#golf shorts you can swim in

[guiltyasdave]

the pedrolympics

daphne @sizzlingcloudmentality and i are spending our days watching the olympic games and we got to thinking… which sports would the pedro boys compete in? (there might have also been tequila involved in the decision making)

pre outbreak joel - football (…soccer) because of sarah

post outbreak joel - shooting, for obvious reasons

tim rockford - rowing, that’s where the obscenely broad shoulders come from

marcus acacius - triathlon, because swimming in the seine would add to the grime so nicely

max phillips - swimming, because it seems like the fuckboy thing to do

marcus pike - table tennis, self explanatory

lucien flores - surfing, it’s the flowing shirt and the soft beach waves

frankie morales - wrestling. just picture it

ezra - canoe slalom, in the paralympics

marcus moreno - decathlon, because he can do everything

dave york - tennis. daphne mentioned the grunts and moans we’d get to hear. jana died.

agent whiskey - eventing. riding horses so we can ride the cowboy

javier peña - beach volleyball, in tiny shorts

javi gutierrez - artistic swimming, he’s got the moves for sure and picture him in a swimming cap 🥹

pero tovar - judo, he knows how to use his hands and body

oberyn martell - diving & gymnastics, because he’s a show off that can do both. also the shoulders

maxwell lord - fencing, rich people sport but cooler than golfing

din djarin - rugby. the thighs. he can run. he can jump. he has experience in holding onto a green baby shaped like a rugby ball.

dio morrissey - skateboarding, wearing all black

comandante veracruz - sport climbing. also hosts knife throwing competitions in the olympic village.

clint - boxing. again, just look at him

reed richards - golfing. he’s a distinguished gentleman okay. could also be accused of cheating in most other sports

unnamed materialists sugar daddy - dressage, he knows how to make you… stay in line (we don’t know what’s wrong with us)

dieter bravo - manages the team’s social media account. he’s a star on tiktok

let us know your takes! 🫶🏻

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 8: She's The Salt Of The Earth And She's Dangerous]

A/N: Be sure to vote in the poll pinned to the top of my blog AFTER you finish reading!!! 🥰

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

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

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “She's A Rebel” by Green Day.

Word count: 7.4k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

“I’m sorry if I was a creep when we first met,” Aegon says. He’s been oddly philosophical since he was burned. “I hadn’t seen a hot single chick in a while, and I wanted to fuck you.”

Cregan siphoned just enough gas from a decrepit Chrysler Sebring in Merna to take the Tahoe two and a half hours west to Little Thunder Bay Campground on the shores of Lake McConaughy, a manmade reservoir and New Deal project from the 1930s. You glance over at Aegon dubiously, amused. “Do I count as hot?”

“Yeah, Chippendales, you’re hot. In like a…you live in a cabin and knit sweaters by a crackling fireplace kind of way.”

You smile. “So you got over that.”

“Oh no, I still want to fuck you. Now I just know you better, so I wouldn’t want to offend you by being obnoxious about it.”

“That’s sweet, I guess. I appreciate your discretion.”

“No problem. If you ever decide you want to take a ride on a less distinguished Targaryen brother, let me know.”

The two of you are fishing from a boat launch, dry splintering planks of wood, opaque rippling water, soft wind and bright sunshine from an aquamarine, cloudless sky. Cregan found the fishing poles in the abandoned RV you’ve moved into, a Winnebago Spirit with one of those stick figure family decals on the back window, Mom, Dad, four lovely children and a dog too, all of whom are perhaps alive but more likely dead and in any case nowhere to be found here in this tranquil corner of western Nebraska, 150 miles from the Wyoming border. Helaena digs worms from the earth, then Rhaena slices them into wriggling segments with a hunting knife and brings them to you and Aegon to be impaled on barbed hooks. Aemond, Rio, Daeron, Luke, and Cregan are swimming about twenty yards down the beach, soaked boxer shorts and nothing else, splashing each other and scrubbing the grime off their skin from a morning spent gathering wood for the firepit and the grill; Ice is paddling joyfully alongside them. Baela floats on her back and peers vacantly up into the vast blue nothingness. Aegon is not permitted in the water, as his leg is an open wound beneath his bandages. You ask him as you recast your fishing line: “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

You shrug, smirking guiltily. You thought it was obvious.

Aegon throws back his head and cackles, slow and lazy. “Oh, I get it. A loser.”

“I didn’t say loser.”

“You thought loser.”

“I implied loser.”

“It’s alright. I’ve been called worse things by people I admire much less.” He contemplates his answer as he gazes down into the water, sluggish stoned reverie. Aemond must be almost out of morphine by now. At last Aegon says: “I think the first thing I ever learned was that no matter how hard I tried, no one was ever going to love me. Not in a normal kind of way, Disney movie love, Christmas rom-com love. So I stopped trying. Mother wanted me to play piano, so I bombed the recital. Father wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer, so I skipped class, went golfing and yachting, didn’t even bother to pay someone to write halfway decent essays for me. If they couldn’t love me unconditionally, I wasn’t interested in meeting their conditions.” Then he chuckles, the breeze combing through his hair, ninety degrees and only getting hotter. “I refused to work. All you’ve ever done is work. You must hate me.”

“No, I get it.” You reel in your line; a fish has stolen the worm from your hook, tiny clandestine nibbles. You impale a slimy new victim and recast. “No one wants to be used.”

“Yeah. Exactly. I wasn’t going to spend my life doing shit I didn’t want to do so my parents could brag about me to their insufferable friends and absolve themselves of their mistakes. Mother married a man who didn’t give a fuck about her, Father ignored us all. Me being a success story would have given them the impression they did something right. I couldn’t have that.”

So Aemond had to be the success story instead. You glance down the beach at where he is bursting through the water and slicking back his dripping hair from his face, showing Luke a bone he found in the muddy silt of Lake McConaughy, hopefully not human.

Aegon follows your eyeline. “Aemond went the other way, I guess. Always so pathetically desperate for their approval. Scrabbling for crumbs of it like a rat. That’s what the thing with Alys was all about, it’s the only explanation I have. Older woman, surrogate mother, comforting but chilly, fawning but forbidden, always keeping him at an arm’s length and rewarding his tricks with treats.” He smirks flirtatiously, then sees that he’s hurt you. “Oh, um, I mean…look, it wasn’t…it wasn’t a good thing, you know? He wasn’t happy. It was a seven-year-long psychotic episode, not a relationship.”

“You mentioned that Criston likes Aemond,” you say, pivoting. “The…what is he? A family friend, an assistant?”

“My mother’s personal security guard. And yeah, he cares about Aemond. He’s proud of him, he trust him, he thinks he’s more capable than any of the rest of us, and that’s probably true. It’s definitely true compared to me. But that doesn’t mean Criston always knows how to express it.”

You look out over the water, trying not to imagine Aemond touching Alys, this woman you hate without knowing her face. You wonder if he ever wishes you were more like her: older, clever, entrancing, masterful. “It must have been a strange way to grow up.”

“Cold,” Aegon says. “Hollow. Holidays, birthdays, vacations, everything. You go through the motions but something’s always missing. When you’re little, you think it’s your fault, and then eventually you realize that they’re going to be miserable whether you’re there or not. But you can get out if you’re willing to run far enough.” He scratches at his forearm, and your eyes catch fleetingly on the black ink of his tattoo: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You had told Rio something similar when you were stranded on that transmission tower in Catawissa, Pennsylvania. “This is fucked up, and I don’t mean that I don’t feel bad about what happened to Jace, and I get that millions of people have died agonizing deaths, and that all sucks, believe me, I know, but this…” He gestures vaguely, to the zombies and the desolation and the collapse of everything you’ve ever known. “It was kind of my Get Out Of Jail Free card. And in a weird way…sometimes I feel like I’ve been happier since the world ended than I ever was before.”

You smile. You know what he means. “Even if your leg gets infected and we have to saw it off without anesthesia like you’re a Civil War soldier?”

Aegon laughs and shakes his head, his hair flopping around. It’s almost long enough for him to have a man bun like Cregan’s if he wanted one “No, probably not. Also, what’s the Civil War?”

“Forget it.”

“No, now I want to know.”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“Aemond said something interesting this morning while you were picking blackberries with our favorite Trump supporter,” Aegon tells you, salacious and sly, offering a tantalizing morsel he knows you’re powerless to refuse. He pauses and waits for you to admit it to yourself.

“Fine. Okay. What?”

“He said that when you and Cregan are standing next to each other, you look like you belong together.”

You groan, quite loudly. “I have zero interest in Cregan romantically. Literally zero. I don’t think he sees me that way either.”

Aegon shrugs. “The dating pool is awfully small nowadays, Banana Chip. Anyone who’s not a corpse or an immediate blood relative starts to look tasty.”

“So that’s why you like me.”

Aegon grins, teeth he shows often and easily, so unlike Aemond in every way. “No. I think I’d like you anywhere.” He tugs languidly on his fishing pole. “I want a new golf club.” He forgot his at the house in Broken Bow where Jace died.

