#but no instead he gets saddled with DEBT

[very-poorly-drawn-tgcf]

Episode 1: Back to Heaven now, by accident

Bonus under the cut! (Warning tgcf spoilers but then again Why Are You Here If You Haven't Finished TGCF Yet Off With Ye)

[proserpine-in-phases]

I hate how every job says they're looking for a person like this because I am none of those things? Where are the jobs willing to pay top dollar for an unmotivated unprofessional cold unpersonable non starter who is disorganized and pays very little attention to detail?

[sylvancastor]

Writing out my preferred way the battle at Rook's Rest should have gone because why not.

The beginning mostly stays the same. Criston signals for Aemond and Vhagar, but Sunfyre arrives first. Aemond sees him fly overhead and is pissed, but he doesn't wait to follow him into battle because he's not an idiot and as much as he wants the crown, he's aware of the intensity of the blow losing Aegon would be to their cause.

Still, Vhagar is slow and has to launch herself off the ground, so Aegon gets their first and has an initial fight with Meleys but Vhagar's quick arrival keeps Sunfyre's injuries from being quite so intense. The two of them attack Meleys side by side, but due to her speed and Rhaenys's expertise, she manages to keep evading them with fairly light damage.

Meleys takes off high into the clouds and Aemond and Aegon follow her. No one can see them from below. Aegon urges Sunfyre to engage directly with Meleys and the two dragons become locked together. Instead of intervening this time, Aemond simply watches as Sunfyre is injured and Aegon cries out for his help. Aemond only watches.

We can see the anger in his eyes. It would be so easy to allow Meleys to kill Aegon and Sunfyre. He could say he did his best, but that Aegon refused to battle carefully. He would be honored after he died and Aemond would become king. Aegon doesn't notice the inaction, too focused on saving Sunfyre and himself. In a desperate move, Aegon unclips one of his restraints to grab the dagger at his side and drives it into Meleys's eye as Rhaenys screams in shock and fury.

Meleys wails and lets go of Sunfyre, dropping out of view. Aegon is triumphant and turns to his brother with a smile. Aemond isn't smiling. We watch as he follows Meleys's descent and decides he's safe for now. He returns his attention to Aegon. It would be so easy to do the deed himself and blame Meleys. He contemplates it only for a split second, but Aegon's face goes from smiling to horror. We think he's understood what Aemond plans to do, but in fact, his eyes are fixed on a sight behind him. Meleys has darted up from behind, mouth open and poised to burn Aemond in his saddle.

Aegon doesn't hesitate. He urges Sunfyre forward and as Meleys breathes out a wall of fire, he throws himself and Sunfyre in front of it to protect Aemond from the blast. Before Aemond can react, Meleys sinks her claws into Sunfyre's chest and pulls him out of sight.

Aemond pursues, but it's too late. Meleys has bit into Sunfyre's wing and Aegon can barely stay in the saddle with his one remaining restraint. Meleys rips her head back breaking off part of Sunfyre's wing and the king and his dragon fall through the air, landing in the forest.

Similarly to the show, Aemond is able to defeat Rhaenys and Meleys on his own after Aegon's fall.

Later on, we learn the only reason Aegon was able to survive was the one remaining restraint held him to the saddle but allowed him to slide off to the side enough to evade some of the dragonfire. He's still burned and in pain. He sacrificed himself for his brother and Aemond can't betray him now. Not when he owes his brother a life debt, not when he's seen how deeply Aegon loves him. He becomes Prince Regent and reconciles himself to forever protecting his brother from this point forward.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Scout's Honor

Day #1 - Prompt: Firsts | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: E | CW: Sex Acts, Language | POV: Goodie (Freak) | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Newly Gotten Together Steddie, Semi-Public Sexual Acts, Touch Me While Your Bros Play Grand Theft Auto Super Nintendo, The Boys of Corroded Coffin Are Tired of Eddie's Horny Bullshit

This has a sister fic, Full Throttle, from Steve's POV. Either can be read standalone.

"It's my turn!" Gareth shouts, grabbing at the controller, and Goodie holds it up, as far as the cord will stretch, trying to keep it out of his grubby little hands. Laughing as he pushes and fights to get a hold of it.

It is his turn, but Goodie isn't about to cave to the little shit's demands that easily.

"Guys," Jeff warns, then adds, "just take mine," offering up his controller up to Gareth.

"But I want to be player one!" Gareth snaps, and Goodie just laughs. No fucking way. 

"Winner gets to be player one, and that's me," Goodie tells him, and Gareth whines about it, but he does take the second controller from Jeff's hands. 

Their first decent check came last week, and after divvying up and paying out all their debts, they had just enough left over to buy the brand new Super Nintendo. There was one left in the store, and if they pooled their money together, they could actually afford it.

So. The check is gone, long gone, they spent every damn dime, but it was fucking worth it, as they crowd around the TV in the cheap apartment they're all crammed into, playing Super Mario World. They've been taking turns, the four of them. Well, three now that Steve Harrington has shown up. Goodie thought it'd mean they had to give him a turn too, but instead Eddie gave up on playing with them, and is on the other couch, Steve all over Eddie, taking up all his attention.

Just because Eddie was the first of them to get into a relationship, doesn't mean the band should have to be subjected to this all the time. But they are, because Eddie and Steve are horny motherfuckers, the both of them.

It wasn't so bad before they all lived together, but now, torture. Pure and utter torture.

They've been trying to do the long-distance thing, and Goodie was sure it would fizzle. After the shine wore off fucking King Steve. Like, he gets it. High school Eddie could never, would never, and now he's reliving his adolescence, chasing after Steve Harrington like a little lap dog. Panting, and humping his goddamn leg.

It's so high school, it makes Goodie sick. 

Unfortunately, this has gone on long enough that now Goodie's sure they're about to be saddled with Harrington full-time. 

Goodie looks over, and no fucking way. Not on his couch. Their shared couch. Community property.

Steve's trying to look normal, but he's red-faced, eyes squeezed shut, his gym shorts pulled down in the back, Eddie's fingers disappearing down into them, into Steve, Goodie's pretty fucking sure. He doesn't know where else they could be. Especially not with the face Steve's making.

Goodie nudges Gareth, just to make sure he's not seeing things. Misconstruing. Maybe he just has a dirty mind, and is still traumatized from the blowjob incident last week.

And the tongue in the asshole fiasco from the week before that.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, not again," Gareth says under his breath, so no, no he's not imagining it. Eddie's got three fingers shoved up Steve's asshole right where they can all see. 

"Eddie!" Goodie yells, and Steve is the one that jumps, Eddie just fucking laughs, but he doesn't pull his hand out of Steve shorts, until Steve crawls off his lap, ears tinged red, heading straight for the bathroom.

"Seriously? With us in the room?" Goodie asks, as soon as Steve's gone, behind the closed door.

"I wasn't doing anything," Eddie bemoans, but he has a shit eating grin, as he puts up three fingers, in a mock salute, "Scout's honor."

And his fingers are fucking shiny, with what must be lube. 

Because they've been up Steve's ass. 

Goodie shakes his head, trying not to give Eddie the attention he's clearly craving. He's a pervert, and Goodie's not playing into his exhibionist streak. 

Steve finally resurfaces from the bathroom, and Eddie stands.

"Time for bed," Eddie says, and then they're gone, the door to Eddie and Gareth's bedroom shutting with a heavy snick.

Gareth looks over at Goodie, and gives him a withering stare, "Thanks. Now my room's gonna smell like spunk. Again."

Goodie just cackles. Sucker.

Steve's moaning, Eddie's grunting, headboard hitting the wall, and honestly, Goodie thinks maybe he should have just kept his goddamn mouth shut. This is worse.

"How're they still like this, it's been years," Goodie says, not really asking a question. 

"Years?" Jeff asks, "The dancing around each other, maybe, but the fucking? That's brand new."

"You're shitting me?" Goodie asks, in disbelief. There's no fucking way. "Gareth?"

Gareth will know.

"A couple months?" Gareth offers, and Goodie cannot believe that's true. Eddie's been lusting for, talking about, obsessing over Steve Harrington ever since that weird spring break that sent Eddie to the hospital for weeks, with Steve a constant at his side. Steve had taken up permanent residency, like he was Wayne Newton in Vegas. 

Eddie wrapped up in soft sweaters that definitely weren't his own. 

They were together. Right? Definitely. These two just weren't observant.

Eddie punctuates his thought with a long, disgusting groan, that can only mean he's just come. 

"We gotta make some changes," Goodie says, "we can't live like this."

"We're barely here, Goods, let him have this," Jeff says, the peacemaker, the voice of reason. The herder of cats. 

"No," Goodie argues, just to argue. 

"Yes," Jeff counters, "if you don't, I bet Steve's cozy little house on Wabash is gonna look pretty damn good."

"Eddie wouldn't dare," Goodie snaps, and then he hears Eddie and Steve both giggling, and well, Eddie might.

Goddammit. 

"Fine, we'll be assaulted by the sights and sounds, but I won't be happy."

"None of us are," Gareth says in solidarity, agreeing with Goodie, for once. Hell has officially frozen over.

Eddie comes out, holding a towel over his junk, bare ass in the wind, grinning like an asshole as he heads towards the bathroom.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: This is inspired by Taylor's Swift song So High School. Steve knows how to ball, Eddie knows Aristotle. I don't make the rules.

Read Steve's POV on this situation right here in, Full Throttle.

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

While Lady Velaryon is hidden away on Dragonstone these many months, Aemond has been fighting in the war. It drags on, painfully. Some days truthfully, Aemond has begun to question why to continue the fight.

Everything made sense to him before. The family. His place in it. Duty. It was all so easy. Until her. How can he live with his duty… if he loses her?

A traitor to every ideal he thought he had. Every ideal he was taught. Surely there’s no way out of this. If he stops fighting, he knows it will mean his end. But as time passes, a silent truth creeps into him. He would happily go to his end, if only he can kiss her lips once more before it all.

This is the state in which he meets his dear uncle in. Far less smug than Daemon expected. Instead he’s somber. Almost as if…. He knows he may go to his death. Months before, he was confident. If he faced his uncle, he was sure he’d be strong enough. Now…. None of it matters.

Not a hint of mockery. Nothing in his face but sincerity. It catches Daemon off guard. As they ride up into the clouds, so certain at least one of them rides to their death.

Still, fierce and terrifying is the battle. But as Daemon moves, his sword aimed for his nephew’s one good eye, to deliver the killing blow….

One cannot say why. Anyone would assume it was a clear shot. Aemond would be dead. Falling into the lake along with his dragon. Perhaps an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation in Daemon. Perhaps Aemond moved his head just enough at the last minute. Or perhaps, just a twist of fate. Dark Sister does not find its mark in Aemond’s skull. Instead slashing the side of his face. But though his other eye isn’t lost, his ear was not similarly spared.

The histories differ. Some say after both men fell into the lake, Aemond cut his saddle and used what strength he could to swim to shore. And some say Daemon’s mercy was why his saddle was cut….

But as Aemond, blood running down his shoulder, gets his bearings on shore, he’s put face to face with his uncle’s blade. Looking up into his eyes…. His death is all but assured.

Aemond shocks his uncle then. His face finds composure. All the feeling draining from him. Instead giving one look to him. He’s ready for death.

“Why.”

Daemon asks.

“Why boy, is your death so easy to accept?”

Aemond speaks simply.

“I lost care for my own life many months past…. If nothing else uncle, grant me this before my death.” His composed voice instead almost shakes. “Lady Velaryon…. Tell me she’s well. And… give her… my apology. For the promises I made and did not keep. Please.”

Daemon freezes, caught completely off guard. Staring down at his nephew he looks for any trace of the fierce and intelligent threat that he once was…. Yet that’s not the man before him. In his mind Daemon finally connects it.

“It’s you… isn’t it? The father.” He speaks almost in disbelief.

“Father….?” That word makes Aemond look up in complete confusion.

Daemon is many things. He supposes to call him cruel wouldn’t be a complete lie. There’s many a thing he’s done no doubt the gods have gasped at. But….

“You’re going to stand. And walk. You’re a prisoner of war now and you’ll stand trial before your Queen.”

It’s hardly an act of mercy to some. But it’s the most mercy Daemon will grant him. He will go to Dragonstone in chains. But Daemon knows what waits for him there. Aemond will owe him a life debt times two perhaps.

Dragonless, now missing an ear along with his eye, and a prisoner of the blacks. That is the state in which former prince Aemond Targaryen arrives at Dragonstone. He would hold his chin high. Were it under any other circumstance. The first time he sees his love again, and she will see him disgraced and in chains. But when they return…. They find fewer people greeting them than expected. Aemond finds himself face to face instead with Baela. There is shock in her eyes. And then anger. But then… she seems to relent something. He almost sees worry. Why is Baela worried exactly….

-

Perhaps it was seeing Daemon fly off. Knowing he goes to face Aemond. Perhaps all the stress of these months finally caught up to the Lady Velaryon. But her labors finally began.

Long into the day, she paced her chambers, trying to take comfort in the midwives. Baela and Rhaena were with her when it happened. But they couldn’t be here now. It was too close to their mother…. Rhaenyra herself stepped in. Knowing the pain very well.

But the lady was inconsolable. She cried not only from the pain of the body, but in her heart. She’s laboring alone, having the child of the enemy Daemon rode off to kill. Her poor fatherless child. And she feels she brought this doom upon them. She’s here now. Hours she labors. Exhaustion beginning to weigh on her. Rhaenyra tries to offer SOME comfort. But it’s clear as her labors become more difficult, it reminds Rhaenyra too much of the stillbirth of her daughter.

