with him.

“Gwen’s pregnant, Wanda’s married, are you feeling left out?” He grins at me.

“Don’t go getting any ideas.” I smirk, spinning on my toes, hurrying towards our friends.

“Too late.” His voice soft, filled with humor.

“Bobbi.” I slip into a chair at the table they’re sitting at. My brother hangs his head.

“Chaos.” The table chuckles.

“Y/N?” She smiles at me.

I nudge Peter chuckling next to me. “Ever been in a fight?” I grin, leaning in on the table.

The table gets quiet.

“She’s not trying to fight you.” Bucky explains for me.

“Oh.” Bobbi nods, understanding now.

“She wants to get into trouble tonight.” Clint sighs, looking from me to Bobbi.

Bobbi laughs. “Well, I don’t have a right hook blessed by Satan, but I can throw hands.” She shrugs.

“My sisters pregnant, Wanda’s married. I need someone to have fun with.” I admit.

“The fuck does that make me chop liver?” Becca’s voice comes from behind me.

Whirling around in my chair. I grin. “Bec’s!” She laughs. “Let’s get into trouble tonight.”

“You want to break the new girl in, huh?” Her nose crinkles at me, but she smiles.

Shrugging. “I have aggression I need to get out.” I admit.

“So, what you and Bucky do alone doesn’t help with that?” Clint laughs.

“Oh god!” Peter and Becca groan, whining in some way.

Grinning wickedly at Clint. “No, but I could wait till Monday and terrorize Saints.” I shrug.

“No.” Four male voices blurt out quickly.

Looking from Becca to Bobbi. “They call me Chaos and Satan and think that they’ll stop me.” I snort.

“Fuck it, let’s go.” Bobbi grins, grabbing her clutch.

“Yes!” Fist pumping, Becca laughs.

“Where’s Howie?” Peter asks as we all get up from the table.

Catching his eye, we exchange a knowing look. He nods slowly, before pulling me out of the chair and ushering me forward.

“Hey,” Bucky pulls me to stop “what’s going on with Howie?”

Glancing at the others as they head for the exit. Looking back at him.

“Do you trust me?”

Winter blue eyes search my face looking for a sign of trouble.

“With my life, you know that.” He nods.

“Trust me than. I have it handled till I need you and the guys.” I promise him. He hesitates but finally nods, agreeing.

“You’re safe?” He slips his arm over my shoulders.

“Nothing to do with me, and I’m always safe with you.” I grin up at him. He grins leaning down to kiss me.

“You just try to soften me up.” He chuckles near my ear.

I laugh as we head for our group. “Bucky, baby you’ve always been soft when it comes to me.” I remind him with a grin.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You mean only with you. When it comes to you, I’ve killed and will again.” He kisses the side of my head. We reach the group heading through the hotel.

“Mm my favorite kind of sick love story.” Turning my eyes up at him as my tongue pokes out between my lips. Winter blue eyes darken watching my mouth.

“Don’t you ever think you’re leaving me, Chaos.” He licks his lips, smirking.

“Good luck ever leaving me Boss man, during me even after me I’ll kill a bitch.” Smirking at him.

“You’re like a really fucked up couple.” TC joins us, suddenly, laughing.

“Like you wouldn’t kill for me too.” I blow him a kiss. He laughs, shaking his head as the group chuckles.

-------- Everything Peaches 12/8/22 @mo320 @ml7010 @babizza @kmc1989 @joannie95 @coley0823 @rileyloves5 @sexyvixen7 @duckestylez @abschaffer2 @drayshadow @shirukitsune @xoxabs88xox @carostar2020 @rosalynshields @hookslove1592 @royal-sunflower @iwillbeinmynest @bellamy-barnes @geeksareunique @happydeanpotter @fanfic-n-tabulous @steel-blue-eyess @mariekoukie6661 @bless-my-demons @notyourtypicalrose @lets-talk-about-xyz @loving-life-my-way @shinycupcakebaker @also-fangirlinsweden @stupendous-science @daughterofthenight117 @dandelionsmarkthegrave @physically-a-cheesecake @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