“We’ll see.”

“I want new shoes too.” One of his Sperry Bahama sneakers was burned beyond repair and filled with shreds of his own singed flesh, scraps like soft bacon fused with the padding and insole. “And some polos.”

“I’m not a Big Lots.”

“Who the fuck shops at Big Lots?” Aegon’s fishing line jerks, and he yanks hard on the pole before reeling in his catch. Suspended at the end is a long green creature, yellowish spots and a villainous angular face. “That is one ugly bitch.”

“It’s a pike,” you say, and then when you grab it you observe that the misfortunate fish has the barb of the hook piercing not through its lip but one of its bulging, glassy eyes. “Oh my God!”

Aegon squeals, horrified. He offers no meaningful assistance. “That’s so gross, that’s so gross, what are we going to do?!”

“We have to, like, I don’t know, grab the back of the hook from inside its mouth and pull it out of the eyeball, I guess…?!”

“Yeah, awesome. Good luck with that.”

You reach tentatively into the pike’s gaping mouth. Its jaws snap shut, needlelike teeth stinging your wrist. “Ow!”

“Cregan!” Aegon bellows. “Cregan, help!”

Now the others are running to the boat launch to see what’s going on, Helaena and Rhaena from the shore, everyone else from the lake, Luke helping Baela wring the water from her sundress and Ice galloping alongside Cregan. He gets a look at the pike and guffaws, loud and rumbling.

“Poor little guy. That’s some bad luck he’s got.”

“Can you get the hook out?” you ask, eager to surrender the fish, which is still thrashing franticly and gnashing its teeth, mindless cold-blooded death throes.

“Of course I can.” Cregan plucks the pike from your grasp, shoves his massive hand into its mouth, and rips the hook out with one effortless maneuver. The pike is freed, but its eyeball remains speared on the hook. Then Cregan spies blood on your wrist. “You okay there, Miss Chips?”

“Oh yeah. I’m fine.”

“Freaking disgusting, man,” Aegon mutters; he and Rio are ogling the disembodied eyeball, complete with a frayed optic nerve like a tail, with identical, stunned revulsion.