Long into the day, and soon into the night she struggles. Rhaenyra tries to come back to life. Holding her hand and encouraging her to push. Telling her she can bring this child forth.

But the lady only cries.

“I want my love! I wish he was here with me… I’m not strong enough alone! Instead I am to have a fatherless child! If I even have one…” She laments. Rhaenyra sees her losing her nerve.

But…. In the candlelight, in this chamber with only worried midwives and a distraught laboring woman, a new fave enters. A face that shocks all in the room.

Aemond. Standing in the door. He’s followed closely and watched by Daemon, despite his visible discomfort at the scene in this room. Aemond is disheveled. His ear is hastily bandaged. His clothing a mess. His wrists with chains.

But his eyes…. They hold only love. A euphoria at seeing her again. A desperation. And fear. He returns to her now, seeing her trying to birth a child he didn’t know she was carrying. His child.

He wastes no time in being at her side. Brushing her hair out of her sweat covered face.

“A-Aemond? You’re alive…. You’re alive, oh this must be a cruel trick…. I’m dying and the gods sent you.”

“No.” Tears are almost coming to him now. “No my girl, I’m alive. You are not dying. But please. You need to fight. I know you must have been fighting so long but just a little longer. You need to… for our child, can you do that my love?”

Despite Aemond’s comforting words, his heart is full of fear. He sees the faces of the midwives. He knows if the child doesn’t come fully soon, she’ll lose her strength. He knows soon he may still face the harsh consequences for his actions against the blacks…. But just for now. He’s with his love. For the first time in months. And all he wants is for her to live.

“Come on my brave girl. Just push.” He holds her hand tightly and kisses her forehead. She squeezes his hand back, holding onto him and crying out, as she struggles and fights. Her baby’s father is here now…. She just needs to manage.

And as Aemond holds onto her for support… the Lady Velaryon’s labors finally come to an end. When a tiny cry is heard throughout the room. Small. But strong. She’s done it.

Aemond can’t stop from crying then. Kissing her and holding her like he wanted so long to do again. All while praising her for her strength.

Rhaenyra steps back for a moment. Standing close to the door with Daemon. They both watch Aemond carefully. For now… they don’t interfere.

As the baby is placed on their mother’s chest, and she wraps her arms around them. Smiling and holding them close. Remarking affectionately that she can swear they have Aemond’s nose. Aemond is frozen. Looking down at the child. Their child. His child… he’s a father.

He reaches out and brushes a finger against their cheek. Unexpectedly the little creature grabs it, gripping onto his finger tightly as they blink their curious eyes. Still drawing in their environment. Their eyes aren’t good enough yet to see far. Not enough to see their father’s face break out in a smile.

Gently he lifts them in his arms. Holding them close.

“Oh my child…. If only I’d known…” Carefully he rocks them. “I wish I could promise you…. That things will be well after this. I wish…. I could even say with complete certainty that I’ll return. I don’t know of our futures now… nor what I can give you as a father. I can offer no more inheritance. No titles. No honor. Naught but a name. And…. the promise…. That no matter the consequences I face now, no matter the fate I go to, my heart will rest with you and your mother. If nothing else… I love you with all my heart and I bid you, never forget it.” He whispers these words gently to the child. Placing a soft kiss on the top of their head. Almost painful as he puts them back in the arms of their mother. Standing and looking to Daemon.

He knows not what his punishment will be. But at least…. He saw his love. And held their child. At least once. He whispers to the lady. Words of devotion to her. And a name for the child. Something for him to give them. As he stands and walks to find what fate will decide for him now.

This is so beautiful 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

And the ending 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Aemond needs more time with his kid and his lady Velaryon 😭😭😭😭😭😭

But anon your writing is so good🔥🔥🔥🔥

[hamaonoverdrive]

Here's how we "Fix" Kaiji part 6

Keep everything the largely same until we get to the part where Kaiji and Co. meet the two middle-aged buisnessmen. Instead, they meet a sleazy Saul Goodman-type character, someone who dabbles in under-the-table finances and has all sorts of underworld connections. This man is fully aware of the bounty on their heads, and under that threat he makes them an offer: he won't turn them in, but only if they allow him to launder their money (for a sizeable cut, significantly more than the bounty money).

There's a lot of room for drama here-- there would naturally be a lot of leeriness around this man. Would he take his cut and then turn them in for a bigger gain? Would he flat-out steal it all? He clearly only speaks in money. Ultimately, Kaiji would crack some kind of plan to keep this guy on their side: something like blackmailing him in a way that would ruin his reputation in the underworld, or delaying a significant chunk of the payment until after the crew know they are safe and not-Saul doesn't know their current whereabouts.

Thematically, this also tracks. Kazuya's character in parts 4 and 5 was largely about how money alone cannot bring people happiness. Part 6 is a response to this-- while figuring out what to do with their money is a burden (made no easier by the institutions working against them), having that money in the first place allows the Asian trio to have material stability, which in turn makes them happier. It's fundamentally a lot easier to live life when not saddled with crippling debt-- a point made many times over in the early series.

Bartering for financial services like this calls back to part 2, when Kaiji had to convince Endou to spin him another loan (which ultimately bites him in the ass). Having part 6 end like this would underscore the point that these institutions reinforce wealth gaps, if Kaiji succeeded at a negotiation where he previously had failed because now he has money to use as leverage.

Bam! We skip the worst part of the whole series and expedite the start of part 7.

[prolix-yuy]

For the 500 celebration, Pero & everlasting love!❤️

Okay, I'm cheating just a little bit. The request will be in here, it might just take a little while to get to it. Because you asked for Pero and all I could possibly write was for him and his Guerrera...and I've been dying for an excuse to share their sequel...sooooooo...

Coming Due

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader (sequel to Stop That, Right Now)

Summary: Tensions rise after last night's quarrel, and Pero must find a way to make it up to his Guerrera.

Word Count: 7.8k (I KNOW I am the architect of my own misery)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, insensitivity to the perils of women in this time period, references to violence against women but nothing described, Pero being a real big asshole for about 4 minutes, angst, oral sex (f-receiving), fingering (f-receiving), sorta safe PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), biting, an obscene amount of banter, Pero learns to be a consent king, FEELINGS.

Notes: Back by popular demand! Pero has stolen many of our hearts (and our nethers) and I couldn't wait to write more of these two. I left everyone hanging in the balance after the first drabble, and while The Debt gave us some more background I KNOW what we all actually want to see - what happens the next day?

Enjoy these allies to friends to enemies to lovers figuring their shit out!

Morning comes too quickly for Pero, barely settled in the stables for the night before the cock crows and light filters in through the wooden slats. He’s itchy, over-tired, in need of a bath and hungry from the night before.

The low sigh he breathes out, coupled with work-cracked hands rubbing over his face, brings the events of last night back into stark relief. A groan follows, this one deep and exasperated.

Pero’s mother told him that God only gave him a mouth so ravenous because he put both feet in it so often. Which, of course, he did once again. He could blame it on many things - the poor quality of his dinner, aches from the road, the raucousness of the tavern - but all would be a lie. It was the shock of your dress, baring those soft swaths of skin he’d contemplated many nights, hand itching to fist his cock. It was your smile, teasing and knowing all in one. It was the touch you left on the inside of his wrist that he swears he can still feel. Everything swirled together in a mess of light and noise and hammering heartbeats and instead of succumbing Pero fought like the idiot his mother hoped she didn’t raise.

Rolling up from the hay, swatting stray straws from his armor, he begins saddling up his horse. On any other day he would saddle yours too, save the fact that she faltered on the way into town and the farrier deemed her front left hoof too injured to travel. You’d sold her to him, a few quiet moments spent with the mare who carried you for many miles alongside Pero. Now down one steed with a job hastening you to the next town, your travel arrangements would be all the more troublesome.  

“Idiota,” Pero grumbles to himself as he pulls the straps snug, checking the saddle bags for supplies. Once he opened his mouth he knew he’d made a grave mistake. And the more you fed him vitriol, the more he spat back. You brought out the best and worst in him, but always forgave and moved on. There was never bad blood between you.

The door to the stable snaps open, your frame silhouetted by the morning sun at your back. If Pero entertained any delusions that you might have forgotten last night, they’re dashed away when you stride in fully armored, not a word spoken. No forgiveness either, the dark scowl on your face slashing across his own like a thief’s dagger.

“Good morning, hermana,” Pero says gruffly, making the final check of his tack. You pick up your own supplies, slinging them over your shoulder now that you have no horse to bear them. 

“Let’s begin, the day is already warm and I wish to be at our destination before nightfall,” you say curtly, turning on your heel to exit the stables. 

“Hermana, give me your supplies, Caballo can carry them,” he offers, reaching a hand to graze over your tack. You dart away, always so much faster than him, and stalk out. Pero sighs, curling his fingers back into his empty palm. 

It’s worse than he imagined. Not only was your desire for him revealed, but he’d crushed it beneath his boot.

Pero sways on top of Caballo, watching you stomp along beside him. He tried to convince you to ride, let him walk for a time. Then he snarked that you’d be better off riding together, which you scoffed at. It would not be the first time you’d shared a saddle, though with all the anger simmering below the surface you might set him ablaze if you sat so close. 

Pero lets himself drift to the few times you’d let down your guard enough to settle on Caballo with him. When your mare needed to play pack mule, or when you were recovering from a poisoned arrow. Pero had hauled you up in front of him, settling you between his thighs, arms caging you in. Protests quickly quieted; those few rides were mostly spent in silence. You were stiff to start until exhaustion overtook you, melting into Pero’s broad chest. One he believed you settled he would rest his hands on the saddle pommel, forearms criss-crossing your thighs, and relax into the warmth of a body pressed flush to his. When you were weak with recovery from the poison, Pero even took to wrapping one arm around your waist to keep you upright, even when you weakly refused his help. 

And now you were being exactly the stubborn mare you’d left behind, trudging through half-wet mud and dirt rather than riding with him. It would boil his blood, your refusal, if the shame of the reason why didn’t snuff it out.

Your foot comes down on a deceptively slippery spot, and with a yelp and a thud you’re splayed in the mud, supplies in a heap and fire in your eyes. Pero sighs, bringing Caballo to a stop and swinging down from the saddle. Already up on your knees, you pull your tack out of the muck with some unladylike curses seeding the earth. 

“This is ridiculous, give me your things if you will still refuse to ride with me. You are slowing us down with your stubbornness,” Pero growls, coming down to a knee by your side. You snort, blocking him with your shoulder. A brief peek of the fateful dress you stuffed into your pack pangs in Pero’s chest.

“I can manage quite well without you, Tovar,” you spit back. Pero rolls his eyes. You only ever call him by his family name when you’re exceptionally upset.

“You can manage shit, stop being a mule and get on the horse,” he huffs, one hand easily yanking your saddle supplies out of your slippery grip. You make a noise of heated indignation, coming nose to nose with Pero as you both kneel in the mud.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to stand being near me, with all your talk,” you taunt, a scowl across your face but challenge in your eyes. A frustrated rasp wraps around Pero’s words.

“I did not mean what I said…” he tries to apologize, but this is a fight you’ve clearly been preparing for.

“Oh, you didn’t mean to call me a whore, is that it? You think women are only meant to be quiet little wives or holes to fuck?” Pero’s fists ball at his side, words clattering against his teeth but none coming out. You were wrong, and right, and infuriating, and beautiful in the cool morning light. 

“I’m sorry…” he tries again, but clearly he let this sit too long. You’re too pent-up, sneering into his face as he fights to stay calm. 

“Spare me your morality, Tovar. I have lived in the world long enough to know what men think of me, and I do not care. I will eat what I want, say what I want, fuck when I want, and the devil can watch in glee. I don’t need you,” you hiss, moving to stand from the filth in the path. The tightening in Pero’s pants at the glint in your eye when you enunciated fuck makes him bolder than he can control.

“That is not what I saw last night,” he practically purrs, mocking your own grimace. The tables turn sharply; your eyes widen at his impropriety, teeth bared as you swing your fist to land a blow on his face. He catches your wrist, unbalancing and toppling you backwards on your ass. Before you can scramble up for a repeat attack, Pero wraps his hands around the backs of your knees and drags you towards him, sliding your hips up his thighs until your core is pressed tight against his growing cock.

Fuck, you’re hot and soft and silent for once, the shock of his boldness stilling your tongue. He keeps a vice-like grip on your hips but chances a roll of his own against them. 

“Is this not what you wanted, guerrera? When you took off the armor and sat before me, did you not want me to claim your cunt?” He digs his fingers into your flesh, another retort ready on his lips but more inclined to kiss you first. Weeks of simmering tension finally coming to a head, he folds over to taste the mouth so full of fire for him. 

“Don’t you dare, Pero,” you roar, legs kicking out to find purchase to flee. Pero grimaces, trapping one leg under his armpit and pulling tight to his body. The other he catches under his ass, pinning it between his calf and thigh. You swipe muddy hands at him, but he’s just out of reach with the way your spine is bridged up his body. 

“Tranquila,” he tries to soothe, to show his true intent, but you’re a rabid fox in a trap now. Your hips buck wildly, mixing searing hot pleasure with adrenaline as he tries to calm you. The situation is slipping away from him, turning uglier as he speaks over your anger.