Bucky 'Fuck Me Up' Barnes: @nickyl316h @jbbarnesgirl @lets-roggerthat @this-is-mycrisis @kaylaphantomhive

Series tags: @sebastians-love @otterlycanadian

[inkmonster21]

Sing for Me

7. Domestic Dinner Dates

Cooper Howard × Fem!Reader / The Ghoul × Fem!Reader

She's a singer the nation adores. He's the actor everyone respects. What happens when these two get entangled in a heated affair? Passion, regret, rage, and even murder will commence. From before the bombs drop to the vast wasteland, these two souls live for one another.

Previous Chapter Series Masterlist

Tagged: @fallout-girl219 @harmfulb1tch @themadhattersqueen

I fix my shirt in the mirror. A knowing smile on my lips. “You look nice Daddy.” Janey catches my attention from the open doorway. Tomorrow we planned on discussing the future with Janey. She was a smart girl. She had noticed a shift in the dynamic of the house. She never once picked a side. She was pure of heart and full of joy. I kiss her forehead as I exit. “Thank you, sweetheart.” She follows on my heels. “Where are you going?” I look over my shoulder with a grin. “I'm having dinner with a friend. I wish I could stay honey pie. I heard your moms making your favorite tonight.” I stand at the door, grabbing the keys off the table.

Barb walks out of the kitchen, Pip-Boy on, files in hand, and a pep in her step. “Actually,” she starts with a simple smile, “I’ve got a meeting, and it was so short notice I couldn't find a sitter. Janey can tag along with you to dinner with your… friend. Can’t she?” I stare at her in disbelief. No doubt this was a planned move. She’s so particular in scheduling. There was no way she didn’t know at least days in advance.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. Would (y/n) feel overwhelmed? Fuck I’m sure. This JUST started and here I go tossing her into the fire. Barb sure as hell knew of my plans.

Janey smiles and jumps in excitement. “Yeah, Daddy, can I?” Barb smiles with evil eyes; an innocent mask. I scoop Janey up in my arms, “Of course you can!” I exit the house with my daughter in tow. I drive over to her house hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.

“Who are we going to dinner with, Daddy?” Janey asks as she watches the passing cars and trees. “You remember that singer you like? I took you to see her a while back.” Janey gasps loudly, “(y/n)? Yes! Is she nice? Will she like me? Can I sing with her?” I laugh at her various questions. “I’m sure she’s going to love you, Janey.”

~

Three solid knocks on the door notify me of Cooper's arrival. I stand from my spot on the couch, straightening my outfit to perfection. My nerves were shot, and my hands were fumbling with the door knob. I opened it to see him, I couldn’t help but smile. Dashing in a dress shirt and coat. The fall air is crisp in the evening. “Hi,” in a daze I exit the house and lean into him. He distanced himself, glancing back to his vehicle. I feel the clenching in my chest. Was he not here to pick me up? Is Barb in the car? Was this a setup? "Cooper? What's wrong?"

"There's been a slight change of plans." I stare at him with wide eyes, my hands beginning to shake. "Oh?" He nods back to the car, "Janey is tagging along." My nerves ease slightly. "Your daughter?" Why on earth would she be coming? Wouldn't Barb flip if she knew? I'm sure she's told Janey what she thinks of me. Cooper nods with a sigh, "If you want to reschedule or, just cancel, I understand." I look at him in confusion, "Now, why on earth would I cancel just because you had Janey? I've been wanting to meet her forever now." He shrugs, a shy smile creeping its way to his lips. "Well, I don't know. I didn't want you to feel overwhelmed. She's a real good kid." I grab his hand and tug him down the driveway. "Then we better not keep her waiting."

I enter the car with a smile. "Hi! I'm Janey!" She beams as she clings to the back of my seat. "Hello Janey. My name is (y/n). I've heard so much about you." She gasps and smiles at Cooper. "Really? I've heard so much about you too! My dad loves to talk about you." I blush as she reveals his secrets. "He says your hair smells like apple pie." She giggles causing Cooper to shake his head. "Okay, that's enough out of you."