You turn to smile up at Aemond, but he doesn’t notice you. He is staring at Cregan, his sole blue eye narrow and fixed and flat like still water.

~~~~~~~~~~

“The closest town is Ogallala,” Aegon says as he lays his map across the wooden picnic table. The rest of you are seated around him and picking flaky white meat from between the thin, fragile bones of the pike, which Cregan has gutted and cooked on the large metal grill that careless camping families once roasted marshmallows and hotdogs over. Helaena is at the edge of the table and writing in her spider notebook, elegant loops of cursive. Ice is lying on her belly and gnawing on a rabbit she killed for herself, its doomed black eyes gazing up at you.

“That has to be what, ten miles south?” Rio says apprehensively.

Aegon licks grease from his fingers. “Yup. A little more, probably.”

“What about Lemoyne?” Daeron says, pointing. “Or Keystone, or even Belmar? They’re all closer.”

“See how small the names are written?” Aegon tells him. “That means they’re not actual communities. They’re like a few stop signs and maybe a Dollar General and that’s it.”

“I love Dollar General,” Cregan says, nostalgic. “Man, do y’all remember Chicken in a Biskit? I used to park myself in front of the tv and eat boxes and boxes—”

“It has to be Ogallala,” Aemond insists. “We need pharmacies and grocery stores and cars to siphon gas from, we need a real town.”

Rhaena chews her lower lip anxiously. “The Tahoe is empty. We have maybe half a gallon left and that’s it. Just enough to get down to Ogallala if we’re lucky, but not back.”

“So we’ll drive until it dies and then we’ll walk. Cregan has a gas can in the back, if we find fuel we can bring some back to the Tahoe and continue from there.”

“Walk, huh?” Aegon says, looking down at his bandaged left leg, which he can’t put any weight on. He gets around by hopping, leaning against other people (oftentimes against their will), and being carried by Rio.

“Well, you’re not going,” Aemond tells him. “And Baela isn’t either.”

Baela, gazing blankly down at the map, says nothing. A brown striped snake darts through the grass only a few feet from the picnic table, moving swiftly towards the lake, and there are alarmed gasps and yelps.

“Northern water snake,” Helaena says, glancing up from her notebook. “Not venomous.”

“Good,” Rhaena replies with a shudder.

Luke says fearfully as he reads the map: “Aemond, last time we went into a town that big was Broken Bow, and…Jace…the farmhouse…”

Aemond slams his fists down on the table. “We have to, okay? We need food and water. We need bullets. I need more pain meds and bandages for Aegon, I need antiseptic and Neosporin, and Vaseline for when he’s healing, and supplies for when Baela goes into labor too, since I’ve had to use everything I had saved.”

“We need pads and tampons too,” Helaena says as she examines the black-ink inventory in her notebook. “And Advil, lip balm, bars of soap, hair ties, and socks and underwear. And that green jelly aloe vera stuff for Aegon’s sunburn.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Aemond agrees. “We need a lot of things. And we have to refuel so we can keep moving west.”

“We could stay here,” Baela says, so softly that at first you aren’t sure if you heard her right.

“What, Baela?” Rhaena asks gently.

“I want to stay here.” Baela is more resolute now. “I want to have the baby here.”

Nobody knows how to respond. Rio gives you a troubled glance. You nod in agreement, so subtly you doubt anyone else notices. Not an option.

Aemond is calm but unwavering. “Baela, I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.”

She pleads her case. “I like the Winnebago. I like the lake. I’m comfortable here, and we’re out in the middle of nowhere, and I…I think we could make this our home for a while, now that we’ve found someplace like this. Someplace quiet and safe.”

“We’re not safe here, Baela,” Aemond says. “It feels like we’re safe, but we’re not. We aren’t a big enough group to reliably be able to defend ourselves. We don’t have adequate supplies. We have a lake to our backs, sure, but the rest of the shoreline is open for anybody to walk right into, and our visibility is blocked by trees. No one has stumbled across us yet, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. And if they do we’re extremely vulnerable. But when we get to the west coast, we’ll be home.”

“I’m tired of running. I’m tired of being afraid.”

“I understand. I am too.”

“It’s different,” Baela says, abruptly fierce. “You don’t know what this feels like. None of you do. I’ve never given up and I’ve never asked to be taken care of, I’ve always been the strong one, but I’m so goddamn tired, and I want to have my baby here, and I…I…” Her large dark eyes are glistening, haunted. “Every time we’re driving I feel like I see him sitting next to me, or standing out in the middle of the road, and then I have to remember what happened all over again, and…I just…I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Rhaena takes Baela’s hands in her own, skims her thumbs across Baela’s knuckles; Luke rubs her back reassuringly. The rest of you can only offer silent, pitying looks. There are no easy answers, no fortuitous gold strikes, no shortcuts. The only way out is through.

“Whatever you guys decide, I’m leaving either way,” Rio says. “Sophie’s waiting for me in Oregon. I can’t just hang out in Nebraska forever. I’ll walk if I have to.”

“It’s over a thousand miles,” Aegon tells him.

“Doesn’t matter, man. I gotta do it.”

You add: “Obviously, I’d have to go with Rio.”

Both Aemond and Aegon appear startled. “We’ll be on the road again soon,” Aemond promises. “Tomorrow, if we can find gas in Ogallala.”

“I’m not going,” Baela whispers.

“We have to, Baela,” Rhaena implores. “It’ll be alright. We’ll take care of you, and the baby too when the time comes.”

Baela stands, strides to the Winnebago, disappears inside and slams the door behind her.

“She’ll be okay,” Rhaena tells the rest of you. “She’s…you know, she’s shaken up. She’s not thinking clearly. But she’ll realize this was the right decision. The only decision, really.”

“It’s best if we can get set up somewhere permanent before she goes into labor,” Aemond says, as if he’s defending himself. “Traveling with a baby…Baela recovering…it would be very dangerous for all of us.”

“Luke and I are thinking the same things, Aemond. We agree with you.”

He gives Rhaena an appreciative smile, very small but sincere. Then he turns to Daeron. “Baela and Aegon will have to wait here when I go south to Ogallala, since they can’t walk in the event the Tahoe runs out of gas. You’re going to stay behind to protect them.”

“Got it,” Daeron says soberly. All the bullets are gone; his compound bow, fed with arrows fashioned from sticks, is the best weapon you have left. Cregan has his axe, Rio still prefers to bash skulls with the butt of his Remington shotgun, everyone else must make do with hunting knives from that cellar back in Pennsylvania and kayak paddles found here at Lake McConaughy.

Aemond looks around the table. “I’ll need Rio, Cregan, and Luke.”

“And our beloved furball Blue Raspberry Icee,” Aegon says, smirking. “To sniff out any zombies.”

“Yes. Ice too.”

“What about me?” you say, staring incredulously at Aemond.

“Not you. You’re staying here in the RV.”

“If you and Rio are going, I’m going.”

“No, you’re not,” Aemond says. “You’re the best shot, and we all agree about that, but we’re fresh out of bullets. You therefore have no advantage tactically.”

“What’s Luke’s advantage?”

There are awkward chuckles. Aemond leaves the picnic table and gestures for you to follow him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Why?”

Aemond doesn’t answer; he keeps walking until he’s hidden amongst a small grove of Kentucky coffeetrees, oval emerald leaves and umber seed pods that hang from branches, reminding you of skate egg cases—what some people call mermaid’s purses—you once found washed up on the beach outside Djibouti City. Rio teases you: “Ohhh, you’re in troubleee…”

You swat him on the back of the head; his hair is getting long too, dark curls that flutter in the breeze that comes in off the lake, hot and humid, the infinite wildness of July. “If I’m not going, you have to swear that you’ll—”

“I got it, I got it,” Rio says, blasé and jolly. “I’ll look underneath things, I’ll look on top of things, I’ll look everywhere. Okay?”

Aegon kicks him with his good foot. “Get me a golf club.”

“I’m not a Dick’s!”

“Dicks?! Who brought up dicks, you sicko…?!”

You go after Aemond and meet him in the shade, an island of twilight in the omnipotent golden morning. He pushes you against one of the Kentucky coffeetrees—rough bark to your back, prodding you through your t-shirt—and nuzzles your throat as he presses his hips to yours, blissful clandestine surrender as your knees weaken and you gaze dizzily up into the canopy of leaves.

You sigh: “This is not an explanation. This is a distraction. A very enjoyable one, but a distraction nonetheless.”

“Daeron is good with a bow, but he’s young,” Aemond murmurs. “I need you to help him protect the others.”

“You’ve managed to make this sound like a promotion.”

“And,” Aemond continues. “When things get risky and chaotic, and I’m trying to make sure everyone is safe…I find you being around to be…distracting.”

“Rio doesn’t think I’m a distraction.”

He chuckles, avoidant. “That’s not an equivalent situation.”

“I get that Luke has binoculars, but I am also perfectly capable of using binoculars, and I could borrow his and he could stay here. I really don’t think he’d mind being benched, he’d probably prefer it—”

“I always ask you to stay near Rio, and you never do, and then I have to worry about you getting lost or bitten or imperiled in any one of a million other ways.”

“Because it’s not that simple! Rio gets it, I have to be able to improvise—”

Suddenly, Aemond pulls away and asks: “Do you trust me?”

You are bewildered. “What?”

“Because I could understand if you don’t.”

You search his scarred face; he has that look like he’s trying not to reveal too much of himself, to show that he’s nervous or vulnerable or afraid. You touch your palm to his ravaged cheek, your voice soft. “I trust you, Aemond.”

He seems relived. “Good. Then please stay here.”

“You’ll watch out for Rio?” you say threateningly.

“Of course.”

“And yourself too.”

He grins, those small secretive teeth he loves to hide. “That’s the plan.”

“And you’ll check under things and on top of things, and you’ll remember what I said about the racks? When you go into stores and you’re rummaging through—?”

Aemond kisses you, warm and slow and kind, the curve of his lips pleased and mischievous. “It’s flattering that you’re so concerned.”

“And don’t forget the pads and tampons.”

His scarred eyebrow rises half an inch. “Oh?”

“I’m already having pre-period cramps. I’ll need supplies in a few days.”

“You’ll have them. Don’t fear.” Then he studies you, concerned, his brow furrowing and his palm testing your cheek and forehead. “You feeling okay? You’re sure that’s all it is?”

“Oh yeah, totally. It’s very routine at this point, I’ve had a decade to get accustomed.”

“Alright. If there’s anything else you think of before we head out, I’ll add it to the list.” He takes your hand and examines the shallow scratches left on your wrist by the needlelike teeth of the pike. “Let me clean and wrap that up for you. I think I have just enough bandages left.”