“Mierda, guerrera, listen to me, amor de dios…” Pero curses, but your hand finally finds its way to your boot, a sharp little gutting knife now shining in your palm.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” you rasp, making a wide arc with the blade. It almost skims his cheek, snapping his head back just in time, but the fact that you’d raise steel against him boils his arousal into anger. He releases your legs, one hand in the center of your chest slamming you to the ground, the other pinning your arm above your head. 

“Qué coño, hermana?” Pero pants, and when he can see your face through the haze of his outburst he realizes he’s made a mistake. An enormous one. Your face is ripped wide with a grimace, teeth gritted and shining with spittle. Your eyes are wild, but tears gather along your lashes. 

This is worse. Multitudes worse than being an ass in a tavern.

“Mierda, hermana, perdóname,” Pero murmurs, backing off to sit on his heels. He keeps his hands in his lap, turned upward while taking in shaking breaths. He’s never put a hand on a woman, not one that wasn’t asked for, and in a second he’s terrified you. A man who easily pinned you, roughed you up, teased you and did not let you go when you shouted - that was a man never to be trusted. Bile rose in Pero’s throat that he for a moment was that man.

You stumble to your feet, covered in mud and disheveled. Pero follows, extending a hand when your balance falters. Righting yourself immediately, you point the blade at him, standing as far away as you can manage. He retracts his gesture, letting it hang limply at his side. 

“Don’t you dare,” you croak out, and Pero can see the tremor in your arm. Easily blamed on adrenaline, but he knows better.

Thundering hooves interrupt the stalemate as Pero unsheaths his sword, your bow quickly in hand and nocking at the ready as a small crew of horses curve the corner. A familiar face rides at the front.

Pero lowers his sword, flinching at what he knows will come.

“Hail William!” you shout over the din, in a voice remarkably stronger than before. Pero sneaks a glance. You’re offering a crooked smile, hip popped out and a lazy wave to the blond Irishman as he pulls the company to a stop. How many times had you done this before? Had to put on a brave face when you’re anything but okay?

William hails you from atop his horse, bright smile plastered on his face.

“I was sure you’d beat us to town,” he laughs, raising an eyebrow at the sorry state of your armor. 

“Unfortunately we’re down a steed, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare?” you ask, stepping closer and away from Pero. He stands listlessly behind you, wiping mud from his hands as you converse with William.

“Of course, we can ride in together, enjoy a meal before the job tomorrow,” he agrees, motioning to another man to pull out a horse. 

After some redistribution of supplies, you’re sitting on your own black steed, riding beside William as he asks how your travels have been. Pero trails a length behind, head tilted down and listening carefully. You describe the perils of the road, the few coins you’d gathered, events in neighboring towns. Nothing of last night, or the moments just before their arrival.

Pero chews on his sour tongue, the scene replaying in his head. The tension coming to a head, his challenge meant to spur on something more. He wanted you sprawled below him, laughing at the mess in your hair and on your skin, as his mouth roamed your face. He would have wiped his hands before sliding them into your pants, teasing your slick folds before testing how hot and wet your cunt was. He desired to know what your face looked like shattering with pleasure, and what would spill from your lips as he brought you to your peak before sheathing himself inside. 

But he didn’t temper the anger with lust. Instead he put hands on you that were unwanted. Of course they were, ever since he spoke rashly in the tavern. Why would you want his brutish touch, his rough hands and rougher manners? A glance back up at you and William conversing amicably only settles loathing deeper in his stomach.

The drip of water is a welcome change after the ruckus that followed you all day. From the rowdiness of the tavern, to the poor sleep you got in the noisy room, to the thundering of hooves as William and his men escorted you into town, you’d been surrounded by sound.

Well, save for the short period of tense quiet you experienced on the trail.

If William suspected anything he kept it to himself, which you appreciated. Your heart was still thundering in your ears, hands shaking and breath coming out in soundless sobs when his company broke your stalemate. Pero had been silent since, a shadow slipping along behind you. You then turned your attention to his sunny companion, letting adrenaline slowly seep from your bones like tree sap.

Lifting the rough cloth from your bath basin, you lather it with one of your precious soaps and begin scrubbing filth from your skin. Too angry to bathe last night, coupled with the altercation, left you woefully soiled. Every pass darkens the water, but rebirths you clean and renewed.

The forced cheerfulness continued through your entrance to the inn, the purchasing of rooms (Pero grunted and tossed coins on the counter), and supper in the common area. Breaking bread with William was an unexpected pleasure you gained from Pero’s friendship, and the moments you got to share with the garrulous blond were bright spots in the tedium of most days.

Your hand slows on your calf, eyes unfocusing. To say you have a friendship with Pero might be a stretch. A begrudging connection at first, yes. A growing fondness, no doubt. But now…you didn’t have words to describe what your feelings towards Pero were.

Anger had morphed into spite by the morning, your dreams fitful and heart tight at his swift rejection. Never mind the flare of foolishness you tamped down repeatedly at trying to be a lady for him, all softness and femininity enticing him to your desires. If he had reciprocated, touched your hand and called you one of those foreign names that lick heat under your skin, you would have taken him to your bed. 

Instead you were not only humiliated once, but twice when he put his hands on you in the mud and debris. Fear had laid heavy in your chest, but it warred with thick lust when he rutted against you. If he had only spoken his desires, maybe dragged his gorgeously curved nose along your neck and whispered to you, you would have forgiven him, leaned into any caress he bestowed. 

That dream was dashed now, replaced with the pig-headed desires of cruel men. You’d had to unsex yourself many times on your travels, hide your shape from slithering eyes and keep a hand on a knife in seedy taverns. But you never feared Pero. You respected him, wheedled him, annoyed him and on those few occasions endeared yourself to him. Until you felt the strength he used against you, Pero had been one of the few good men you called yourself lucky to know. That list is even shorter now.

Pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, you empty out a sigh that releases tension in your shoulders. It was to be expected. All men want only one thing from a woman, and will take it in any way they deem fit. 

Stepping out of the bath, you dry yourself and stand by the fire, letting the flickering warmth relax you further. The fury finally lifts from you like morning dew, and come sunrise you will share words with Pero. 

As you dress for the night, a loose shirt over leggings and wool socks, a knock rattles your door. Much too late for a messenger, or the tavern owner. Might be trouble, might be William wishing you a pleasant evening. A small blade in your hand for the second time today, you stalk to the door.

“Who calls?” you ask, and are met with shuffles.

“Pero, hermana,” comes the low rough voice on the other side. 

All thought flies out of your mind. Pero. You didn’t expect him to seek you out, not after the distance he put between you on the ride, at supper while you laughed with William, in the stables where he bolted at your presence. Sheathing the knife, your hand hovers over the door handle. 

Why leave for tomorrow what you can do today, you think dryly before opening it a crack.

“It is well past the social hour, Pero, can it wait until morning?” you husk at your once-constant companion. He’s discarded his armor, clad in boots and breeches and a rough-looking gray tunic. His hair is lightly damp and skin lacks the grime you associate with him. One expansive hand rubs the back of his neck, his scowl deepening.

“It cannot,” is his short answer, so with a sigh you open the door and usher him in.

He fills the small room with his broad shoulders and dour mood, waiting for you to close the door and face him before speaking.

“I have committed an offense against you, and I am here to beg your forgiveness,” he says lowly, and you realize his mood is not dark, but regretful. His hands hang limply at his sides, occasionally balling into fists like he’s preparing for a blow. It wouldn’t be unfounded after the last day. 

“What am I to forgive, Pero? The desires of men? Your quick temper? My foolishness? I only have so much grace,” you reply, moving about your room to continue preparing for bed. His eyes press along your shoulders, the back of your head, as you busy yourself in his presence. 

“I hoped you would forgive my behavior. Last night and on the road,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. Chancing a glance, he does look remorseful. You’re sure he is. But you’ve already made your decision.

“I have forgiveness in me,” you begin, and Pero’s shoulders lift briefly, his brow raising as you speak. “What I do not have is trust, or understanding. I thought…well, it does not matter. I know what must be done.” With even strides you cross to open the door, noise from the tavern below bursting into the solemn room. “I free you from your debt, Pero Tovar. You have fulfilled it tenfold, and for that you have my gratitude and appreciation. I would like us to part as friends, and allies should we ever cross again…”

Pero’s hand snatches the handle, and in a moment he’s so close he could brush his nose with your own. You swallow a gasp, trying to keep your face calm as he crowds you.

“No,” he rasps, rough and desperate. His eyes flicker with fire as they bore into yours. “Hermosa, please do not do this. I will suffer any punishment you see fit, but please do not send me away.” 

Silence reigns, caught between the soft crackle of the room and the harsh merriment of the patrons downstairs. You have never seen Pero like this, wild-eyed and desperate. It lets words slip from your lips unbidden.

“That’s not what you call me,” you whisper. Pero’s brow furrows in confusion.

“What?”

“Hermosa. You call me hermana. You told me it means companion. What…what did you just call me?” Tongue thick and lungs heavy, you barely register Pero’s hand coming to cup the back of your head. His eyes soften, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“Beautiful. It is one of the many names I hoped to call you one day. Bonita, mi vida, amor…” 

“I know that one.”

Time passes in fits and starts as you hang in the balance with Pero. 

“You said, last night -”

“Many stupid things.”

“And the trail -”

“I meant that to go very differently. I regret ever putting my hands on you.”

“And now?”

You hold your breath, the heat of his palm spreading over your skin. 

“I would very much like to put my hands anywhere you will allow.”

Heat blooms in more places, and a small smile plays across your face.

“And your mouth?” you tease, but Pero is already leaning in so close his breath kisses you first.

“Here,” he sighs before pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, cautious, like you might bolt at just the feeling. His hand cradles your head as he parts from you briefly, then follows with a bolder one, firmer and fuller. A swipe of his tongue against your lower lip spreads goosebumps down your back, and a thin moan slips out. 

Suddenly your back is up against the door as Pero slams it shut, nosing your jaw with a scratch of teeth.

“I want those pretty noises only for me, hermosa,” he growls into your ear, and a moment of clarity pulls giggles from your belly.

“Is that what started all of this, Pero? You were jealous?” you scold, and he huffs against your skin. “I wore that dress only for you, you idiot,” you rib as his hands come around your waist. When he pulls back his lips are flushed and shiny, eyes darkening as he drinks you in.

“They did not deserve to see you. Not without knowing you the way I do,” he says, and the honesty in his tone delivers a pang of sentimentality to your heart. You cup his scruffy cheeks in your hands, thumb tracing the termination of the scar on his cheek.

“A gentleman at heart, but maybe not in execution,” you say, eliciting an eyeroll. 

“Must I be scolded at every step?” he sighs, pulling you away from the door and not so subtly towards your bed. 

“When your big mouth stops getting you in trouble, I will consider giving you the benefit of the doubt,” you hum thoughtfully. Pero stops at your bedside, hands wandering from your hips to squeeze your ass. 

“I have other uses of it that may get me in trouble. If you desire,” he purrs into your ear. Fingers skimming along his waist make his stomach clench, and before you can ask he grabs the hem and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. 

His chest is littered with scars, but glows golden in the firelight. Your fingers slide up his softer stomach, dance along his ribs and settle on the powerful planes of his back. He shudders once under your touch as you lean forward and press a kiss to his chest. 

“Let me undress you,” he pleads, hand already sliding up the back of your shirt and spreading wide over your skin. Your hum is permission enough, shirt joining his on the floor. The room is pleasantly warm, but your nipples peak at his rapt attention. 

“Mierda, hermosa, you are a dream,” he says, voice reverent as he sits back on the bed, face turned up to you. “You have been with a man before?” he asks, a brief concern passing over his features. It’s your turn to roll your eyes, slipping your thumbs under your leggings and dragging them down.

“You won’t sully my reputation, Pero.” Standing in front of him, his eyes wide and hungry but hands still soft, power thrums in your core.

“I am more concerned about wrecking your cunt,” he teases, and you’re about to throw another quip back when he unlaces his breeches and slides them down to discard. His cock juts thickly between his legs, flushed and leaking shiny precum from the tip. The concern is not unfounded; how the hell does he sit on a horse with that in his pants? He palms it briefly, pulling the foreskin back to reveal the fat head slick with his arousal. 

“I will not be giving this to you until you are begging for it, hermosa,” he says smugly, and you snap back to his face with embarrassment. You should be the one making him dumb with need.

“Then what do you suppose we do? I am nowhere near close to begging.” The shift of your hip and curve of your smile pulls control back briefly. Pero lets you have it, eyebrow raised, but when his hands slide up the outside of your thighs your resolve shakes.

“I would like to make you wet and aching to start,” he says thoughtfully, tracing your bellybutton with one thick finger. “Then I will open you up with my fingers until you are trembling from pleasure.” His smile widens when your knees buckle briefly, but you try to stay aloof.

“All men make such grand promises,” you begin, but with a tug Pero pulls you onto his lap, spinning you until you’re on your back in the bed with his head between your legs. 

“All women have such little faith,” he mimics back, one hand pressed on your stomach while the other wraps around your thigh. His breath skims your curls, and your mouth slows to a stop when he drags his aquiline nose along the delicate skin below your navel. 

“I would like you to cum here first,” he says, and before you can retort he buries his face in your cunt and licks a long stroke through your throbbing folds.

It’s…okay. Pero laps at you like he’s trying to lick up your arousal, but doesn’t quite tease the places you need him. It’s not unpleasant, but won’t make you cum in the way he seems to think it will. You tilt your hips down to drive him closer to where you want, but even when he slicks his tongue over your clit it’s too soft and not nearly enough. Burying your fingers in his curling locks, you urge him to look at you. His eyes are dark and mischievous, lips flushed red and shiny.