We arrived at the restaurant, ate, and left with no issue. I enjoyed it with Janey even more than I would've just Cooper and I. She was the sweetest little girl. So full of wonder and light. She skips down the sidewalk singing a song. We stroll up to the theater. An idea sparks in my head. "Janey! Do you want to see something cool?" She stops mid-skip and turns on her heels. "Yeah!"

I peel myself from Cooper's side and dig in my purse for my keys. "What are you doing?" Cooper asks from behind. I insert the key into the lock with a grin. "We're going to show Janey what it's like to be on the big stage." I open the large door to the theater. Darkness enveloped the building until I flicked the switch. One by one the rows of light lit up each row before lighting up the large stage, the red velvet curtain hanging with grace. "Whoa!" Janey gasps as she runs down the empty aisle. Cooper watches her with a grin, a proud smile on his face. He races after her, helping her onto the stage and spinning her around. He cared for her deeply. I could only feel my heart swell for him more.

We sang, danced, and laughed together. It felt natural as if the universe brought us all together for the pure reason of making each other happy. As Cooper pulls up into my driveway I feel my chest clench. I didn't want this night to end. I bring my head up from resting on his shoulder and frown at him. "I wish you could stay," I whisper to him lowly. He parks the car and meets my gaze. The longing look in his eyes begging to be released. He looks back to Janey, who is happily admiring the large house. "It is getting a little late." I nod in agreement. His smile growing. "And it's almost an hour and a half drive back to your house." Cooper looks at Janey once more. "Janey, what do you say we stay here with (y/n) tonight and hit the road in the morning." She shrugs with a simple grin. "Okay." This child was too easy.

Janey wanted the grand tour, and so she received the tour. She even recorded a short original song in the recording studio. It wasn't too long before she was yawing, silently begging for a bed to rest. Cooper settled her in the guest bedroom and in the meantime I rolled a small joint, prepping for tomorrow. I licked the paper and rolled it up nicely. "And what are you doing, darlin'?" Cooper asks as he walks down the steps. He walks around like he owns the place, clearly comfortable in my home. The thought made me smile. I wave the small joint. "Just rolling. Don't worry, I'm putting it up." He shrugs, taking the seat next to me. "Well, now hold on a second." I look at him in disbelief. "No way." "I was young once too." I grab his face, pecking his lips. "You're still young, Cooper." He rolls his eyes and grabs the joint out of my fingers. "You turn 40 and then come talk to me, sweetheart."

Back and forth, back and forth, again and again, Cooper and I smoked the joint until it was almost gone. I followed his hand as it moved closer, “Want another toke, sweetheart?” My eyes move up to his, a smirk growing. I wasn't a lightweight, but Cooper was a drug that made me high all in itself.

I took the joint from his fingers and took another, longer than necessary drag. I hold it in as I hand the joint back of the red eyes squinted, Cooper smiles at me like a teenager. He watches every inch of my face with intent. He runs his index finger down my cheek. "I love you." Those three words are more addictive than anything on earth. I nuzzle into his hand. "I love you, Cooper." I kiss down his palm, the deeper I go the lighter I feel.

“You know,” I begin, keeping my eyes fixated on him. "We could always… go to bed." He raised his brow, "Go to bed?" I stand from the couch, running my finger over the pearls around my neck. "Don't you want to take me to bed, Cooper?" He bites the inside of his cheek, "I think I do."

He picked me up with ease, attaching our lips in a heated passion. He maneuvers the staircase and the hallway with ease, entering my bedroom and tossing me down on the plush sheets. He lays down, hands on my hips.

Confidence soars when I'm high, and I wanted Cooper since the second I opened my front door. "I want you so bad," I breathe out into his neck, grasping at the collar of his shirt. He smirks, “What are you waiting for then, sweetheart?”