“Your worst nightmare came true,” you joke. “I was bitten after all.”

Aemond doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s long after nightfall and you and Aegon are keeping watch just outside the Winnebago Spirit, slumped in folding camping chairs people once told their legends from: scary stories, workplace grievances, familial mythology. In the firepit, logs split and pop, and embers glow a bloody red. You’re waiting for the Tahoe to return and trying not to think about the possibility it might not.

“These suck,” Aegon says, garbled by a mouthful of Cheddar Whales, grimacing at the bright blue box. “Why do you and Rio eat these? They’re like…dodgy Goldfish.”

“Are you kidding?! They’re way better than Goldfish! Goldfish don’t taste like anything.”

“And Cheddar Whales taste like salty cardboard. The American Dream.” Aegon passes the box back to you. “They better come back with some SpaghettiOs or Rice-A-Roni or something. I can’t survive on Cregan’s overcooked fish.” He lights a Marlboro Gold cigarette by sticking it into the fire and takes a deep drag, looking up at the stars. Aemond gave him the last of the morphine before he left, and Aegon is floating on a feathery, narcotic cloud.

You say after at last working up the nerve: “So you’re a slut, right?”

He snickers, firelight dancing on his sunburned face. “Slut, loser, you’ve got me all figured out.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m a slut. Why?”

“Have you ever had trouble…” Your hands flail around aimlessly; it’s so awkward to say out loud. “You know…getting it in?”

“No, not really. But I’m hung like a hamster.” He looks over at you, curious shimmering stoned blue eyes. “Technical difficulties, Chip And Dip? Not enough dipping going on?”

“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re probably just nervous. Aemond’s a doctor, he’d be able to tell if you had something wonky down there, like those chicks who are born without a vagina. Or with two vaginas. Jesus Christ, can you imagine the possibilities? Why can’t I meet someone like that?”

You stare into the fire, discouraged. “I’m going to ruin everything.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Aemond will assume it’s his fault. He thinks everything is his fault.”

Through the darkness, you spot headlights bobbing as the Tahoe approaches on bumpy dirt roads. “Oh, thank God. They’re back.”

“About time. If Rio didn’t find me a new golf club, I’m going to drown him in the lake.”

“He could break you in half.”

“But he wouldn’t.”

“No.”

“Because he likes me too much.”

“Right.”

“Maybe you like me too,” Aegon says as he exhales smoke, his glazed eyes listing to you, his grin crooked and drowsy. “Just a little bit.”

You smile reluctantly. “I might.”

“Cool.” He beams up at the stars, and then says again: “Cool.”

As the massive SUV rolls to a halt, the headlights cascading over you and so bright they’re nearly blinding, you notice the red letters on the grill: GMC. “That’s not the Tahoe,” you say, panicked.

“What? Then who is it?”

“I don’t know.” You stand up, instinctively reaching for one of your M9s; but they’re both empty. All the guns are. Your hand drops to your side.

Aegon, unable to rise on his own, remains in his chair and grips the armrests tightly. He whispers: “Should we go inside…?!”

“They’ve already seen us. But they don’t know who’s in the RV.” Rhaena, Baela, Helaena. With a shiver like a bolt of cold lightning, you recall what Aemond said at the bowling alley back in Shenandoah, Ohio: I don’t want them to know we have women with us.

The GMC Yukon is still running when two men step out, the headlights disorientingly bright. They are both armed, you see immediately, pistols that you’d guess are Colts. Aegon’s hand juts out and closes around your forearm as the strangers approach. They are both young, maybe twenty, and wearing jeans, camo jackets, and baseball hats like they’re going hunting. They stand in the yellow-white glow of the headlights as they watch you.

“Hi,” you say congenially, forcing a smile.

The men glance at each other, then one greets you with a nod. “Howdy.”

“We’re set up here,” you say. “But it’s a big campground. You’re welcome to any of the other spots.”

The man who spoke earlier chuckles and scratches at his short beard. You steal a glimpse back at Aegon: his eyes are huge and horrified.

“It’s real quiet on the lake,” you continue. “We haven’t had any problems, and we’ve been here a few days. It’s a good place. We’re happy to share it. We don’t…” You deliberate what words to use. “We aren’t interested in making trouble. We just want to be left alone.”

The man replies: “I camped here every single summer growing up, learned to fish here, swam in the water with my cousins, brought my girlfriends here to fuck. And now you’re inviting me to stay? You’re not from here. I can tell by your accent. This is my backyard. You’re the one who should be asking for permission.”

Aegon is making a low, whimpering sound; his fingernails are digging into the defenseless, downy underside of your forearm. “We don’t have anything of value,” you say, your voice trembling.

“Uh huh.” The stranger’s gaze flicks to the Winnebago.

“We found it. There’s no gas, no keys. Two of the tires are flat. It’s just shelter.”

“Who else is in the RV?”

“No one.”

The second man is squinting at Aegon. “Is he a cripple?”

“He was burned. That’s why we’re resting here for a while, so he can heal.”

The first man points to the bandage on your wrist. “Did you try to kill yourself? My neighbor did that when her kid got eaten. Slit her veins open out in the middle of the street. Bad scene.”

“I got mauled by a fish,” you reply numbly.

He laughs, a slow, rolling, mocking sort of sound, not taking his eyes off you. Then they drop to the Beretta M9s you have holstered at your waist. “Are those loaded?”

“Yes.”

He signals to the nearest Kentucky coffeetree. “Prove it. Shoot that tree.” You stare at its trunk, stark in the headlights of the strangers’ SUV. Long seconds tick by, the only sound the idling of the engine and the crackling of the firepit. “You can’t,” the man says, grinning. “Because you’re out of bullets. But I’m not.”

He raises his pistol and fires, a thunderclap, a mechanical roar. A small circular wound appears in the tree. Aegon shrieks and tries to stand; he tumbles to the earth when the raw, weeping flesh beneath his bandages betrays him. The RV door flies open and Daeron is the first one out, clutching his compound bow but still blinking his way out of the dreams he was jolted from. He won’t be able to nock one of his makeshift arrows before they shoot him.

“What the hell’s going on—?!”

“Drop it!” the stranger shouts, and both he and his companion aim their pistols at Daeron. He freezes. Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena exit the RV and begin screaming, clinging to each other.

“Do what they ask,” you tell Daeron, trying to remain calm. With great hesitancy, he sets his bow on the earth and puts his empty palms in the air. There are hunting knives inside the RV, you think. Where did we store them? In a drawer, in a cabinet?

The men are now herding you all into the RV, jabbing the barrels of their pistols against your backs and bellies. “Let’s go, everybody in,” the first one says. The second man hooks an arm forcefully under one of Aegon’s and drags him through the threshold, Aegon yowling as his burned leg smacks against the doorframe. The second man forces Aegon and Daeron to kneel on the floor at the front of the RV near the driver’s seat; the other one arranges the women at gunpoint, instructing you to squeeze together to sit in a row on the floral couch. Helaena—farthest from you and closest to the kitchenette booth—is sobbing and covering her ears. Rhaena appears to be hyperventilating. Baela’s head is held high, her face furious and defiant.

Aemond, Rio, Cregan, please come back…

“Now this is interesting,” the first man is saying to his friend. He uses his pistol to indicate to each of you. “We’ve got G.I. Jane, this delicate little sweetheart, a pregnant lady, and Cinderella. Where should we begin…?”

You glance at Rhaena, catch her wide frenzied eyes, then look meaningfully at the drawers across the aisle near the kitchenette stove and sink. Knife? you mouth.

It takes her a moment to realize what you mean, then she inclines her head, an elusive nod. She remembers where they are, where they were stored once she cleaned them this afternoon in the lake water. That’s good; but in order for Rhaena to grab a large serrated hunting knife, the men will need to be distracted.

“There’s a bed in the back,” the second man is saying. “I can see it from here, down the hallway…”

Your gaze is darting around the Winnebago. Aegon is yelling something; the second man pistol-whips him, fortunately not hard enough to fracture his skull.

“Don’t worry,” the first man tells Aegon, background noise you try to ignore as you search for an opportunity. “You’ll get to watch…”

Helaena is trying to get your attention, staring at you with her wide, gleaming blue eyes. You furrow your brow at her, not understanding…and then you see the burlap strap she’s looped around her wrist. Her messenger bag must be in the kitchenette booth beside her. And as you watch, and only for a second, she arranges her fingers in the shape of a gun.

The Ruger, you realize, amazed, that tiny revolver she was always so repelled by. Helaena never used it, but she still has it. And it’s loaded.

Baela is arguing with the men, words you tune out. Helaena points to you, but you shake your head. There’s no way for her to get the Ruger to you without them seeing. You mouth to Helaena, your face severe: You have to do it. Then you look to the first man, presently waving his pistol in Baela’s face.

“I’d like to go first,” you say casually, and all the noise stops.

“No, no, no, I’ll do it,” Aegon tells the men. “You want a blowjob? You want to fuck me in the ass? I’m down. I’m not scared of no dick. I experimented in college.”

Both strangers burst into hysterical laughter. “That’s a mighty generous offer,” the second one says, swiping a tear from his eye. “But that’s not the team we’re on, is it, Wesley?”

The first man, Wesley, is smiling down at you. His gaze sweeps over your body, from your bare feet to your eyes, calm and level. “Why do you want to go first, darling?”

Shoot him, Helaena. Shoot him right now. “I’ve never done it before. I figure I should give it a try before it’s too late.”

Helaena whips the Ruger out of her burlap messenger bag and opens fire. She winces each time it goes off, and her aim is terrible; bullets pierce the ceiling and the walls, striking nowhere near Wesley or his accomplice, but their panicked ducking buys valuable seconds. Daeron and Aegon tackle the man closest to them and wrestle the pistol from his hands. Aegon presses the barrel to his skull, pulls the trigger, kills him instantly. Rhaena flies to one of the drawers and yanks out a hunting knife ten inches long. She buries it in Wesley’s throat, the blade disappearing until the hilt rests on his collarbone. When she rips it free, scarlet blood jets from his severed carotid artery, spraying you, soaking you. Blood is in your eyes and nostrils, hot coppery carnage; when you scream, you can taste it in your mouth.