“Are you going to cum on my tongue, hermosa?” he rumbles, skating his hand up to cup the underside of your breast. His thumb brushing over your nipple unfocuses you, but you snap back when he dips his head to pass his tongue along another uneventful path.

“Not with what you’re doing right now,” you huff out, a crooked smile gracing your face when his darkens with a scowl. 

“I have made many women cum just like this,” he grumbles, and his surliness shakes your chest with restrained laughter. Pero’s eyes light on your jiggling breasts as you slip a hand down to his mouth, brushing his soft lower lip with your thumb. His attention shifts to where you slide your fingers into your folds, parting them to reveal where you need him most. A few practiced strokes have your thighs tightening around his head.

“More, here,” you gasp, his grumbling only half heard as he bats your hand away.

“Next you will be telling me how to fuck you,” he sasses, but drops his mouth down and flicks his tongue over your clit. “Like this?” he asks almost begrudgingly, but he does slow and wait for your reply.

“A little harder, Pero,” you reply, and his hands tighten on your flesh. An idea skitters across your mind. “Did you like that? Hearing me moan your name?” You can only see his mop of curls as he breathes in your scent, nose gently nuzzling your mound.

“I only want to hear you scream it,” he challenges before circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, fast hard passes that make you choke on your words.

“Oh fuck, Pero, yes, there, that’s…fuck, yes,” you gasp, Pero’s throaty chuckle vibrating in your core. The worry that he’ll stop pangs your chest, but he keeps up his relentless ministrations. The wet noises coming from between your legs make your skin hot and itchy, your thighs beginning to lock up as your orgasm approaches.

“Pero, please,” you whine, the sound foreign but nothing stronger surfaces. He pauses briefly, panting into your cunt.

“What do you need hermosa? Say it and it’s yours,” he grunts, and before you can answer he starts laving his tongue in undulating passes. It’s all you can do to hold on and squeeze out what you’re trying to ask for.

“Fingers,” you finally beg, reduced to a shaking mess as your orgasm mounts and your cunt aches to be filled. Pero’s head tilts, eyes flashing up at you. Seeing him buried in your cunt, mustache tickling along your sensitive lips, drives another wave of arousal to your already thrumming core. 

“Of course, hermosa,” he rumbles, and one thick digit slides into your soaking channel as you moan long and muffled behind your hands. Buried to the knuckle, he strokes his finger along your velvet walls and with a press to a spot you struggle to reach inside yourself, you’re cumming hard and burying your cries in the crook of your elbow. 

“Mierda, bebita, you’re so fucking tight. Never made a woman cum that hard before,” Pero admits, still softly stroking inside you and pressing open-mouthed kisses on your thighs, your stomach, your hip. When you finally get enough air back in your lungs you hum in response.

“I suspect your technique has needed improvement. Every woman should cum that hard when you do it right,” you snark back, his nails digging into your soft flesh.

“How am I to know if a woman acts like it is the best fuck of their life? Did I not do as you asked?” he growls with a surly downturn of his mouth. You slide your calves off his shoulders so he can lift to his knees, still palming your cunt with his clever fingers. 

“That you did. But I’m sure you’ve paid for many of your conquests - the performance is half of the coin, is it not?” you ask, adding another eyeroll to your collection. “And then there’s all of you, of course.” Trailing off, you see the implication land on Pero’s face. He sits up on his knees, free hand coming to stroke along your hip. His mouth opens, then closes as he grits his teeth, brow heavy before he speaks.

“I do not wish to ever scare you again. If I do…if I make you feel that you cannot refuse…know that I will always stop if you tell me so. The debt is only mine, and I will repay it in any way you see fit.” Regret paints his face, rough fingers dancing nervously on your hips. Reaching down you stroke his fingers with your own.

“I’ve released you, Pero, you are no longer in my debt,” you say quietly, the nicks and scars telling stories under your fingertips. With caution you observe curiously, Pero slides your fingers together, lacing them with his own. He leans over your body, pressing your clasped hands by your head. 

“I do not wish to be free of it. It is the only debt I have ever desired.” Emotion wells in your throat.

“Kiss me, Pero.”

His mouth descends to yours and this time it is hungry, sharp nips of teeth soothed by softer brushes of lips. He laps thickly at the seam of your lips and you part for him, his tongue coated with your flavor. It fills your mouth, stroking against your own as you explore just as liberally. Groans and puffs of air pepper your skin, and with mounting need Pero’s fingers stroke through your folds again, gathering wetness before he presses two inside of you. You break the kiss with a gasp, back arching as he pumps them deep, his mouth now set to worrying at your jawline. 

“Fuck, bebita, this cunt is perfect. Look at how well you take me,” he groans, the obscene slick noises of him slipping them out making your face hot with embarrassment. “I want to be buried deep in this perfect hole. Can I fuck you, hermosa? Are you ready for my cock?”

“I…” Your voice fails when he pulls back to capture your gaze. The hesitation blooms understanding on Pero’s.

“I will not finish inside you, or be careless with my seed. And if it hurts, I will stop until you feel nothing but pleasure again.” 

You believe him, even after all that has come between you the last few days. It’s too vulnerable, needing the shield of your clashing swords and quick words to protect the softness you feel for him.

“If you continue to take direction as well as you did, bedding you may at least be tolerable,” you sass, nerves making your voice shake briefly. Concern takes a harsh turn to lasciviousness, and with a rough chuckle Pero flips you onto your stomach, lifting your hips to press against the hot velvety length of his cock.

“If you continue to goad me, I’ll have to give you something to keep your mouth silent,” he grits out with little threat, the thick head of his cock slipping along your folds, brushing your clit as he grinds his hips.

“If you are still awake after I fuck you, I’ll be impressed,” you shoot back as Pero’s grip tighten. A few low curses bleed from his lips as he presses the tip of his cock just at your entrance, barely breaching you. Another fear grips you, your hand flying back to Pero’s thigh. He stills.

“Hermosa?” he questions, strained.

“Slowly. Please. Just to start,” you ask, and the gentle request is met with Pero’s firm body folding over you, one arm banding your waist, the other planted in the mattress.

“Like this?” he whispers, mouth to your ear as he presses just the head inside. The shallow stretch drops your mouth open, a sigh letting you know Pero is equally compromised. 

He thrusts smoothly, sinking into your cunt inch by inch before backing away. The precision and control is more than you expect from the brutish warrior, his breaths measured as he slides in a little deeper each time. Your body opens for him, pressing back when your need outmatches his pace. Adjusting, he rolls his hips just a few more times before he’s seated deep and full inside you.

“Pero, fuck, move,” you gasp inelegantly, grinding harder but he remains still around you. 

“First, I want you to be so close to cumming you are begging for it.” You bark out a laugh.

“I don’t beg, Pero,” you rasp, but when he rolls his hips impossibly deeper his name devolves into a low, desperate moan.

“Not with your mouth. But your pussy is begging for me to make you cum again, and this time I want to feel you squeeze around my cock.”

The pace he sets is torturous, slow slides out before firmer strokes back into your molten heat. Head hanging low as you gasp through his methodical fucking, all you can focus on is his hand pressed into the folds of bedding below. Blunt, work-worn fingers, dirt always under the nails. The pattern of veins. The light dusting of hair creeping up his forearms. Arms you wish to hold you close, if you could ever allow your pride to accept it.

“Bebita, you are better than anything I could have dreamed,” Pero gasps into your spine, the soft slap of skin on skin harmonizing with your combined panting. “Can I…I would like to…do…” he tries to say, every attempt defeated by another aching moan he cannot resist.

“Yes, Pero, do it,” you encourage, backing up against his thrusts. He shouts like you’ve punched him in the gut, leaning back so cool air dries the sweat that gathered between you. 

“Fuck, hermosa, this cunt is made for my cock. Fuck yourself on me, show me how much you like it inside you,” Pero growls, hands wrapped around your hips as you slam against him. The choked out moans and curses make you turn to look.

He is pure lust, head tilted up to the ceiling and veins standing out along the thick column of his throat. The clench of his stomach, arms flexed with effort but hands still soft on you, all paint him like a god of dark and deadly sin on the candlelit canvas of your quarters. Your hips slow, rolling back on him as his gaze falls to your face. Eyes dark and ravenous, he looms over you while his hands roam your skin.

“Come here,” he manages to say, and those powerful welcoming arms pull you up from your hands and knees to hold your back flush to his chest, legs framing his thighs. This position pushes him impossibly deeper, breath caught in your throat as he palms one of your breasts and splays his other hand over your belly.

“Is this good?” he asks, to which you nod vigorously. “Good,” he adds right before his hips snap into you and your world goes white with a starburst.

The intensity of fucking Pero increases tenfold as he keeps you tight to his body, thrusting up into a place that rips throaty cries from your chest. You register the slide of teeth along your jaw, nipping at your ear, before he sinks them into the meat of your shoulder, just hard enough to bloom pain and pleasure in equal doses. It’s sure to leave bruises, rings of his teeth on your skin, but the ecstasy is worth the mark. He suckles over the offending marks each time before picking a new spot, some overlapping with a hiss that he quickly corrects. He's frantic, plunging into you, chasing the high you keep delaying for a few moments more.  

“Hermosa, you feel divine like this, but I want to see you this time,” Pero finally gasps, and with dizzying speed you’re on your back in the bedding, his hips slotted between your thighs once more. He pauses above you, hands posted by your sides. The urge to take him in hand wins out, and a few slow strokes of his cock makes his legs shake with need. You’re no better; you’ve edged yourself for too long, and release is just beyond your fingertips. If you could concentrate on cumming you could tip into ecstasy, but Pero’s awe-struck face above you fills your lungs.

“I do not want to be apart from you. Not now, not in this lifetime, not even if you hate me. I am bound to you, by forces greater than I would ever challenge.” He lowers to his elbows, urging your arms around his neck as he brings your foreheads together. The rough-soft touch of his fingers on your cheek makes you realize a few tears have slipped out, now lost beneath his caress. 

“Then I will never release you, Pero Tovar. You will never do enough to be free of me.” At this Pero slides back into your cunt with a long exhale, curling into your heat as his mouth interrupts your speech over and over again. “Every time you think you’ll be free…you’ll go do something stupid…that makes me extend your debt…you will never be without me…I promise.” He seals the deal with a kiss, deep and breathtaking, his face crashing into yours with a whimper. 

“I will never be without you,” he pants as he begins rolling his hips again, engulfing you with heat and protection and words you have never found reason to utter to any living soul. You want to say them now.

“I will never be without you,” is what you settle on instead. 

Pero chases your orgasm with a single-minded intent, slipping his fingers between your sweat-slicked bodies to rub at his new favorite part of you. A few hard, quick passes have you cumming around his cock, the force of it close to pushing him out if he didn’t fight to stay inside. Once your whole body isn’t locked around him, he chases his own release with a handful of overwhelming thrusts before pulling his cock out to spill on your stomach, painting you both with his cum as he shoots and dribbles it liberally. 

The silence that blankets you after leadens your tongue. Sweat-slicked and sticky, covered in each other’s essences, you briefly wonder how much of what Pero said should be attributed to lust-drunk confessions to be forgotten in the morning. The question is answered swiftly; he leans over you to wipe his cum off your skin with his wadded-up shirt, the tired lines around his eyes deepening as his body slows. Once a semblance of tidy, he flops on his side and wraps you in his arms, guiding your head to his chest so he can tuck his nose into the crown of your head. Slowing heartbeats pull at your eyelids, but before you can drift off he whispers to you:

“All of it, I promise.” 

A smile curls your lips.

“Then I will take it all.” 

His meaty chuckle slips you into unconsciousness.

The stock around his neck is beginning to tighten Pero’s shoulders, flexing his hands to force more blood into them. The unnatural weight of the heavy wood circling his neck and wrists pulls his spine into an uncomfortable curve. The chain bolting him to the wall is too short to sit properly, another means of punishment. It’s almost bearable if the mouthy guard wasn’t making so much noise. 

“...surprised you came so quietly, a man of your size and stature. Thought you would bloody your face before we took you alive.” Pero rolls his eyes at the burly man, leaning back to rest against the cool stone wall behind him. 

“I have spilled enough blood to know when it’s not necessary,” he grunts, one ear on the guard, the other on some ruckus making its way towards him. He tries to hide the quirk of a smile. 

“Yet you still struck down the city official? God blessed you with strength but no sense,” the guard laughs, quaffing ale just out of reach. The noise is closer, whistling arrows and steel on steel. The guard takes little notice. Pity for him.

“You will thank us when your livestock stop mysteriously dying,” Pero says, sliding on his short lead to look down the narrow hallway. Light flickers closer, shadows playing on the wall. One tall, lithe and powerful, stopping to let arrows fly. The other smaller, swinging a sword with practiced ease and ferocity. It looms larger as its owner approaches. “Besides, God blessed me with something even greater than sense.”

“I fail to see what graces follow you into this place,” the guard mocks, but the noise finally rouses him from his station. Pero’s smile widens as the guard moves to stand in the entrance, his hand on his sword hilt.

“An old friend, who has been steadfast for many years,” Pero says nonchalantly, the scuff of boots hailing his salvation. “And a guerrera who would only allow me to die with her permission.” 

The guard stiffens and falls, revealing your battle stance in the damp darkness of the dungeon. Pero’s heart soars at the blood splattered on your armor, the shining song of your blade, and the triumphant smile on your face as you saunter up to him.