I crawl over him, my legs moving to straddle his waist. I bite my lip as you look down at him, eyes burning with desire. He brings a hand up, gently laying it on my cheek, “You’re so beautiful.”

I lay a hand on his cheek, smiling as you lean down, “I love you, Cooper.” I press my lips to his, sliding my hands down his shirt, unbuttoning his shirt one by one. His hands grip my hips as I continue to undo his shirt until it is open. I begin to run my hands over his bare chest. He leans back, “I love you.”

He pushes my hips and I dig my nails into his skin as I grind down onto his throbbing length. I whimper, “I need you.” He smiles against my lips and strokes my hips with his thumbs, “In good time, baby. Just relax, okay? Let me take care of you.” Cooper lays me down on the bed, his body over mine. My legs hook around his waist. He leans his head down to kiss my neck. I let out a moan as he sucks a deep purple mark into my skin.

He kisses up to my lips and slides his hands up under my dress. His hands found my breasts. He massages them with a groan, digging his crotch into my clothes core. I arch my back, eyes rolling closed as his fingers pinch and pull at my nipples, “I want to take it slow. Okay, baby?”

I open my eyes, moaning as he continues to slowly roll my nipples between his fingers, “F-fuck, Coop.” I slide a hand around to press it to his cheek, “Go as slow as you want baby.” You smirk, “But, next time You should throw me around a little.” His length hardened more just from the words spoken.

“Goddamn, I love you.” His lips crash onto mine again and he pushes his hips deeper. “I'm going to take these off. Okay, honey?” I nod, moving my hips to assist him as he slides my panties off. He tosses them to the floor, caressing my legs slowly, kissing up to my knees, and down my thighs.

He brings his fingers to his lips, collecting a little spit before he drops his hand down to my needy cunt. I let out a breathy moan, my head already buzzing from the high. I look up at him, biting down on my lip as I feel him push two fingers into my cunt. I gasp and slide my hand to the back of his head. I toss my head back, "Cooper," I whine, "Please don't tease." I could feel the smirk against my lips. He traces my tongue, before removing his fingers.  

He replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, pushing into my flower. I grip the sheets, eyes closing as I feel my walls stretching around him, “Fuck, Cooper, you feel so good.” I look up at him, face twisting with pleasure as he pulls out and pushes back in.

He leans down, hips rolling slowly into mine, “You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.” I arch my back, clenching around him as he swallows my moans, “I’m gonna cum if you keep squeezing my cock like that.”

Running a hand through his hair, I bite his neck, suckling his skin in several places. “You fuck me so good.” His eyes search mine as a smirk grows on his face, “I love when you say that shit to me.” I tighten my legs around his waist as I gasp, “fuck,” I squeeze his cock, my orgasm tearing right through me. I cry out, coving my mouth with my hand, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’ts-“ “Fuck, (y/n).” He groans as he fights his grips on my hips, “Come on, pretty girl.” He kisses my lips and leans up, “I want to feel it. Come for me, baby” I let out a moan and tightened my grip around him, moaning out his name over and over again.

Cooper manages to keep his thrusts steady enough to guide me through my high before his cock quickly vacates. He reaches down, stroking his cock while I plant gentle kisses on his face. I feel his hot cum spill out into my pelvis. He rolls over with a groan and a ghost of a smile. He lays still for a solid minute before I nudge him with my foot. I couldn't help but giggle, "Coop, honey, I love you. You think you can get me a towel?" His head pops up with a light grin. "Oh, shit, yeah." He scurries off to my bathroom, returning with a hand towel. Cooper cleans up his mess with delight.

He leans in and pecks my lips, “I love you.” I smile, returning the gesture “I love you too.” I kiss his face several places making him grin, “I’m going to go get us a snack, do you wanna roll us another one?” I look at him wide-eyed. "Cooper Howard. The pot smoker. What would your fans say?" He shrugs, tugging his pants back on. "A man can live a little." He leans forward with a smile, “So you want anything special?” His hand resting on my cheek with a dopey grin. I shake my head, “Just you, so hurry back."