People are reaching for you and telling you to calm down, that they’ll help you, but you can’t wait. You use your t-shirt to mop as much of the blood as you can from your face and bolt through the door of the RV, running towards the lake. You drop to your knees on the sand and splash yourself, cool moonlit rivulets that wash the blood away. You’re trembling, you’re crying, and when somebody grabs you by the arm you scream and strike out at them, clawing like an animal.

“It’s me,” Aemond says, and only then do you get a good look at him, blood and lake water beading on your eyelashes. He’s wiping blood off your face with his palms, he’s inspecting you for fresh wounds. “Don’t fight, it’s me, it’s me, whose blood is this, what happened—?!”

“You were right,” Baela says to Aemond from where she stands on the sand, a hand resting on her belly. Drifting from the RV are the voices of the others who have just returned: Rio, Cregan, Luke. “We’re not safe here.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, rain falls as you lie entangled with Aemond in the attic bedroom of a ranch house in Red Desert, Wyoming, flashing lightning and flickering candles illuminating bare skin. You are kissing feverishly, your hands all over each other, and Aemond is pushing himself into you; or, rather, he is trying to. There is pain, and you can feel your body turning treasonous, rejecting him, shrinking away from him, fearing that you’ll never be able to satisfy him.

No, no no no…

His voice is hushed and gentle as his lips brush your ear. “Hey, you’re shaking, why are you shaking?”

“I’m okay, I’m fine, keep going.” And then, when he stops: “No, Aemond, don’t—”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You have to. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

Instead, he lies down beside you and turns your face to his, fingerprints on the slope of your jaw. He asks again, more firmly: “Why are you shaking?”

All the walls and arches of you collapse, stones tumbling to crack against the earth. You are suddenly fighting tears. Your words come out in a whisper. “I want this to be real.”

He studies your face, distressed. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to lose you. I never thought I’d have something like this and now I’m so afraid of fucking it up.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what Jace thought.”

Aemond pulls you against his chest and holds you as you sink through him into dark, cold, watery dreams, and doesn’t make any more promises he can’t keep.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What time is it on the East Coast right now?” you ask Rio. It’s May and almost a hundred degrees every day in Djibouti City—arid, rainless, sun glare and dust that sting your eyes—so the Navy has you building at night when they won’t have to deal with quite so many Seabees dropping over from heatstroke. Outside the day is turning to a soft lavender dusk and your shift will begin soon. You are dressed—sand-colored t-shirt, camo pants, work boots—and toweling off your hair, still wet from the shower.

Rio is sprawled across the floor of your room, taking up almost all of it; housing at Camp Lemonnier consists of converted shipping containers, each outfitted with its own perpetually whirring air conditioning unit. He is reading Fifty Shades Of Grey. “Like seven hours behind here, so early afternoon, I guess.” Then he looks up at you, suspicious. “Why?”

“I should probably call.”

“Should you really?”

“I want to. I’ll feel guilty if I don’t.”

Rio shakes his head and returns his attention to his reading material. “I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

“You love telling me what to do.”

“I wish you loved listening.” He flips a page, puzzled. “Why the fuck does Sophie like this book so much…?”

You open Facebook Messenger on your phone and make a call. The wifi isn’t good for videos, but old-fashioned audio calls usually work okay. There is an answer on the fourth ring.

“Yeah?” she says, and you can hear the entire house when she turns on speakerphone: the squeaking of the recliner, the droning of a talk show, indistinct speech and chuckling from other people, glass—cups, bottles, baking dishes, ashtrays—clinking sharply.

“Hi, Mama! Happy Mother’s Day!”

“Aw, ain’t you sweet to call.” And you are testing her voice like water from a tap, icy cold, hot enough to scald. At the moment, Mama sounds perfectly lukewarm. “I didn’t count on hearing from you. I know how busy you are.”

That’s a landmine that you step gingerly around. “We definitely have a lot going on here, and there’s the time difference and everything…but I wanted to make sure to say hi, even if I can’t talk for long. What are you up to today?”

“Oh, nothing much.” You hear her smoking: breathe in, breathe out, a cunning sort of pause as she decides how to proceed. Of course there were no extravagant festivities planned. Nothing ever felt like a real holiday at home: Mama getting sloshed and burning the turkey on Thanksgiving, Christmas presents that had to be returned for grocery and gas money, fistfights and doors ripped off hinges on New Year’s Eve. You had decided years ago that Hallmark channel magic was pure fiction…but sometimes you get glimpses of it now. Thanksgiving dinner in some unceremonious chow hall with Rio and your other friends feels more like a holiday than anything else you’ve ever known. “You still in Africa?”

“It’s Djibouti, Mama, I told you. It’s on the Horn. Across the sea is Yemen and Saudi Arabia.”

“Why can’t they put y’all to work in your own goddamn country?”

“Well, we do that too sometimes.” You stall, listening to her smoking. Rio glances up at you from where he’s still reading on the floor. “They have some incredible beaches here. Yesterday morning we went down to the water and there were all these cute kids playing, and they only spoke French but Rio showed them how to play tic-tac-toe by drawing a board in the sand—”

“I like the beach,” she says, and you know you’ve made a mistake. “You remember that?”

Deflated now: “Yeah, Mama. I remember. Are the boys going to take you to Virginia Beach this summer?”

She scoffs. “We’ll see, but I doubt it. It’s expensive, girl.”

You sigh deeply. Rio was right. I shouldn’t have called. “We talked about this. I need to be saving up to get my own house one day, and my own car, and all those things I’ll need to have a life when I get out of the Navy—”

“And what about my house?!” Mama cries, damn near wails. “I’m gonna lose it! I can’t make the payments!”

You reply calmly: “Mama, that’s your house. That’s your business. And you’ve got more than one kid still living at home long after they’ve turned eighteen, so they need to be the people you’re asking to help, not me.”

“You’re gonna let your Mama be homeless? Is that what you called to tell me on Mother’s Day? What the hell kind of daughter are you?”

“I got out!” you shout into the phone, and Rio is scrambling off the floor to rush to you. “I’m learning things and I’m making money and I’m building schools and hospitals on the other side of the fucking planet, and you can’t be proud of me because you think it means you’ve failed, but the truth is that you could have gotten out too! All of you could have! But you didn’t, it was me, it was just me, and now you hate me for it!”

“You need to come home now,” Mama says. “You gotta take care of me, take care of your Mama. You only got one and she needs you, so you gotta heed me. That’s what’s right.”

“I am not going to spend the rest of my life watching you get wasted in that filthy house, and I’d work where, at the Dollar General? At Arby’s? And get knocked up by the first guy who shows any interest?”

“You’re giving me heart palpitations. I’m gonna have to go to the emergency room and it’s all your fault.”

Rio is whispering into your other ear, one of his massive palms resting on the back of your neck: “Just hang up. It’s not worth it. You can hang up, just hang up…”

“I want things to be normal,” you tell Mama, you plead, tears stinging in your eyes. “I’ve tried so hard to get along with everyone, and help you as much as I can, but no matter what I do it’s not enough, and you’re always mad at me, and you’re always fighting with me—”

“You’re damn right I’m fighting with you, because you’re a spiteful, selfish child.”

“Hang up,” Rio is murmuring. “Hang up, hang up, hang up…”

“Mama,” you say, your voice strangled. “I’m sorry. I have to go now.”

“When I’m homeless, you know you got no one but yourself to blame—”

You hit the red button to end the call, throw your phone down onto the bed, stare at the wall and swallow noisily, choking back sobs. You won’t let yourself cry. You’ve cried enough for them already. You have to keep moving forward. The only way out is through. “You were right,” you say to Rio at last, quiet and raspy. Your hands are trembling. “I shouldn’t have called.”

“Hey.” He grabs your face roughly, forces you to look at him with your miserable shimmering eyes, grins hugely. “I’m your mom now, bitch.”

You laugh as tears spill down your cheeks, let him bury you in one of his smothering bear hugs, cling to him like a life raft in a storm.

[cheriladycl01]

Cupid and Me - Yuki Tsunoda x ColombianOlympicArchery! Reader

Plot: Yuki loves watching archery… and of course he supports the Japanese Team, however he can’t help being entranced by the Colombian Lady, and he thinks it’s time to become Cupid himself even though your aim is way better!

Yuki was always into sports, not just karting going into F1 but he loved Golf, Football, Swimming, he loved it all. So when AlphaTauri gave him the chance to go and watch the summer Olympics for a few days in the off season as a means for content he was so excited to be a part of it.

He started off his day watching a Basketball match. He sat watching happily to see who would win between Finland and China.

The atmosphere was always so incredible and the amount of different fans you would that had travelled half way across the world just to see these sports and people compete for their country was incredible.

The next place he was to go to, was Archery. He was extremely excited, knowing the people he’d be rooting for were good at these kinds of sports that required that extra level of intellect and precision.

While he held up his Japanese flag for the woman who currently held the highest score of the match, having a bullseye and a few 8’s and 9’s his gaze wondered over to you, who was just about to start.

You were tall, fierce and your sleek dark hair up in a claw clip keeping it in place out of your face.

Now Yuki didn’t believe in love at first sight but when he saw you pull back the now and line it up close to your nose to get the perfect shot, and he saw you immediately hit a 9 and celebrate in a loud and almost boisterous manner he couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter.

It was stupid really, he was there in the stands waving a Japanese flag to support his own country and his people, but you stood there with the Colombian flag on the back of your team gear along with your name and number he couldn’t help it.

As the game went on, he found himself learning more about you, from the way you talked to the other contenders with a bright smile on your face, or nodding your head while your trainer chatted your ear of no doubt about strategy and where you were lacking, not that Yuki thought you were, you were storming your contestants.

“Can I get a picture with the winner, I think it’ll be good for content?” He asked once it was obvious you were going to be the winner.