“It looks like you have gotten yourself into a mess, Pero,” you tease, folding your arms and cocking your hip to regard your shackled companion. He sighs deeply, but cannot remove the grin from his face.

“I had thought you both to be better fighters. I expected you an hour ago.” Your eyes flash with faux offense he knows he’ll pay for later. He’ll enjoy his penance though.

“Oh I see, so when William and I fight through half a garrison to free you, our thanks is a complaint. Next time we will let you sit in your shame through the night,” you hiss, but pack precious black powder into the keyhole of the stock lock. A quick flame, a shouted “Mierda!” from Pero at the small ignition, and the stock unhinges from his neck. He rubs his wrists and neck ruefully as you drop his weapons at his side.

“Pero,” you breathe, for a moment softening before him. He takes your face in his hands, pulling your lips to his grateful mouth.

“Mi guerrera,” he whispers in the still moment you steal, “Mi vida.” 

“I recommend we save the celebration for when we’re on horseback!” William shouts down the hall, driving you and Pero upright. He shoulders his sword, palming his ax for a violent escape.

“I will thank you properly for the rescue when we are safe and out of earshot,” Pero murmurs in your ear. You smile knowingly up at him.

“I’ll add it to your debt,” you whisper back, “You will never be without me.” It’s the closest you have ever come to saying you loved him. He presses your foreheads together.

“You will never be without me,” he repeats, a truer declaration something he will save for tonight.

END

Next: Teamwork

[gayturians]

So what do you consider to be middle class in this day and age?

tbh i hate the term bc it feels like an old metric in a new century of capitalism. i think the middle class is far tinier than people want to say it is, but! people above that line are not immediately rich and people below it are not automatically poor. (it's why i was wordy with "not-poor-but-not-wealthy")

my view of middle class is financial stability. you have savings. rent and bills may pinch but you still have money to put back most paydays. if the water heater breaks, you fix it and replace what you spent in a few months.

a lot of people calling themselves middle class don't fit that description, and that's precisely my problem with it. a lot of people who think they're middle class aren't, and a lot of people who notice that difference think that's what poor looks like. i know people like this, who eventually have their "Oh." moment when they realize, oh wait, there's a basement under that rock bottom.

for example. i have three uncles, who all have wives and kids:

uncle 1: prison job. wife's a receptionist. they rent a modest home and sometimes struggle but always find a way. they once saddled my grandfather with minor debt they couldn't afford to pay off and bought five season passes to disneyworld the same year. wife thinks minimum wage should be lower because "lazy bums shouldn't get paid closer to what i do when i have a degree."

uncle 2: cop. (acab) wife's a stay-at-home mom. they were given a decent chunk of property and he can afford it. they've had medical bills that didn't crush them. she spent ten years calling us poor and disgusting.

uncle 3: software job. wife's a teacher. he built his own nice house. they never hurt for money. he is classist in every way you could imagine. he's the one to say you're poor because you don't budget, because you buy $50 work boots instead of $500 work boots that last longer.

my uncles would appear to be in different financial groups, but they are all middle class, and are prime examples of my post. They Could All Be Me One Day. someone would tell me to show solidarity with them (maybe not the cop) but where's the solidarity from them?

it's incredibly nuanced and i'm not trying to lash out from a place of "middle class people don't want or worry for anything, fuck you." i'm trying to speak constructively on the perspective of someone who is very poor and very angry, bc a lot of people talking about solidarity don't seem to realize or want to accept that in order to achieve that, you have to undo the harm caused by classist "not-poor" people.

it is not enough to preach solidarity at poor people. they cannot stand in solidarity with someone who does not want to be associated with them. that work needs to be done by the middle class first, and then you can try building something worthwhile.

[southeastasianists]

Jo is the holder of a newly minted degree in English literature from one of the top universities in Laos. But the 22-year-old, who graduated only weeks ago, says he already feels "hopeless".

Confronted with a barren job market, the Vientiane resident holds no hope of finding work at home, and instead aims to become a cleaner or a fruit picker in Australia. His aspirations are low, but they reflect a hushed disenchantment spreading among his peers; the result of a severe and sustained economic downturn that has ravaged Laos for the past two years.

"Every person in this generation doesn't believe in the government. They want to leave Laos, they don't believe anything the government says," he tells the BBC. "Most of my friends have the same thoughts, but we only talk about it privately. If you say bad things about them in public, I don't know what will happen."

The economic crisis has been caused by a rash programme of government borrowing used to finance Chinese-backed infrastructure projects which has begun to unravel. The crisis shows little sign of easing, with public debt spiralling to unsustainable levels, resulting in government budget cuts, sky-high inflation and record-breaking currency depreciation, leaving many living on the brink in one of South East Asia's poorest countries.

Faced with a dire economic situation, and with the April shooting of activist Anousa "Jack" Luangsuphom underscoring the brutal lengths authorities in the one-party state will go to silence calls for reform, a generation of young Laotians increasingly see their future abroad.

"[Young people] aren't even thinking about change, it's a feeling of how am I going to get out of this country - I'm stuck here, there's no future for me," said Emilie Pradichit, a Lao-French international human rights lawyer and the founder of human rights group Manushya Foundation.

"If you see your country becoming a colony of China, you see a government that is totally corrupt, and you cannot speak up because if you do you might be killed - would you want to stay?"

The 'debt trap'

A sparsely populated, landlocked country of 7.5 million people, Laos is one of the region's poorest and least developed nations. In a bid to transform the largely agrarian society, the past decade has seen the government take on major infrastructure projects, mostly financed by historic ally and neighbour China - itself on a lending spree since 2013 as part of its global infrastructure investment programme, the Belt and Road initiative (BRI).

Laos has built dozens of foreign-financed dams to transform itself into the "battery of South East Asia" as a major exporter of electricity to the region. But oversupply has turned many dams unproductive, and the state electricity company sits in $5bn (£4.1bn) debt. Lacking funds, Laos handed a majority Chinese-owned company a 25-year concession to manage large parts of its power grid in 2021, including control over exports.

Also among the debt-laden megaprojects is the Lao-China railway, connecting Vientiane to southern China. It opened in December 2021 at a cost of $5.9bn (£4.85bn), but saddled the Lao government with $1.9bn in debt. Beijing says the railway has created an "economic corridor", but the numbers just don't add up for some economists, not least because Chinese state-owned companies hold a 70% stake.

"I'm sure people are happy to travel very quickly across Laos, but it's not justified at the cost that was agreed to," economist Jayant Menon, a senior fellow at ISEAS-Yusof Ishak Institute in Singapore, says of the railway.

All of this has added to Laos' ballooning debt, which is now ninth highest globally as a share of its GDP, according to the International Monetary Fund. Around half of that is owed to China, and Laos is now having to borrow more from lenders in the country just to stay afloat.

"Laos is so heavily indebted to China that their negotiating position is compromised," he said. "It's having to borrow just to service the debt. That's the definition of a debt trap."

The Lao government could not be reached for comment. But Mr Menon emphasised that Laos has repeatedly rejected other international lenders in favour of Beijing, perhaps because of a belief within the government that China "will not let another socialist country fail". He added that Beijing was also cautious about letting another BRI country default on its debt after Sri Lanka.

The only thing currently preventing that outcome are repeated Chinese debt deferment agreements - the conditions of which remain highly opaque. This has raised concerns over Beijing's growing sway over Laos. When asked if Laos is at risk of becoming a vassal state, Mr Menon said "that ship has sailed".

He said that the "macro-instability" caused by "massive debt accumulation" has also caused the decline of the Lao currency, the kip, which continues to depreciate to record lows against the US dollar. This has led to a decades-high rise in prices, and nowhere is this being felt more acutely than among ordinary Laotians.

'If I don't fight, I'll die'

"'I have never experienced anything like this year," says Phonxay, a frail looking woman in her 60s, selling household staples at a food market in Vientiane. She said her customers are buying less because "prices go up day to day", adding that August was the most expensive month yet. Her family has had to adapt to survive.

"My family needs to eat more cheaply than ever before. We eat half of what we used to eat," Phonxay says. "But I'll fight until the end. If I don't, I'll die."

But it's young Lao, their futures mortgaged off for the benefit of infrastructure projects offering them few tangible opportunities, that will bear the brunt of the economic crisis for years to come.

"Lao is very good to travel, but not good to live in," says Sen, a 19-year-old working as a receptionist in a hotel in Luang Prabang in northern Laos.

The city is bustling once again, with its Unesco World Heritage Old Quarter of pristine French colonial-era buildings filled with tourists. But Sen says times remain tough: "For normal people like me it's very hard. It's just better than living as a homeless person in India, and maybe just better than North Korea. I'm serious, we're just trying to survive."

He earns just $125 per month at his hotel job, but he doesn't see any point in going to university or applying for government jobs as he'd have to "pay lots of money" to corrupt officials to get anywhere as he has no family connections.

"At the moment, almost every Lao student like myself doesn't want to go to university," he says. "They study Japanese or Korean and then apply to work in factories or farming in those countries."

It's this "sense of discouragement among Lao youth… that needs urgent attention," says Catherine Phuong, the deputy resident representative at the UN Development Programme in Laos. She pointed to the "staggering" NEET (not in education, employment or training) rate of 38.7% among 18-to-24-year olds - by far the highest in South East Asia.

"We're especially concerned in Laos that with the debt situation we are seeing reduced investment in the social sector, including health and education," she told the BBC. "I'm sure you can imagine the impact that will have on this generation, not just in the coming years, but in the next 10 to 20 years."

But with the Lao People's Revolutionary Party, which has ruled the country since 1975, intolerant of dissenting voices, young people have had to turn to social media to air their grievances.

It was in March 2022, as inflation and the cost of living began rising, that Anousa "Jack" Luangsuphom created Kub Kluen Duay Keyboard or "The Power of the Keyboard", one of a growing number of social commentary Facebook pages critical of authorities.

The 25-year-old was drawing tens of thousands of followers when he was attacked at a cafe in Vientiane on April 29. CCTV footage shows a masked man firing a bullet into Jack's face and chest. A police statement days later blamed a business dispute or lover's quarrel. Jack survived the attack, but for his followers, the culprit was obvious.

"I feel really bad that the government would shoot him, that they would try to control us like that," says Jo, the university student in Vientiane, who follows Jack's Facebook page. "Jack is the voice of Lao people, he said things that normal people are afraid to say."

But these calls for reform will only be ignored or suppressed, and few know this better than Shui-Meng Ng - the wife of disappeared Lao civil society advocate Sombath Somphone.

Sombath has not been seen since being detained by police in Vientiane in December 2012, a time when his influence was growing and there was hope of reform.

Speaking to the BBC from her craft shop in downtown Vientiane, the last place she saw her husband the day he was abducted, Shui-Meng said voices like Jack's and Sombath's are squashed because they grow "too big a following" at times when the "Lao political elite are facing difficulties".

"Every time something like [Jack's shooting] happens, you see this," she said, zipping her lips. "People go silent."

[corpse-water]

vesser and tivea zol are corpus twins who start out absolutely hating each other.

it’s kind of a product of growing up in a hypercapitalist, hypercompetative society. plus the fact that they are twins kind of has their parents putting them in competition a lot. prove which of you will be more productive and profitable and we will dole out the Parental Affection. (not that the corpus are particularly affectionate to begin with but you know)

and it. ruins their relationship. maybe when they were very, very young they got along but then into their formative and then teen years, vesser and tivea hated each other other. and in some part that hate was manufactured by the society that they lived in. they didn’t see each other as peers and weren’t really given a chance to develop knowing they had each other’s backs. instead they were immediately isolated from one another and told “that one’s your enemy”. their parents would kind of constantly bring up one twin’s success around the other as if that would motivate that twin to do better. and in turn, seeking some kind of outlet for their respective loneliness, vesser turned to robotics and tivea turned to ships. seeking companionship in metal and circuitry.

when they’re in their 20’s, vesser (developing into the worst kind of person imaginable) signs some bad deals under his sisters name and gets her pretty much evicted from the family home and kicked out of the middle class corpus society that they had grown up in. vesser saddled his sister with unimaginable debt that she, alone and cast out, would probably never be able to pay back. would never be able to outpace the steadily climbing interest rates surrounding her debts. would never see a life outside of shitty work she was overqualified for. no prospects. he’d successfully taken out competition and was all the more lonely and miserable for it because the only person who could Get It was his sister.

so when tivea zol gets news that vesser has died in a grineer raid on a corpus prison, at first she’s confused. had no idea that he’d been in prison at all, really. then again, it isn’t like anyone really tells her anything. certainly not her family that she hasn’t spoken to for the greater part of a decade. certainly not anyone else who, for all intents and purposes, would love to see vesser imprisoned or worse just in general.

but she sits on it more. her brother is dead. the brother that she has hated for most of her life is dead. why does she feel so sad? she sulks around her work, waiting on news about a funeral she knows very few people will attend and thinks about her brother. the brother that she has thought about every day and has hated for every day for putting her down here, for making her family hate her, for making sure she could never climb up. and she misses him. she misses this concept of a person that could have been if their own social upbringing wasn’t Like this. she misses the type of person her brother could have been. the choices he could have made if he had maybe pulled himself further away from the corpus life. had maybe chosen instead to look inwards. and all of those maybes kind of coalesce in her grief.

when the funeral finally comes around and her parents invite her, it’s little more than a guided garage sale but there’s an empty coffin there. their parents sell off his robotics that he had spent so much time and effort on with little mind to their importance. no attention is paid towards the fact that vesser has tinkered and had loved and had stressed over these little personal projects. that these little projects loved him and now were being reassigned, reprogrammed with more “sensible” purposes. she doesn’t have the money to pick up any of them despite how cheaply their parents sell them for. all memory of her brother is carefully sold, wrapped up, shipped out, and cleaned away. every morning she wakes up and sees his face staring back at her, hauntingly, as if she thought she could ever get away. and she hates him and misses him and mourns him and rejects any comforting because vesser hurt a lot of people (her included) so she shouldn’t actually be sad about him being gone.

and when she sees him again during a steel meridian raid on a corpus dry dock she had taken work on, she immediately breaks his nose and hugs him

[birdinhere]

HIIIIII i made a silly rdr2 au :D ok so.