[mrsoftthoughts]

Guess who mess up things with a spell and turned himself into a ferret? Yes, it was alabaster

The other day i posted a drawing based on @yonemurishiroku idea of a WolfboyJason au, and later talking with @drksanctuary a silly Nicobaster idea was born

In which alabaster accidentally turned himself into a ferret, and since that all of Al's notes are written down in a absurd mix of accient Greek, modern Greek and Latin, makes impossible for claymore to understand anything of what is written there, So he sees himself forced to call Nico, the only other demigod that they know because years before he Maybe tried to take claymore back to the underworld ( but that's a history for other day)

That for the horror of a alabaster with a immense crush on the son of hades, because in the form of a animal any kind of discretion or shame was thrown out of the window and he end up being the clingiest thing in this world when he had been trying to avoid nico for the past few months just for this to happen

Needless to say, al was a bit too dramatic about it after almost sell his soul to swear that he being clingy didn't mean anything ↓

Al: why of all people you had to call HIM?!

Claymore: i told you to be careful with whatever thing you were doing because i don't know actual greek, even less greek that was used milenia ago, and that's the language you have everything that could bring you back to normal kid, what i was supposed to do?

Al: right but..I

Claymore: you wanted, perhaps, for me to call the abundance of other demigod friends you have?

Al: I dunno! My mom?

Claymore: *shakes his head*

*Hecate appears from the absolute nothing*: Howard did tried to contact me, i just didn't answer, i knew that Nico di Angelo was the plan B, and the little prince is such a educated and polite gentleman, is the dream for any mother to have as son in law! and you just keep wasting any opportunity you have with him

Al: Mother...

Hecate: you're in love! I'm just trying to help

Al: you're just embarrassing me! there's no fucking way that he would like me back, the last thing that i need is that he discovers this

(Poor little did he knew that nico also likes him)

[maddiethedogstories]

Sarah's Playground - 6

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

As I looked up at my mother's smiling face, my lips rhythmically sucking without my consent, I was suddenly bombarded with a cascade of new memories of how my life was altered under the rules of Lidia's new reality.

I remembered...

Back when I was seventeen, I was so excited to get out of the house. My mother was always overbearing and overprotective. I wasn't allowed to have a boyfriend or girlfriend. I wasn't allowed to go to sleepovers. I wasn't allowed to stay out past 9:00 pm. I wasn't even allowed to stay home by myself for extended periods of time. That's why Lidia became my long-term babysitter.

I had applied to colleges as far away as I could to get out from under my mother's thumb. I didn't want to be stuck at home under her tyrannical rules for longer than I could. Plus, under the new forced regression laws, I was more than a little afraid that my mom would concoct some story to have me demoted to being a perpetual middle schooler if I stuck around too long. Turns out, I should have been more worried.

I remember being ecstatic when I got into my first choice school, the Boston Institute of Technology. The school was prestigious, had the best engineering program in the country, and, best of all, was thousands of miles away from home. I'd be free to live my own life with my own rules.

When I told my mom, I could tell that she was less than pleased, but, like any good parent, did her best to pretend to be happy for me. She told me that despite as much as it was going to hurt to lose her baby, she couldn't help but be proud of how much I'd accomplished.

As my July birthday approached, things seemed to be proceeding as normal. We sent off my acceptance paperwork to BIT. We worked together to find the best dorm room. Mom was even there cheering for me at graduation where I was salutatorian. Everything was going great.

That was, until the weekend after my 18th birthday. Mom and I had a big celebration planned. We were going to get cake and balloons, decorate the house, then have a horror movie marathon, just the two of us. However, at the last minute, Mom had to cancel. There was, apparently, an emergency at work, and she had to fly to another state to deal with the fallout. I was disappointed, but understood. I let her know we'd just reschedule it for the next weekend. So, without a lot of fanfare, I helped Mom pack her travel bag and waved goodbye to her as she took off for the airport.