“Yea, let’s pray the Japanese team pull through so you can hold the flag up together but that Colombian girl, Y/N is the Archer himself!” She exclaims seeing Y/N pull another bullseye.

You ended up winning gold, a Japanese girl called Ai and an American called April.

“Y/N there’s someone who wants to take a picture with you and meet you” you trainer says as you finish your celebrations holding up the other girls flags while they had pictures with their flowers before they held up yours.

“Oh yeah who is it!” You smile, wondering if it was a fan or another celebrity.

“It’s Yuki Tsunoda? He’s a Japanese F1 driver!” She answers and you nod, being sort of familiar with the popular driving sport.

“Sure, where is he! Send him my way!” You grinned excited to meet another athlete.

Yuki came in and you were shocked to see how short he was, around 5’2 whereas you were around 5’7. But he was cutely pocked sized - how on Earth was he an F1 driver.

You were in thought as he shyly came up to you. Be polite, great him in his own language.

“Kon'nichiwa” you test, with a polite bow. You’d learnt greetings in most languages, as an Olympian it was always in your mind that you should hold the upmost respect to your competitors.

“Oh, you speak Japanese?” He asks with an even shyer smile on his face.

“Jakkan” you grin indicating that you only knew a little bit of the language, with a wolffish type of smile that had Yuki’s face bursting with Red as he couldn’t take his gaze from you and how captivating you were.

“Okay, how about that photo?” The Alphatauri manager asks directing you to to stand next to each other.

“Hey, you want to wear my medal?” You’d asked him, another grin on your face as you stated to take it off from around you next.

“No no no. It’s yours!” He cries as if it’s the most outrageous thing ever, but you stop him and place it around his neck! In the photo you have your arm around his shoulder your opposite hand pointing to the medal with your mouth open in an excited way.

Yuki is all smiles and before you know it, the managers have left the pair of you alone and your both talking.

He’s asking you about how you got into archery and your talking about how he got into F1 and how it feels to drive a car as quickly as that, and when you both delve a little deeper you find the feels of releasing the arrow and launching as the lights go out isn’t too dissimilar.

“You want to join me for dinner?” You ask boldly, not that it was a scary situation for you, you were normally quiet upfront when it came to things like this so it didn’t feel too odd.

“Yes, I think I’d really enjoy that!” He smiled.

And that was the start of a beautiful new relationship formed through observation, love at first sight and a little help in hand from Cupid.

y/user

Liked by yukitsunoda0511 and alphatauri

y/user: Met a guy, became Cupid 💘 made him fall in love with me 😉

Tagged 1 Person

View all 342 comments

yukitsunoda0511: I tried to be Cupid first - but her aim is too good!

-> y/user: I’m just too appealing! Love you Yuki 🥰

fan1: omggggg the height difference between them is just so cute!

pierregasly: Yuki my friend, you fell hard! But you picked a good one!

alphatauri: New WAG Alert! We love you Y/N!

fan2: oh she’s the one … I know it - that is the look of love!

Instagram Story Caption:

Back at it again 🇨🇴 ¡Buenos Días Mis Amigas!

Taglist:

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[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

141 Headcanons: On Holiday

John Price is 100% a dad type. He likes golfing and fishing and sailing. Activities that let him unwind, sometimes make new friends in the shape of other middle-aged men at the country club or at the docks or at the lake. Rents a little cabin by the lake, where you can take a soak or sunbathe, while he goes out with his little fishing boat and try (and fail) to catch something nice for dinner.

Johnny MacTavish is an adventurous type. He likes hiking and camping, stuff that lets him stay busy, and will definitely explore some forest or national park or mountain range. But he also likes fun activities. Music festivals, for example. He'll definitely book you all-inclusive 3-day-long tickets even though there's only one or two artists/bands you want to see, just so you can have that experience and have fun together.

Kyle Garrick is a family lad. His family is big and loving and they book a little trip every year somewhere fun. It might be a new destination, or it might be somewhere they've been before, or maybe somewhere to visit family. But he loves bringing his love along, go do all the touristy things, see all the landmarks, take loads of pictures, try new restaurants and new food, and do cultural things like reading all the plaques on statues and fountains and monuments.

Simon Riley likes peace and quiet. That's the jist of it. Needs it, in fact. So, prepare to rent a little historical cottage in the Cotswold, or maybe a beach condo, or a cabin in the woods. Doesn't matter, what matters it's that it's fairly isolated, with no neighbors to really bother him. He can sleep in late, with no one to force him to do things he doesn't want to do, no schedule to uphold, no people to answer to. He'll roll out of bed at noon, make himself tea and go sit outside and feell the breeze on his skin for once.

Crack headcanons: Beach Day Episode™️

John Price tends to burn, instead of tan, surprisingly. Probably because his uniforms tend to cover him from neck to toes, leaving only his hands and face showing... And if you'd expect his face to be immune to burning, you'd be wrong. Especially because he's terrible at applying sunblock. By the time you notice, his cheeks, nose and forehead are red, and there are white lines around his muttonchops/beard where the sunblock didn't absorb... so he just looks ridiculous.

Johnny MacTavish likes to say he's not English/British... until he goes on holiday to southern Europe and he's suddenly the perfect example of the stereotypical English tourist. Football jersey, denim shorts, socks and slides/sandals, his entire skin is burned to a crisp and red, and, of course, he's wearing the most stupid-looking sunglasses you'll ever see... And then he gets to the beach, takes off his shorts and he's wearing a red speedo.

Kyle Garrick is 100% the type to disappear off his towel while you're sunbathing and, by the time you notice, he's in a completely different side of the beach playing beach paddle ball, beach volleyball or beach football with a group of other blokes or even with little kids. And he does all this while wearing his little cap (but backwards) and while absolutely covered in tanning oil. Does he need it? No. But he likes the feel of it.

Simon Riley would not be caught dead in swimming trunks or a speedo. The man needs full coverage. He's in a wet/surf suit and wearing a facekini WITH his stupid dad sunglasses and, maybe even, a visor. He gets fidgety if he has to sit in his towel for too long so he's also the type who'll go for a walk out of nowhere, down the beach, and, eventually, cross paths with an Asian grandma who's wearing the same exact outfit as him.

[merlinbbcolympics]

Merlin Olympics is back just in time for the 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris!

Due to the short delay before the opening of the Olympic Games, this will be a low-key version focused on sharing our love for Merlin and the Summer Olympics!

🌞WHEN?🌞

From the 26th of July (start of the first competitions) to the 16th of August!!

3 weeks to create, share, react, cheer and have fun!

🌞WHERE?🌞

On merlinolympics on LJ, here at merlinbbcolympics on Tumblr, and on our dedicated channel on The Tavern's Discord.

🌞WHO?🌞

Anyone can take part : writers, artists, podficcers, lurkers...

🔞 Be aware that this is a +18 fest and that the Tavern's Discord is a +18 place!

🌞HOW?🌞

There are multiple ways to take part in this fest! You are free to participate in one way or in multiple ones!

There is no need to sign-up.

🥉COMMENTING🥉

Leave comments on old works from previous fests or on this year's works.

AO3 Collection

🥈PROMPTING🥈

Leaves prompt for artists and writers to use on this post on livejournal or in our ask box!

🥇CREATING (fic, art, vid, icons, podfic...)🥇

Create anything you want!

There are no words limitations or anything!

You can pick a prompt (no need to claim it officially) or you can use your own ideas! If you pick a prompt, just let the prompter know! (one prompt can be used more than once).

If you need inspiration, go check our prompting post or the asks we post here!

🥇POSTING🥇

You can tag us here on Tumblr and use the tag #merlinolympics24

You can also add your work to our AO3 Collection and post your work to our Livejournal Community using the header.

You can post whenever you want during the fest duration.

🥇CHEERING🥇

Encourage all the participants on the Discord channel!

🌞RULES🌞

All content created for this fest must be linked to the Summer Olympics.

- Any Olympics (past, present, imaginary)

- Any pairing (M/M, F/F, M/F, Gen, multiple,..)

- Any rating

- Please tag your works appropriately for any kinks, triggers, warnings needed.

- All content must be original. Any use of AI-generated images or words is prohibited for this event.

List of Summer Olympics sports :

-Archery

-Artistic Gymnastics

-Artistic Swimming

-Athletics

-Badminton

-Basketball

-Basketball 3x3

-Beach Volleyball

-Boxing

-Breaking

-Canoe Slalom

-Canoe Sprint

-Cycling BMX Freestyle

-Cycling BMX Racing

-Cycling Mountain Bike

-Cycling Road

-Cycling Track

-Diving

-Equestrian

-Fencing

-Football

-Golf

-Handball

-Hockey

-Judo

-Marathon Swimming

-Modern Pentathlon

-Rhythmic Gymnastics

-Rowing

-Rugby Sevens

-Sailing

-Shooting

-Skateboarding

-Sport Climbing

-Surfing

-Swimming

-Table Tennis

-Taekwondo

-Tennis

-Trampoline

-Triathlon

-Volleyball

-Water Polo

-Weightlifting

-Wrestling

If you have any questions, just drop an ask!

[frenchkisstheabyss]

7 Psychopaths: Lee Know

x Summary: You are X, a seasoned assassin, and your boss has just assigned you an unusual task. You have two weeks to gather six men for a top-secret mission that requires their unique brand of psychopathy. The trick is, you've got romantic history with all of them.

A detail that might make this a walk in the park or the fight of your life. Time to find out...

x Pairing: assassin!lee know x assassin!chubby!fem!reader

x Genre: angst/crime au/smut

x Word Count: 1.8k-ish

x Warnings: blood, violence, fighting, knives, guns, disposable mob goon deaths, unprotected sex, fingering, mirror sex, hair pulling, lino is a lil obsessed with you, the strongest of language

x A/N: This is #2 in a series of 6 stories featuring two members from TXT, two from ATEEZ, and two from Stray Kids. They all follow the same theme and can be read chronologically or you can jump around. I support the chaos.

Previous Psychopath: Yeonjun | Next Psychopath: Wooyoung

Downstairs in the lobby of the Hotel Artemis the Innkeeper sits behind the check-in desk face down in a pool of his own blood. If someone were to lift his head up, the mangled flesh swimming around might resemble crushed raspberries. Their daily serving of fruit courtesy of you. But no one will lift his head up. They’ll all mind their business because that’s what you do here. You step around his body and grab your fucking key before you end up just like him or worse. He’ll wake up eventually. Probably.