Arthur never gets tuberculosis. He can’t, he’s too busy for trivial things like Strauss’s money troubles. Strauss tells him if he doesn’t collect on the debts, the gang won’t have money. But that’s no problem for Arthur, because he goes out everyday looking for ways to make money. He finds several, but the easiest one is stealing horses to sell. He finds most folks keep their horses papers in their saddle bags, but if not, it turns out Hosea is quite good at forging them. (Later on they get even better with Kieran’s help.) As long as he’s quick about it, he never gets caught either, and soon he gets an eye for which horses fetch more money. Pretty soon he’s a full on horse connoisseur, but no one really cares. It’s just a silly thing Arthur does in his free time.

As time passes things go as they do in game, including the trolley crash and Dutch getting his head injury, and most importantly, Hosea’s death. Now at this point, Arthur knows loss. He was devastated when Kieran died, as they had grown close over their mutual love for horses, but Hosea’s death is so much harder on him, and he doesn’t understand why until they return from Guarma. It’s so hard because Dutch doesn’t care. It’s as if it didn’t even happen to him. And this is where things start to fall apart, and they fall apart fast. Arthur grieves *hard* for Hosea. Hosea was his father, his mentor, and Dutch can’t even spare a passing glance? Can’t even visit his grave? And so things fall into place for Arthur very quickly. If Dutch doesn’t care about Hosea dying, would he care if Arthur died? He tested it once, stayed out of camp for so long he almost forgot what it looked like when eventually Charles found him. He was so excited, because Dutch had sent someone for him, Dutch did care, but no, as Charles would clarify, Dutch did not send him. He came on his own, because he missed Arthur. Dutch hadn’t even noticed he was gone. That was Arthur’s final straw. There, in camp at that final showdown between Arthur and Dutch, guns drawn, Arthur pulled the trigger. But he couldn’t kill Dutch. No matter how insane the old man had gotten, he was still his father. So he did the only thing he could, and shot the gun clean out of Dutch’s hand. It wounded him of course, a bullet is going to rip in a straight line no matter what you want it to do, so it tore through Dutches Middle and index finger, up through his arm and out his shoulder, permanently altering the usability of that arm forever, but it worked. Ditches gun was gone and away from him, his second pistol yards away in his tent. But Arthur was not the only one to fire. No, Dutch did too, and he was not nearly as generous. But he was also not nearly as good a shot. He aimed for Arthur’s head. But the bullet skewed to the left, and instead of splattering his brains out, it ripped through the side of his face, barely missing bone. It hurt, *bad*, but even still Arthur survived. As Dutch reeled over his hand, Arthur ran. He wasn’t held back by his sickness, no, this was a healthy man who needed to run for his life. And he did. He ran until his legs gave out, ran until he couldn’t tell where he was anymore, ran until he saw John’s horse trotting up to him, and collapsed in Johns arms. John was never the strongest, but he lifted Arthur onto his horse and ran like hell to get help.

The doctors called it a miracle. How is he alive? They asked. What happened? They questioned. John could only respond “I don’t know.” To both of those questions. Slowly, Arthur recovered. Eating and drinking was never easy for him and it never would be, but he was alive. And he was lucky. The first thing he did after he healed was thank John. He thanked him by paying his bounty, no small feat, the large sum taking up most of his savings. But John was a free man. He urged John to go to black water to collect their pile of missing cash, something no other gang member was able to do. He did, and urged Arthur to use the money to pay off his own bounty, but he refused. First they found Abigail and Jack. Jack had no bounty, he was just a boy, but Abigail did, a hefty $500 Arthur paid off dutifully. Then he found Mary-Beth, Karen, and Tilly, and paid off their bounties as well. They were appreciative, but he stressed that they were not indebted to him. He did this so they could live their lives free, not chained up with him. But this marked the end of the black water money. There was only a few dollars left, some twenty odd bucks that wouldn’t pay anyone’s bounty, let alone the now $7k on Arthur’s head. But he wasn’t stressed. He could always go back to stealing and selling horses. Until he made a simple, enriching discovery. His beloved white Arabian was pregnant. Her baby, even mixed with whatever sorry stallions genes made up the other half of the baby could net them a good few hundred. But when the baby arrived, a bouncing baby boy, their was no denying who the father was. The Duke. And the baby fetched them just over a thousand dollars.

This was invigorating, and painful at the same time, knowing this pairing could never be replicated. Dutch was still alive out there, with The Duke, and there was no chance he could just ask for another pairing. So the two of them, Arthur and John, made a gamble. They bought another Arabian with their fetchings from the previous colt, a beautiful rose gold stallion. The horses paired well, and the baby paid even better, and they knew their gamble was going to be a good one. After awhile, they bought another mare, John too impatient to wait through every pregnancy to see their payout. They set aside a large majority of their cash for Arthur’s bounty, but they took a little off the top for themselves, John buying Abigail a ranch and whatever else her and their son desired. Arthur, of course, put his money into his horses, as they all quickly became his pride and joy. Soon, he could pay off his bounty, and he became a free man once more. But Dutch is still out there, holed up with Micah in that desolate frozen wasteland. And surely Mary is out there too, waiting for the day Arthur cleaned himself up and stopped his life of crime. Well the day has finally come, but perhaps revenge is a dish best served cold.

OKAY TEEHEE HOPED YOU LIKED IT 😋👍 I know there are some plot holes but just. Swerve around them. Okay 👌 teehee anyway here’s some art I did of Good Ending Arthur I’ll do one of Dutch and his hand too ok bye bye!!!

[crossczeched48]

To Be With You- Chapter 5

Oil and Water

The following day was filled with new arrivals. It had taken a day or two for some of your friends and family to arrive from out of state. Throughout the commotion, Danny and you had barely talked. Despite the distance, Danny seemed lighter after the day at the beach. He easily chatted with the others, occasionally shooting you a glance and smile.

The night before, Josh had stumbled into the den. While heading for the mini-fridge in the dark, he stepped on your ankle and fell. Effectively kneeing you in the thigh and abruptly waking you from your sleep. He had been drunk and very apologetic. In your brief conversation on the floor, he informed you that Kayla had not arrived at the gathering. Instead, her brother, Nick, had come and had a conversation with Danny aside from the group. He assumed it to have gone well considering it had ended with Danny clapping him on the shoulder and inviting him to join the party. You had sat quietly, saddled with more questions than before, but knew that asking any of them would give away too much interest. He filled you in on the rest of the group's antics before giving a big yawn. When he went to stand, he wobbled, throwing his arms out playfully to steady himself, and smiled. “Join us next time, Y/N/N. We would have had fun.” You had made a vague promise to join again someday soon.

As you went about the day you felt yourself plagued by guilt. You overanalyzed Danny’s distance, and in the moments of quiet, you thought about his interaction with Nick. In an effort to push the thoughts away, you busied yourself with the party chores. You cleaned up the abandoned cans and bottles left around the rental and took inventory of the remaining food and drinks. Eventually, you took a solo trip to the stores and returned to prepare sleeping spaces for your friends. Throughout all of this, your friends tried to get you to join them beside the pool. Despite their efforts, you knew that you weren't in the right headspace to enjoy it. The night before had formed a riff between you that you couldn’t mend yourself. You and Danny had crossed lines that you had never before. And although it was what you had wanted for most of your life, you were plagued by the uncertainty that surrounded it. Without a moment’s hesitation, you would take it all back if it meant you were at risk of ruining the friendship you had.

Instead of considering those risks further, you folded towels for the pool. During this task, your phone buzzed in your back pocket.

“Y/N… Did you remember to put the Pruedler case meeting on Gabe’s calendar?”

Your heart sank. The day Danny had come to your office you had been closing up for the evening. Work had been particularly busy of late, a blur of constant calls and scheduling of clients for the attorneys in your firm. Your boss, Gabe, emailed you the go-ahead to schedule an intake meeting with a high-profile client, Gavin Pruedler.

This case was possibly the most important you had screened in months. Mr. Pruedler was the owner of a factory overseas. His business supplied apparel to multiple big outlet stores in the Los Angeles area. Once his shipment had been delivered the largest retailer ghosted him. They left him with only their deposit and half the payment for the goods. Gabe had asked you to collect copies of contracts and invoices, both of which you had done. After this, you scheduled Zoom meetings for an appropriate time considering time zones. However, at 4:47 pm the day Danny arrived, Mr. Pruedler had emailed you that he preferred business meetings to be in person when they “were discussing 7 figure debts”.

The minute Danny had walked into the office, Mr. Pruedler’s schedule left your mind. Your brain had gone into rescue mode. You rushed to wipe away the hurt from your longest friend’s face.

You had replied to Mr. Prudler’s email but added nothing to anyone’s calendar. And now your “Daniel Wagner-related foolishness” was once again biting you in the ass.

You typed back to your reply to your office manager in a panic, “Oh no… How bad are we talking?”

The three dots appeared instantly as she typed her reply. You chewed at the corner of your lip.

“Well, Gavin Pruedler is standing in front of me right now in a Versace suit. And Gabe is in a trial.”

Your hands hovered over the keys, unsure how to explain the situation away. Before you could reply, Diane sent another text.

“Gabe’s on his way, and he is pissed. I don’t know what happened with this, Y/N, but Gabe has not historically been understanding of mistakes. I would start crafting a better explanation and maybe an apology.”

You let out a breath and sank onto the nearest couch. The full weight of all your guilt and stress crashed over you, quickly overpowering any of the freedom you had been holding on to. You opened your phone to text your work friend, Alex about the situation. As your typed, she beat you to it.

“I heard. I don’t want to make it worse, but Gavin got up and left before Gabe made it here. He said his time was valuable and we were not valuing it as a firm. Diane and Gabe are in the conference room. Gabe is pacing in front of the window. It doesn’t look good. They are trying to talk to him on the phone about coming back. I definitely don’t envy you for being reception right now. I’m happy back here hiding in my cubical doing paralegal work.”

You typed timidly, “Do you think Gavin will go to another firm?”

She replied slower this time. Leaving you on read for several minutes while you sat watching the gathering happen through the window. Alex’s response came and with it, the rest of the air in your lungs went.

“Oh, Y/N. You’re so fucked.”

Included with the message came a picture of a printed photo on the conference room table. In the photo stood two familiar figures. One with short, curly hair and shaved sides, and the other, long brown locks tied back in a messy low bun. To their right, you were there, standing with a grocery bag in your arms, and a confused look aimed right at the camera.

Your stomach dropped, and Josh’s words from the grocery store returned to you in an instant, “Well, Y/N. Look forward to reading about yourself online after that…”

“Oh, fuck.” You muttered to yourself aloud, catching the attention of Sam as he walked past to reach the kitchen.

“Y/N, you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Sam crossed the space between you and looked at the phone you held out extended to him. He squinted and read, zooming in on the grocery store photo before looking up at you for an explanation.

“I fucked up on a really important case. And my only defense was being “sick” suddenly and needing to leave.” You put air quotes around sick, “But apparently the fan we took pictures with at the grocery store decided to post this on Twitter to try to figure out who I am. Somehow this went all around Twitter and my office manager saw it.”

Sam looked back at you in surprise. For once he looked at a loss for words, “I’m sorry, Y/N. What can we do?”

You sighed, locking your phone screen and returning it to your pocket. “I don’t think there is much we can do. I need to get back to the office.”

Sam nodded, “We’d understand. I’m sorry we got you in trouble.”

You shook your head, “No. It’s not that. This is where I want to be. I just should have handled getting the time off differently with them… I can’t blame anyone else for that. I just, I work so hard there. I know they never take time off and they expect me to do the same. To work hard for the betterment of the firm. I just… I really needed this break too, you know?”

You felt tears threaten to spill but wiped them away with a laugh.

You gave him a weak smile and shove, “Jeez, it’s not even breakfast yet and I’m trauma dumping on you. What’s gotten into me?”

Sam gave you a warm smile and nod, “You’ll be fine, Y/N. They’re lucky to have you. Just remember that.”

You scoffed, “I appreciate that. I don’t know how true it is, but I’ll try to keep that energy. I’ve never been good at being reprimanded. Just… can you do me a favor?”

His expression grew serious and curious, “Of course.”

“Just… Just don’t tell him yet. He had a hard time accepting our support here. I’d hate to add more to that with my situation. I don’t want him to somehow blame himself.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, I know what you mean. I’ll do my best. You know, it’s something you two have in common.”

                                                                                                   _____

You sat in Gabe’s office while he paced behind his desk before you. With each turn and glance she gave you, your stomach dropped further in anticipation. Finally, he unfolded his arms and used them to lean against the desk facing you.

“Y/N… You are a hard worker. I know you’re juggling school in addition to this career, but this was…”

He pushed back off the desk and motioned vaguely to the picture of you and the twins at the store.