It was only 30 minutes later that I heard the knock on the door. I opened the door and, to my surprise, Lidia, my nemesis, was standing on the other side. She was carrying her pastel pink 'babysitting' bag, that I knew from experience contained everything she needed to force me to be her perfect little baby, on her shoulder.

"Hey squirt! Ready for a wonderful weekend with your fave babysitter?" She asked with that same dark smile she always had when she got a weekend alone with me.

"What? No! I am 18 years old, I don't need a babysitter. Fuck off!" I said, slamming the door in her face.

Lidia knocked again, but I refused to open the door. After a few minutes, I could hear Lidia on the phone with someone outside. Then, as Lidia's muffled voice went silent, my phone rang. I picked it up to see Mom was calling.

"Sarah Lynn Howard! What is this I hear about you slamming the door in that sweet girl Lidia's face and swearing at her? I thought you were almost an adult!" Mom immediately began tearing into me. I went on the defensive.

"Mom! She said she was here to **babysit** me. I'm 18 and heading to college across the country in a month and a half. I do NOT need a babysitter! I knew she had to be lying when she came over and said that!" I raged into the phone.

"Sweetie, she may not have needed to say it that way, but I am paying her to house sit and spend some time with you while I'm gone. You may be 18, but you're still living under my roof for now. I just don't trust that you'll be safe by yourself," Mom tried to reason with me. "Plus, I know how sad you were we had to cancel our party at the last minute, and I know you don't have a lot of friends. And you always seem to get along with Lidia so well. So I thought..."

"You thought what?" I asked, cutting my mom off, almost incoherently upset that my mom, who was so supportive and proud of me, STILL thought I couldn't be trusted by myself.

"I thought you could have a little party with her. I mean, I know Lidia isn't me, but, I couldn't stand the thought of you spending your birthday weekend alone baby girl," Mom said. She sounded so genuine and loving, so full of shame at bailing on me on my birthday, it cut right through my anger. I suddenly felt horrible.

"I'm sorry, Mom. Being 18, I'm just a little nervous about being, you know, demoted," I said, apologetically. "Hearing Lidia say she was here to babysit me just made me nervous, you know?"

"I understand baby girl. And you don't ever have to worry about demotion, love. I will always be here to protect and take care of you, you know that?" Mom said. I couldn't help but feel relieved at hearing those words.

"I know Momma," I responded, "I love you."

"I love you too baby, now, why don't you go let Lidia in. She is probably baking in the heat out there, and I am paying her to have a fun girl's weekend with you. You better go get the party started!" Mom instructed before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone.

I put my phone down, turned towards the door, and steeled my nerves before opening it. Lidia used to torture me as a kid, but I was an adult now. She wouldn't dare baby me like she used to, right?

I opened the door again to see Lidia leaning against the side of the house. At the sound of the door opening up, she stood up, took a step towards me, and cracked a disarming smile.

"Happy Birthday Kiddo! I knew you'd come around! Are you ready for a fabulous girl's weekend with your favorite... neighbor?" Lidia said, clearly stopping herself before saying babysitter again.

I plastered a fake smile on my face.

"Come on in! I'm sorry I was so rude. I am just sensitive about being demoted. It's happened to too many of my friends at school, you know?" I responded, ushering Lidia through the door.

"Oh, you're such a smart girl, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. Plus, what were you always telling me back when you were a kid? You haven't wet the bed since you were thirteen," Lidia offered supportively.

I couldn't help but blush at being reminded of my bedwetting and, relatedly, my 'baby' weekends with Lidia. I closed the door as Lidia walked in.

"But, we're not here to think about you being a kid this weekend, we're supposed to celebrate your adulthood!" The 22-year-old beauty said.

I watched and flinched as she reached into her dreaded pink babysitting bag excitedly, expecting for her to pull out a dreaded giant diaper or pacifier. Instead, she pulled out two bottles of white wine. I could feel my eyes grow huge.

"Let's celebrate!" Lidia cheered.

NEXT CHAPTER