Stepping into the surprisingly well-kept elevator, you press the button for the top floor, adjusting the garter belt beneath your dress as the doors close on the empty lobby. This is no time to admire architecture but you can’t help yourself. The Romanesque style interior is breathtaking, much nicer than the deathtraps you’ve found yourself in trying to track down the Black Cat. Some might call it lucky that Minho’s petty streak led him to the penthouse suite of the Artemis, right down the street from where your hotel is.

Watching the numbers light up one after the other as the elevator ascends, you’re shocked when it comes to a stop at the 6th floor, 14 floors short of your destination. You step back, wedging yourself in a corner, and fish your headphones out of your purse. Your music’s on before the bell dings, doors sliding open to let half a dozen goons file in. Italian mob. Dressed in all black. Cocky. Faces still healing from their last brawl. Half of them smile at you, nodding, politely admiring the way your dress hugs your curves, gawking at your flawlessly applied makeup.

You smile back and they turn away, eliminating you as a threat. Stealthy glances around the elevator reveal the guns tucked into their waistbands. The Big One, twice your size in every way, has a set of brass knuckles on his callused hands. Gold plated. Fancy. “Excuse me, gentlemen” you sing, maneuvering through them with the grace of a proper lady. They part the sea for you, unknowingly clearing a path to the control panel. “Getting off already, beautiful?” “Mmm'' you sigh, a manicured nail hovering near the bright red EMERGENCY STOP button, “Not yet.” Your fist slams down on the button, bringing 6,000 pounds of metal to a screeching halt. 

Minho studies the 16th-century Turkish vase on display in the lavish, and utterly destroyed, penthouse of the Golden Child, a pretty boy whose mob boss daddy provides him with enough money to blow on all the cocaine, strippers, and obnoxiously expensive art he can get his hands on. “Don’t you touch it!” the Golden Child screams, spitting loose teeth and blood onto his bear skin rug. Minho pops open the glass display case that houses the vase and an assortment of other highly fragile artifacts. “Don’t touch what?” he asks, winding up the scarlet splattered golf club he used to lay ruin to the apartment and its inhabitant, “This?”

“I said no!” Minho chews at the inside of his lip, pretending to be unsure of his next move when he knows exactly what he’s about to do. The head of the club shatters the priceless vase into a thousand pieces, shards of ceramics and glass flying through the air as he dishes out swing after spiteful swing to those poor, innocent historical treasures. The Golden Child grabs onto the arm of his white leather couch, attempting to push himself up but broken ribs send him tumbling back down. “You’re out of your fucking mind!” he curses, “All because I spilled a drink on you? I said, ‘My bad!”

Winded, Minho tosses the golf club across the room, grinning to himself as he notices a leaking cut on his hand. “My bad?” he laughs, “My bad?” It disgusts him, the smugness of people who think they can run around doing anything they want to anyone they want. Poor manners, that is. His parents should’ve taught him better but that’s what Minho’s here for. Charging across the room, he grabs the Golden child by the collar of his soft cotton robe and hammers his head onto the floor. “My bad is not ‘Sorry!’”

Minho bashes his fist into the man’s jaw, the brute force of the blow knocking another molar loose, “Say sorry!” “Eat shit.” “What?” Minho snaps, positive his ears are deceiving him. The Golden Child smiles up at him, arrogant and entitled even in his battered state, “Eat shit. My dad keeps tabs on me 24/7. He’s probably sending some guys up here right now and when they get here? You're dead.” Grabbing the belt barely hanging onto the man’s robe, Minho twists it around his neck, depriving him of air.

“I guess I’ll see you on the other side then, huh?” Minho doesn’t blink, not even once, as the color drains from the Golden Child’s eyes, bone splintering, his windpipe crumbling just as easily as his precious vases. Saying sorry really couldn’t have been that hard. 

“There’s nowhere to run, little one” taunts the Big One, trying and failing not to trip over the corpses of his friends. Your chest hurts like hell. The others were easy, so shit with their aim that only one bullet in 20 clips had even managed to skim your thigh. But this one? He won’t go down. Squared up against him, the knife from your torn garter clenched in your fist, you know you can’t let him hit you again. Another blow to the chest and you’re done for. “Who’s running, big boy? Let’s get it.” Tapping the EMERGENCY STOP button again, the elevator whirls back into action.

The Big One charges at you, swinging wildly. You duck, rolling through the bodies and slicing open the back of his left leg. The bell dings on every floor like the start of a boxing match. The Big One punches one of the walls, denting the metal. So much for pristine architecture. As he reels from the hit, you jump on his back, jabbing the knife into his chest from behind. The bell dings for a final time on the 20th floor. Biting down on your arm, he flips you over his shoulder, slamming you down onto the floor, knocking the air out of you.

The doors creak open as he raises his foot to stomp a steel toe boot down on your chest. Bang! A bullet barrels through his skull. The titan stumbles, his brain quite literally scrambled. Bang! Bang! Two more shots and he’s slumped on the ground with his friends where he belongs. Reunited at last. “Who’s your new boyfriend?” Minho teases from the hallway, tossing the gun to the ground. “You’re welcome!” you groan, flipping him off. He hops onto the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby. “Thank you,” he says, sweetly, grateful for your help and your presence.

Taking you into his arms, he props you up in the corner, checking you for injuries. “What is this?” You flinch when he brushes a tender spot on your head, “You tell me. You’re the one with the mob after you.” “No, I mean, what are you doing here?” “Oh, uh, boss sent me to get you” you stutter, the entire reason for your arrival in Rome having shifted to the back of your mind until now.

“We need you.”

“Where?”

“Berlin.”

“When?”

“Next week.”

“Okay, if…”

You whine when he caresses your thigh, checking the severity of the bullet wound. “If what?” “If you let me take care of you” he winks. “Take care of me? Why’d you say it like that?” Minho rips a long strip of material from the shirt of a nameless corpse and secures it around your thigh to stop the bleeding. He kisses your thigh, suckling softly at the tender flesh to distract you from the pain. Ding! First floor. The doors open to the lobby and he takes you by the hand, “Let me show you.” 

Taking care of you. When you say that in this line of business, it’s never a good thing but Minho had no intentions of cutting your life short. The only thing on his mind was carrying you back to your hotel, running you a nice bath, and dressing your wounds. “All better?” he asks, his breath tickling your neck as he plays with your clit. This was a part of the plan too, getting you in his lap, his naked body reunited with yours after months apart. From this position on the edge of the bed, you can see your reflection clearly. Your plush breast bounces in one of his hands while the fingers of the other spread your lips wide enough to fully expose your clit.

With your legs dangling across his, follow your cream as it trickles down the base of his cock. There’s nothing fast or rough about the way he lifts his hips to fill you. The slight curve of his cock makes you stutter each time he disappears into your pulsing warmth. “All---ah---b-b-better.” “B-b-better?” he mocks, his fingers working faster against your clit. You reach back to cup his face, scratching him the slightest bit as punishment for being a smartass. The pain only makes him want you more. His cock is as hard and smooth as polished marble, leaking precum into your needy pussy.

Minho watches you in the mirror, admiring your reflection, entranced by how the beauty of your face and the plumpness of your figure could make him put a bullet through the skull of a man who even dared to look at you wrong. “Take over for me” he whispers, guiding your hand between your legs, his fingers moving on top of yours to splash in the audible wetness of your pussy. You pick up a rhythm together, one that has your breath growing ragged and your stomach in a frenzy. With his hand now free, he brushes your hair out of your face, tilting your head to the side to kiss you.

His tongue ventures as far down your throat as it can go, devouring your moans. Bouncing you in his lap at a quicker pace, still careful not to hurt you, he caresses your body, greedy to claim you as his like you were meant to be from the start. The argument that broke you up. That stupid fucking argument. He doesn’t even remember what it was about anymore and he doesn’t care. Because you’re in his lap, your back arching against his chest, sloppily playing with your own aching bud, biting on his lip while you whimper his name. Your pulse races, your hand reaching back to grip his hair for stability.

“Mmhmm, pull my fucking hair and cum for me” he urges, “Cum for me angel.” Your tongue lashes at his, his words making you burst. “Minho! Aah, baby!” you cry, pulling his hair harder as your orgasm deepens. Minho rests his head on your shoulder. Watching you cum is like performance art. “I don’t care about anyone else. Just promise you’ll never leave me again.” Your glossy eyes meet his in the mirror, “I promise.” “You mean it?” “I mean it.”

And you do mean it. You have to. Because, with the hell that awaits you in Germany, sweet reunions like this might end up being your last.

[wishmaster]

Hello Mr. Wishmaster! This is the Costume Shoppe right? My nerd friends and I want to go to this frat party, and we wanted to ironically dress up as stereotypical frat bros! Do you have anything like that? It might be cool to have padded muscles too! Wouldn't that be a hoot?

Dumb it Down

I can definitely help out with that. I hand you a bunch of swim trunks. Here try these.

But they're just shorts. What about the muscles and stuff?

Trust me son, you'll look the part.

The five friends rush into the back anxious to see what happens once they put the shorts on.

WHOA! seemed to come out in unioson as they pulled the shorts up.

What emerged from the changing rooms was very different than what went in.

BROS! the one I had been doing all the talking with said as the now muscular hunks said as they looked in the mirror.

Fuck Yeah. They started checking each other out Dude, how do we change back?

Afraid you don't until November 1 when the spell wears off.

Fuck, we've got major testes coming up in...? He couldn't seem to remember what he was takin in college now. Fuck, Bro what the hell were we studying again?

How to party? one of them said, a blank stare on a few others faces.

No, No, No, we don't just look like Frat bros, we are frat bros, dude I can't eeven think anymore. Hot chicks and beer kegs, football and other sport stats that's all I can remember now.

Dude We're stupid, how the hell are we supposed to pass our tests?

Dude only test I want to pass is getting into Chad's jockstrap, one of the other guys said ashis true sexuality slipped out.