“This was a surprise. When I hired you, I met this type A student… One who came to the interview with a notebook and a list of questions for me. You’ve torn apart a decade-old filing system, converted everything to digital, color-coded, and labeled every cabinet we have-“ He trailed off in the middle of his story.

“I expect this high level of professionalism at this firm. I can’t have anything less than that. Diane brings me this. A photo of you out with your boyband friends when you say you are sick? I am not just shocked by it. I am disappointed and angry, really. I need my team to be the best. We can’t be a competitive firm if my receptionists are forgetting to put clients on calendars and skipping work for a week to party it up in Malibu. I can’t afford mistakes like this, Y/N.”

You stared back at your boss with a blank expression. You felt the lump growing in your throat, but refused to allow the emotions to show through your mask.

“Diane is on the phone with Pruedler now. He is effectively putting us on probation, and asking for a discounted rate to account for the inconvenience and travel expenses. This shouldn’t have happened.”

You nodded silently and kept your eyes glued to the photo before you.

“Y/N, I need your keys. Effective immediately, you are suspended while we review further. We will have an answer for you by the end of this week. We will not be compensating you for this time, so you will need to plan accordingly.”

You held yourself back from dropping your jaw. You had known the situation was grim, but you had not considered the chances of losing your job entirely. Your heart pounded in your chest. Gabe met your eyes with nothing but cold fury. He held his hand out for your keys.

Clumsily, you reached for your keys in your bag and separated them from your personal keys. You handed them to him with shaky hands and felt your heartbreak as his hand closed around them, effectively separating you from the firm.

“I am really sorry, Gabe. I know this isn’t like me. I am exactly who you thought I was when you hired me. I just had this thing… ”

Gabe’s professionalism slipped for a moment and he leveled you with a glare.

“Yeah, we are well aware of the guest you had the day you left. We watched it on the security footage before you got here. My advice to you, Y/N. If you are wanting a professional career, you will have to cut those kinds of friends loose. Oil and water don’t ever mix. No matter how much you try.”

With that, he pointed to the door to encourage your exit. As you walked out of the office you headed to your desk silently, making a point to avoid eye contact with the other members of the office. It was clear based on their energy, that they knew what had taken place and they were not going to be caught in the middle of it. You sighed as you grabbed your few belongings from your space. “So much for being a work family.” You thought to yourself.

                                                                                                               ______

You padded across your apartment floor after taking off your jeans and kicking them against the wall. You uncorked a half-empty strawberry wine bottle from your fridge with your teeth, before giving yourself a heavy pour. You were properly scolded, and the worst part about it was knowing there was no defense and no way to ignore it. You knew the rules, but you had hoped it could be overlooked. You drank blankly while staring off into space, and wrinkled your nose when you got a taste. The bottle tasted more sour than you remembered it being. You sighed and set the glass down on the coffee table, wishing for something stronger.

A soft knock sounded at the door before your doorknob turned. The door opened, revealing the soft blonde locks of your coworker and best friend, Alex. She closed the door behind her in a huff.

“Well that was a fucking shit show, wasn’t it?” She shook her head and tossed her purse to the floor before joining you on the couch.

She picked up your glass of wine from the table and took a swig before making a face of disgust. “That shit is rancid, Y/N/N. We can do better than that.”

You sighed, feeling a faint smile cracking through the surface of the gloom. Despite the world falling around her, Alex always seemed to keep an even tone. In the hardest of moments, she cracked jokes and reminded you to not take everything so seriously. You found it charming and immensely comforting after so many days of self-doubt.

You met her eyes and found her giving you a goofy grin.

“You’re really going to make me work for it, aren’t you?” She asked.

You knit your brows together in confusion, “Work for what? What happened in Gabe’s office?”

Alex shook her hands dramatically, “No, that can be explained later. I want the juicy stuff. What happened this weekend? That was crazy. All I know is I get a text from you that Kayla is no more, a text from Diane that you are sick… and the next thing I know you’re paparazzi photographed with 50% of Greta Van Fleet in Malibu? I’m missing all the tea and I know it is hot based on the look on your face.”

You groaned and motioned to the drink in front of you, “1. It wasn't the paparazzi. 2. If you’re expecting all of that, we are going to need a lot more than spoiled wine.”

Alex flashed you a bright smile and pulled up her phone, “I’ll get us a DoorDash.”

Within an hour, you and Alex were seated on the couch with a makeshift charcuterie board and Old Fashions in front of you. You were spilling every intimate detail of the weekend to her, and much to your surprise, she was listening with full seriousness.

She took a long drink from her glass before replying.

“Holy shit, Y/N. No wonder you look like you’ve been through hell and back. Danny Wagner comes back from the dead with the bombshell that he’s getting engaged to, I mean at this point, your arch-nemesis Kayla. Only to catch her cheating for what we,” Alex motioned between her and yourself, “know is not the first time. That alone is too much for me to process.”

You nodded solemnly, “I know. I feel like I still haven't caught up with all of it either.”

Alex narrowed her eyes and leaned in to whisper, “We have to talk about the make-out.”

You sighed, taking a dramatically long chug from your glass.

Alex laughed, “No, go ahead. Drink up. I don’t want you to hold back.”

You nodded, “Oh gosh, Alex. I want to gush about it but I am so worried he regrets it. He acted so weird the next day. I’m terrified I fucked everything up.”

Alex waved her hand at you, “Y/N, you cannot convince me that, that man did not enjoy that night. I don’t care how drunk he was, he pulled you right into his lap. He ran his hands all over you. Not once did he say someone else's name, or act like he was uncomfortable. He knew it was you, and what was it he said?”

You rested your glass on the top of your thigh and tapped absentmindedly on the side.

“Do you think things would have been different…” You shook your head, “It hit me like electricity, Al. I hopped off of him at that point and I don’t even know what he was going to say after.”

She shook her head along with you and gave you a small smile, “I don’t know, but it certainly doesn’t sound like he was regretting it. If anything, it sounds like he was regretting it not being done sooner.”

You met her eyes, and for a moment you dared yourself to consider the same.

“You think…?”

Alex nodded encouragingly.

“I do, and I think the only way you guys are ever going to move forward is if one of you finally gets brave and makes a move.” You started to interrupt her, but she raised her hands to stop you. “Now I know, I know he is going through a lot right now. It doesn’t mean you’ll just fall into bed with him, but it may plant a seed that you can keep caring for as he heals. You’ve been his best friend forever, Y/N. He loves you. I know it.”

You finished your glass and set it on the table, “You think I should go tell him?” You moved as if to stand up, but she reached a hand out to your arm and stopped you.

“Well no. You’ve been drinking and I haven’t seen you in forever. Forget Daniel for tonight, but yes. Tomorrow when we wake up after an intense, much-needed girls’ night in, I think you drive straight over there and you rip this bandaid off.”

You felt nerves in your stomach, but instead of the gut-clenching dread you were accustomed to, it felt hopeful. For the first time in a long time, someone other than yourself had validated your theories. Now, you sat comforted by the possibility that he too could feel the same way about you.

                                                                                                           ______

You were 12 years old, just entering the eighth grade, when your parents signed you up for sleepaway camp. In the most 12-year-old fashion, you had thrown a fit. The camp was scheduled for one week in July, but all you could think about were your friends. Despite your many tears, your parents insisted it would be healthy for you to spend some time away from your phone and enjoy the great outdoors. Your little self was convinced it would ruin the entire summer, and after many fights- they agreed to contact your friend Callie’s parents and offer to her to join you. 

Mercifully, Callie’s parents were thrilled by the idea. Callie had been struggling over the last 2 years to adjust to the new school in Texas. Both you and her missed each other and the summer camp was a perfect opportunity for you two to reconnect. Before you knew it, you were laying in a bottom bunk in the “Spruce” cabin next to her. Together you laid, braiding cords and talking about the camp’s antics.

The cabin was filled with 4 sets of bunk beds, 8 girls total. Within 4 days your cabin had become littered with various girls’ belongings and abandoned camp crafts. Within this mess, lay the memories you made while getting to know these girls.

You and Callie continued to talk together on your bunk, before being interrupted by the outgoing girl, Haley, from Ann Arbor.

Haley hopped down from the bunk beside you and bent over to look at you and Callie, “Do you guys want to play MASH?”

You laughed and climbed from the bunk, joining Haley on the floor while she waved the other girls to sit with you.

Elisha, the tall girl who flew in from California sat to your left. She frowned as she watched Haley write M.A.S.H. on the top of the pad of paper.

She spoke hesitantly, “How are we supposed to play this if we don’t know all the same people?”

You and Callie looked at each other, seeing the validity in Elisha’s concern.

Haley shook her head and continued to draw categories, “It’s okay. Some of us came here together. We’ll just make it fun and you can tell us about the person we’re adding. Maybe we can add some of the boys from camp or something. Like counselor Darren.” Haley raised her gaze up to the rest of the group and wiggled her eyebrows. This elicited a laugh from the crowd. She smiled, pleased.

Haley took the initiative of guiding the group, starting off with the Husband’s category first. She wrote down various names of camp workers, stopping to giggle with the group about reasons why. When she ran out of shared contacts, she looked to the group for their best suggestions. A few suggested various “hot” celebrities like Louis Tomlinson or Justin Bieber, and others suggested silly and undesirable options like “Lord Voldemort.” When the group began running out of options, Haley turned to Callie first to ask for suggestions. Her familiar answers surprised you.

Callie laughed and looked to you, “I guess we should put down our crushes too, right?” Haley laughed and nodded, “Sure, you just have to tell us stuff about them so we know what to imagine.” Callie nodded, “Oh yeah, we can do that. So… you can put down Josh Kiszka…” You looked at Callie in confusion. Before you could speak one of the other campers pointed to Callie’s name badge with her last name on it, “Is that your brother?”

Callie laughed, “No, no. My cousin. But it’s not for me obviously. It’s Y/N’s answer.” You felt flames growing in your cheeks but felt too shy to protest. Callie went on to explain Josh’s appearance. You sat quietly and watched Haley.

Haley wrote Josh’s name quickly, looking up at Callie’s nametag to confirm the spelling. When she finished, Callie was ready to answer for herself, “And for my crush… you can put down Daniel Wagner.”

Later that evening by the campfire, Callie bristled beside you. After the MASH game, you had taken to ignoring her. At first, she tried to pull you out of your funk by joking about things from home but quickly realized this wasn’t working. She huffed and sat beside you on the log, waiting for the camp counselors to pass out the sticks and marshmallows for smores.

“Y/N, this is stupid. Just tell me what is wrong.” Callie finally turned herself to you and demanded. You huffed in return, shooting her a glare.

“I don’t know, Callie. It is dumb. I just don’t know what to say about it.”

“Say about what!” She threw her hands up in exasperation.

“About Danny. I just- I. I didn’t know you liked him.”

Callie laughed, “That’s what this is about? Of course, I like him, Y/N. It’s not like I could like Sammy or Jake or something. Their my family. It just makes sense this way. You can be with Josh, and I’ll be with Danny. We can be family. It’s the only way it would work.”

You looked down at your dirt-covered Converse and mumbled to yourself, “I don’t want that to happen.”

Despite thinking you had been quiet, the look on Callie’s face indicated she had heard. With shock in her expression, she stood and walked with her plate of smores to the other girls across the circle from you.

At that moment, began the beginning of the end of your friendship with Callie.

[mjm5655]

name : yamai yutaka position ( s ) : leader of yamai syndicate, former member of tabata family. race : human gender : male sexuality : bisexual relationship status : single ; verse dependent. nationality : japanese/american ( obtained ). age : 51 ( ages in real time ) birthday : 1973/01/31 birthplace : tokyo, japan. height : 6'0" ( 184cm ) weight : 74kg ( 163lbs )

family : tba.

yamai was known to be a reckless young yakuza when he was part of the tojo clan, his recklessness is what resulted him in running to hawaii. when in hawaii, he forms his own group, the yamai syndicate of men that were associated with him, & eventually, any japanese citizen in hawaii who were seeking a safe haven, he is able to obtain them american citizenships.

he is cold, but caring in a way, & has a sense of honour, he doesn't have any satisfaction fighting someone when they are down. he is seen as a real yakuza by ichiban who he ends up bonding with as much as he finds that annoying. ichiban gets him to unleash a side of himself that isn't usually shown.

yamai was an ordinary member of the tabata family in his early years of a yakuza. him, & his comrades were mostly in charge of making money which saw its way to his patriarch's wife, tabata yui. she would spend it all within a wild night of shopping, all the luxuries that a woman could wish for. whilst anyone else would see their hard work took for granted, yamai loved to see her like this, it resulted in him falling in love with yui, even if she was his patriarch's wife, he wanted to have her. he grew close enough with yui for yui to reveal that she was already having an affair with the tabata family captain, & that she required her husband taken care of.

against all things telling him not to, yamai carried out the request, & murdered his boss in hopes that he & yui would have a chance together, instead, yui turns on him, ripping her clothes, & pretending that yamai had came onto her to her husband's men. yamai had no other choice at that point to run from both the family he sworn to, & the japanese law enforcement. the experience left him cold, & suffering for thirty long years in the aftermath.

he eventually landed in hawaii, with a couple of men that stayed by his side, that knew the truth of what went down. he formed the yamai syndicate, managed to obtain an american citizenship, & made night street his turf ; converting an old movie theatre into his office, as well as a cabaret club where mainly older veteran hostesses would do business. the people of night street grew loyal to yamai, they became extremely protective over him, regardless if they knew why he was hiding away in hawaii, they cared for him as much as he cared for them.

in a way, yamai considers this atonement for what he did, that in this island away from it all, he'll start over, & do things right. he's no longer as reckless he was when he was a young yakuza, he also doesn't like to consider the syndicate a yakuza, but rather its own thing.

as the years go by, yamai finds his syndicate has grown largely in size, but in no way rivalling the other gangs of hawaii. when he notices the other gangs all seem to be after a woman known as akane, yamai figures if he can get her, it'll give his group a leg up, but not really knowing the reasoning of it.

eventually, a man that has been so saddled by debt from his group, agrees to join him, this is tomizawa, & little did yamai know that recruiting tomizawa would have him meeting with ichiban, & the dragon of dojima ... the dragon of dojima being an old face that yamai had saw before, & had heard all the legends of. even when in hawaii, news of the dragon came to him, he had grew kind of obsessed with the man, wanting to challenge him to a fight.

as time goes on, yamai eventually lets tomizawa go free, not really caring what he does anymore, he knows he isn't going to get his errand boy back, not after ichiban has given him other options in life. instead, he sets his sights on kiryu, wanting to have a fight with him, but when he eventually captures kiryu, with the doctor by his side, he can't bring himself to fight a sick man, instead he cares for him until ichiban & his gang come to retrieve him. he also eventually learns from ichiban the reason why the other gangs of hawaii are searching for akane, & agrees to call off the search as he wants to take no part in the killing of an innocent child. he is however reluctant to help out, & tells ichiban to leave his turf.

the other gangs caught wind of this, & start harassing the yamai syndicate, after some time, when their goals align with each other, yamai agrees to help ichiban, in a way again, making his past wrongs right. he helps them get akane, & lani to japanese shores, but as they reach there, date is waiting, & recognises yamai, & calls for his arrest.

yamai makes to run, which would only cause his sentence to be longer in the end, but he runs to the hospital which yui is kept in, fully intending to take revenge, he looks at her, in her death bed, & can't bring himself to do it when he notices how ill she is. when ichiban & the others find him, he doesn't put up any fight, he agrees to hand himself in, & do his time.

whilst he is in jail, his sentence is shortened as ichiban tells the law enforcement what happened, what he was told by yamai himself, & yamai is given another trial, & confirms as much. his sentence which was originally twenty years became only six years.

[performing-personhood]

Did I tell everyone I quit that job? Yeah I quit that job. The production manager who'd been stressing me out since the first week back in March finally snapped and berated me in an ableist tirade. Shaking in every limb I handed in my key along with a dated timed and signed written complaint stating that I was resigning because I had been told my neurodivergency was "not an excuse" for my performance (it is, actually, but thank you now here is a legal document stating your guy did an illegal discrimination against someone with a disability.) And walked right out with an explicit apology from the managers.

Husband instructed me to take two weeks off before starting the job hunt. (He also said it'd be best if I land something by the new year so I think he's not in touch with what the job market for my skill set and needs level is like.) So that's what I'm doing but I'm trying to start getting a plan together.

Which is really really hard since my abilities can kind of vary, I keep randomly getting in trouble at jobs for things I had already been openly doing for a while without being corrected about anything, and it's important to me that I have some level of competency at what I'm doing. But considering I haven't been to college and this shithole country keeps moving that goalpost further away from acheivability, society has decided I am good for:

Handling the general public

Manual labor

And nothing else! Everything that doesn't involve herding humans or destroying your body is locked behind a glass case where the key is a minimum debt level of $60k and 4yrs of experience in any given field you're applying for (because hiring managers are lazy as fuck and make AI screen out resumes for them, so half the work of getting a human to see you involves trying to hack the algorithm.)

Raal hard to not feel like I chose the wrong path in this Choose Your Own Adventure Story at a time when everyone was telling me I was allowed to make that choice and it'd be fine. Didn't go to college, chose a 20yr service industry career instead. And yeah, all y'all saddled with $75k of debt and no jobs are pretty bad off...... but at least you can get your resume seen, okay, imagine trying to do all that at 38yo with 20yrs of completely irrelevant work experience and a high school diploma, and then tell me again how bad you have it.

So if anyone has tips for staving off my existential crisis, I would be so grateful .

[firespirited]

Had some sleep and awake again so I thought I'd maybe drop some news.

First up all pro Palestine marches have been banned in town. Not even sure the local jewish folks agree with our non jewish secretary of state deciding that condemning Israel = saying it shouldn't exist let alone antisemitism but some Chetchen young man with clear PTSD went mad at seeing Gaza being well, Chechnya-ed into oblivion with international approval and killed a teacher so we're in right wing "terrorists under your bed" mode. I won't watch the news, there will be sound clips of horrific islamophobia like it's religion's fault and antisemitic dog whistles because this is french right wingers, they like Israel for strategic war reasons and also because they kinda hope all the jews will move there instead of their rightful ancestral lands which are Right Here in Europe. We did reparations so wrong. There have been jewish settlements, businesses, families, synagogues right here across Europe. A respected honored return and dedicated land for jewish refugees should have been right here, probably on German soil (I'd also say enclaves or debt from France... And Hungary and Lithuania but they're still in denial)

The profile as a terrorist is based on a single Allahu-ackbar. They had arrested him earlier that week, interrogated him and released him. The world saw him as a terrorist, he was watching another country like his get crushed, he lashed out with violence. Dude should have had a counsellor check in instead because of generational trauma. And now his stupid crime is propaganda for the machine. I hate this.

––––––

J, like me, also had cramps last night and then spent the morning feeling nauseated in the loo and I knew exactly what items to hand her (water bottle, anti spasmodic, caffeine, bucket, towel for sweat, baby wipes in case of need for quick cleanup and vicks vaporub under the nose) she thought I was reading her mind, I've just been there.

Went to the dentist, a double booking with Mum to set up the 'family' account with a new dentist (9 have retired in the past year and there are only 4 close by so it's been two years to get a slot - once you're a registered client the wait times drop to 2 months) it was up a steep flight of stairs so a year ago I couldn't have made it. Hidden in a residential building between two shops and called 'le France' no I have no idea what that's about either I'm guessing it's le france because it used to be le bâtiment or le café france and got shortened or something.

I had a clear plan of action the night before (ask about neck, ask about tongue) but was hazy by the time we got there from car dizzyness and lack of sleep. Then the receptionist asks us to fill in forms while she's also asking questions on the form. It was hard to focus on either. And she goes "don't you recognise me?" and I say "oh I'm sorry we're terrible with faces! where do we know you from?" - guess! Anyway mum and i managed to throw out pretty much everywhere we've lived in France since 93 and any groups we've been part of together.

Five minutes later she explains she knows us from an address we never lived at LOL and knew my sister at 14yo. That actually narrows down the options because we know a ton of Valeries. I have never met this woman. This is horse lady Valerie. She took tourists on horse back rides through the lovely scenery to pay for her horse sanctuary and gave kids lessons.

Sis has loved horses forever despite only meeting them in fields. So one year we got her riding lessons, she paid for half with stable work. She had a wonderful time, V has very strange social skills and isn't good with kids (specifically not picking favourites) but sis bonded with a stubborn reliable mare who didn't like people but who did like my sister for her respect for boundaries and always asking the horse first (Show the brush, ask, then brush. Show the saddle, ask, then saddle... ). Yeah the horse loved her and she loved her back, and they got to do horse riding and it was as amazing as the books and period films showed it to be.

So Horse Valerie is a dental assistant now and has a weekend job doing kids yoga. She told us quite a bit about herself (we asked all the right questions: how many horses did she keep? She carefully rehomed the others, How was she adjusting? She does sophrologie (?) now... but didn't ask a thing about sis or us. So she's still her odd self. 😆 I had a flash thought and asked about the horse that spends time in a field in town as the conditions had distressed sis: she felt they were insufficient for a horse to stay all day let alone night when sis and I visited. She said it's a hardy horse from the region from a family who've owned horses for generations. (sis thinks this is a non answer)

By the time I got into the dentist my mind was blank, I managed to list what I'd tried for my tongue and eventually asked if he felt I should get my wisdom teeth out. Forgot to mention the neck!!!

I'm trying base mouthwashes and extra brushing for a month or two we'll see if that helps. As for my wisdom teeth, it'll help the lower teeth not be so cramped and at risk of cavities because I can't floss half of them and he knew the right one comes out partially on the regular.

But otherwise I've been really lucky because I mouthwashed daily for over a decade when bristles would make my teeth bleed while only really brushing my teeth once or twice a week in the bath (because of POTS - brushing sat down is a mess when you can't get up fast and need both hands to get up), I only have been brushing daily for 18 months and use kid fruity toothpaste because mint makes it hard to eat for the next few hours. If my health goes backwards I really want to work out a sat down system with an electric toothbrush and a towel bib or something.

________

Ok so we get home J's feeling much better as she's fully emptied her system but has a fever. A friend called from the hospital to say covid cases are through the roof, time to mask up and avoid groups if possible: stomachs sink, we're all hoping J has a minor stomach flu, she'll be getting tested for Covid before the booster tomorrow.

I can't find the infection stats online in last years' places. Absolutely none of us want to go to hospital this winter unless pandemic protocols are in place. Me and the dentist were the only ones wearing masks, mine came off for the appointment, his came off to do computer work but he was right in front of a window. No-one in town, none of the five people in the waiting room or Valerie. Makes you feel like you're being paranoid. I'd be having a panic attack rn if I hadn't worn a mask today though.

—–—–—–—

Got two parcels done 🎉🎈, i still get a little bitter throwing money at laposte because I don't trust them and the box they made me tick saying "i'd pay return fees if things don't work out" doesn't help. But on the bright side I got to choose some cool stuff to send a friend and also said goodbye to more handpicked baldies: 3 Licca modern l07, 5 Licca classic modern k29, Karen chan ribon (I will find you again someday) and Kurhn.

Yes I had concepts for most of them. Split hair, gradients, thermal hair, a proper Cinnamoroll themed gal, a twin stars dupe. Blank nicely spherical heads with a flattish top (+small, soft vinyl) let you play with dividing it up in a way that's less easy with Barbie. From about 1cm back the hair falls backwards and won't be seen from the front.

Ok speaking of hair, Hair Wear Summer's green underhair streak is doll grade kanekalon and matte. No wonder there were so many rerooted versions of her on flickr, that will have frazzled right up if a boil wash was too close to the boiling point. She's pre-gluehead era thank goodness. If my neck wasn't busted I'd have replaced those 40ish plugs with a nice shiny green saran or a ginger blend so the next owner doesn't ruin it. Good to be reminded Mattel was also making baffling decisions for higher end playline in 2007.

Today I took Lily for a short walk and the new neighbours' dog came running to the gate (which is up a steep slope about 4 yards in) and barked, I was going to walk on by but decided to walk up to the gate because Lily is super chill, I told the dog "no barking. we're neighbours and we're cool" handed him a piece of cracker, he let me stroke his nose but later still wanted to bark at Lily. This is going to take stronger treats! In the meantime, orange cat came running and tried to squeeze through the fence to play with the fluffy dog.

We left right as he finally wiggled that derrière out of the fence. Sorry lil orange mischief, some other time!

[worldofwardcraft]

Forgiveness for me, but not for thee.

July 6, 2023

As usual whenever they see cruelty inflicted upon a group of Americans to which they don't belong, Republicans are positively giddy over the recent Supreme Court decision prohibiting President Biden's plan to forgive government-financed student loans. In a case brought by a clutch of red states with dubious legal standing, the six corrupt hacks on the Court arbitrarily ruled that Biden lacked the authority to expunge the repayment of loans owed by around 43 million individuals and totaling some $430 billion in debt principal.

Compare this to the nearly $800 billion in Paycheck Protection Program loans the federal government doled out over the last three years of which 92% (over $700 billion) were granted full or partial forgiveness, according to the Small Business Administration. While initially intended to shore up small businesses that suffered during the COVID pandemic, millions went instead to companies owned by wealthy celebrities, including Tom Brady and Khloe Kardashian, as well as more than $120 million to companies that actually prospered during COVID.

Grifting Republican congress members also grabbed a slice of the PPP pie and had their loans forgiven. Most are the same hypocrites who expressed outrage that Gen Xers, Millennials and Zoomers would not be saddled with crushing debt for years to come. And are now delighted that they still will be. Let's look at some examples.

Rep. Mike Kelly (R-PA), who called President Biden's student loan forgiveness program a "giveaway," had his own $947,100 PPP loan forgiven.

Rep. Kevin Hern (R-OK) called the SCOTUS decision "awesome news." He had a $1.07 million PPP erased.

Rep. Vern Buchanan (R-FL) harrumphed that taxpayers "should not be forced to pay the bills of the 13% of Americans with student loan debt." His $2.7 million PPP loan got entirely wiped off the books.

Other GOP members of Congress who enjoyed substantial PPP loan forgiveness include Ralph Norman ($306,520), Vicki Hartzler ($451,200), Matt Gaetz ($476,000), Lori Chavez-DeRemer ($1.3 million), Roger Williams ($1.43 million), Carol Miller ($3.1 million) and Brett Guthrie (and eye-popping $4.3 million). Secretary of Education Miguel Cardona added two more.

Markwayne Mullin had more than $1.4 million in pandemic loans forgiven. He represents 489,000 eligible [student] borrowers that were turned down today. Marjorie Taylor Greene had more than $180,000 forgiven. She represents 91,800 eligible borrowers who were turned down today.

Republican politicians are fiercely opposed to transforming government loans into grants for ordinary citizens. But they're just fine with businesses doing it. As long as they can get in on the action, too.