Bro, lets do it.

Three of the five horny bros tried to go at it right there in the store, in front of our Golf display.

Bros! the head frat bro said trying to figure out what to do.

Dude you worry to much. lets just hang loose and party it up for the next few weeks, what's the worst that could happen? He agreed and the look of stupidity came over his face, alll his worries and smarts were gone in a blink of an eye. I'd be interested to see what becomes of them after Halloween. After I always leave a loop hole that allows the changes to be permanent.

Famous last words. Have fun.

I said as they all left the store horny and ready for fun.

[lolliputian]

I think you are the most qualified person to ask this question since you write the tieflings so well: what Olympic sport would the tiefs complete in?

High praise indeed, Anon! Thank you so much!

Going through the list of events, I'm going to go through the adult Tieflings we see in the Grove. I'm also sticking to the summer events.

Zevlor is, of course, Equestrian, and more specifically eventing (which, I discovered, is basically a triathlon). Tilses would also take place in Equestrian, but she'd be focused on jumping. If the Hellriders aren't taking place in the equestrian events, it's a crime. Nuff said.

Rolan would be a swimmer. I think he'd would find swimming for exercise cathartic--the water resistance, the controlled breathing, engaging all your muscle groups to move through the water.

Lia would be a rower for a similar reason, engaging all the upper body muscles. I think she would do really well with a team, as well, and find a lot of fulfillment in it. Cal, in perhaps a surprising choice, would take part in gymnastics. His high strength score lends itself to strength based events. Imagine Cal taking on the pommel horse or the rings, holy shit.

Dammon, surprising absolutely no one, would take part in the hammer throw. But, before I remembered that existed, I also figured he would do well with shot put. Short bursts of power suit him.

Along a similar vein, Alfira would really excel at rhythm gymnastics as a form of artistic expression. Lakrissa, on the other hand, is a natural for archery, and in a modern AU would absolutely be that person doing trick shots on TikTok.

In canon, we know Bex is a great runner and that she was able to outrun the cultists. Thus, I can see her taking part in the sprinting events. Danis, meanwhile, I think would get the most enjoyment out of golf out of any of the events available. Outside of competition, I think he'd like the social aspect of it.

Komira is absolutely a Taekwondo girl--she was ready to throw down with the druids and strikes me as the type who wouldn't hesitate to fight for what she believes in. Locke's temperament, in contrast, reminds me more of a distance runner. He's much calmer than his wife.

So I debated between Asharak and Guex whom I thought would be a better fit for fencing--we see Asharak training the kids in fighting, and Guex using Main Hand Attack against Makeshift Training Dummy. Ultimately, I felt Asharak's temperament was a lot better for it and, frankly, that he would do well enough to compete on an Olympic level. Guex's event? Javelin Throw. We see him use potentially any weapon you sell Dammon against the Training Dummy if you defeat the druids (off the top of my head, I can't think of anyone who uses a javelin canonically otherwise minus maybe Cal). But I also think he'd like the challenge and feeling powerful without having to get into close quarters.

If we've talked Tiefling headcanon, you'll know I carry a headcanon that Okta is/was a monk and actively adventured until her pregnancy. Thus, she's a natural fit for Judo. Ikaron, too, does a physical event that requires a lot of control and precision: Boxing. Like Rolan with swimming, I think he'd find it cathartic.

Cerys would take part in the modern pentathlon. We don't know much about her backstory from the game besides her being a scout and the third leader option if both Zevlor and Asharak are killed in Act 1. Thus, IMO, she has to be extremely impressive in her own right. The pentathlon presently includes fencing, swimming, equestrian jumping, laser pistol shooting, and distance running.

Zorru and Yul are other canonical scouts. We know Zorru was able to make it Baldur's Gate presumably by himself, which means not only is he a good runner, but he has to be skilled at dodging obstacles, too. He's a natural choice for hurdles. Yul, we don't know enough about, but for the endurance required for scouting, let's slot him into cycling.

Kaldani and Rikka get to be our beach volleyball pair! I really wanted a duo that's seen a lot together in game, and they seem to get along well. I can see them working amazingly well at a team and being unafraid to work hard to win.

Damays and Nymessa were a little hard for me--I very much wanted Nymessa to be in breakdancing just to make Damays's head explode (at least the way I characterize them). But, in the end, I thought pole vault would be a good fit for her. Damays seems a fit for discus throwing.

Kanon strikes me as someone who would be really good at diving. We know he was a tailor in Elturel, and I think he'd appreciate the precision and artistry. Arka and Memnos? They get to be our tennis duos team. I think they'd balance each other well in the sport.

Pandirna absolutely has to be in weightlifting, all things considered. Let's hope she doesn't get in trouble for doping with Ethel's potions... Toron I think would be wrestling because wrestling cattle or something. Nadira would be sport climbing, because that seems to fit in well with her sneaking around devils and the like. (I can't remember at the moment how much of that is canon and how much of it was headcanon we came up with on the camp server.)

Eramis and Elegis I slotted into long jump and high jump respectively. At the time of writing this, this is based off vibes from each of them rather than anything in game that lent itself to this. Finally, Xeph, Rechel, and Amek get to be our synchronized swimmers, because we gotta have synchronized swimmers, and also I don't know where else to put them.

Hope you enjoyed the post!

[guppygiggles]

I wrote this short... thing, for comfort when I was half asleep last night. I woke up and could barely remember writing it, lol.

Contains: 500 words (yeah, really short), Sea and Sky AU (working title for my newly established AU), tickling, fluff, and uh, gay pining. I wish I wrote some dialogue for Avery.

I measured an exceedingly patient inhale.

I'd finally gotten a day off, and yet, instead of sleeping in, luxuriating in a late-morning breakfast with Avery, and enjoying some nice, quiet reading time together in his study… There I was, sponge in-hand and kneeling in front of a plastic pool situated on a secluded beach…

Washing a fish.

“If you splash me again, I'm turning you into sushi.”

A short distance away, Avery chuckled. He was reclining in a beach chair beneath a colorful umbrella, clad in swim trunks and sunglasses, holding a newspaper folded to the crossword section. The pen he was using to fill it in looked more like a golf pencil in his large, soft hand.

I shot him a glare. “Can it, Nimbus,” I snapped.

That only made the cloudman laugh more, his swirly belly button appearing to spin like a hurricane as his belly trembled. It was rare that Avery showed so much skin; even on beach trips, he normally wore knee-length shorts, a T-shirt and an overshirt, at least. Given that he had taken us to a private beach, though, he was able to relax his modesty a bit… and I wasn't complaining. My eyes traced along the dips and curves of his body, from the rolling hills of his cloud-shaped head down to his delicate, bare toes. It was nothing I hadn't seen before, but when I realized I was staring, I quickly looked away.

“Ehe, you're blushing…” Finnegan teased, heedless to my warning as he flicked his tail, splashing me again. I fumed, snatching his ankle out of the water and roughly scrubbing his sole with the sponge, causing him to let out a childish squeal.

“EEEE-HEEEE! I'M SORRREEEEEHEHEE!” He cried, soapy water sloshing out of the pool as he thrashed.

“Remind me why we're out here, Finn?”

“EHEHEEE BECAUSE I GOT DIHIHIRTEEEEHEHEY!”

“That's right! We're out here because you got the bright idea to pester a squid until it squirted you, and now I have to use my Saturday morning to scrub you clean! The least you could do is stay still… and not be a shit!” I scolded half-heartedly. Despite trying to appear angry, I couldn't help grinning; Finn's giddy laugh was cute enough, but it was making Avery giggle, too… which I had no hope of resisting.

“I wasn't pestering! He was on my turf, and he knew it! I was just swimming around the lighthouse, and he kept getting in my- WAAAAAHAHAHAHEEEE!”

Finn squealed again as I gently held his wrist, then scrubbed under his arm with the sponge. He was covered head-to-toe in ink. According to him, the ink from this particular breed of squid could only be washed off with soap, so that's what I was going to do; no matter how much he howled. At least it was a nice day – blue sky, white sand… I would never admit it, but I could almost thank that squid for the gift of my tall, handsome elemental in swim shorts… marble legs stretched out on the plastic chaise, one arm stretched comfortably over his head as he reviewed his work on the Times puzzle, his toes flexing slightly as they were caressed by the gentle summer breeze…

“You're blushing, again!”

“Oh, that's it!”

[miloformula123fan]

300 followers celebration

okay wtf guys im actually gonna cry :). thank y'all so much for all the love you have given me.

im gonna start by apologising because I have not been that active. i went and saw challengers, started watching ted lasso and got into professional cycling, and my exams are just about to finish and im gonna be honest i have been just reading fanfiction based on those. (because my ADHD hyperfixation has hit this point)

also small apology to the people waiting on the bachelor fic, i've rewritten the first chapter twice, but rest assured once i get the first chapter out of the way, the next few will come in quicker

But I am getting back into the hot men of f1, thank god, and initially this celebration was going to be closer to july, but here we are, and so this event will run a while.

Basically to explain it's an f1 x olympics!reader :) because i have a hyperfixation on the olympics

Rules:

Pick 1 letters, one for the person and one number for the reader's sport - i will then make a moodboard AND A small blurb :) (cause i need to get out of the writing slump)

my guidelines are here

i am only writing for the drivers and related people listed (but if you really want another driver, chuck it in my inbox and ill probably make it anyway)

this is only for moodboards and short blurbs, however my requests will remain open through the celebration so if you're inspired by this but want something else instead feel free to head to my inbox :)

please be patient - it may take me a few hours to do yours, but depending on how many requests I get, it could take a few days

please specify gender, else i'll probably make it gender neutral

for now no limit on how many requests 1 person can submit, but if i get overwhelmed I will

i will take description requests, face claim requests, blurb requests, country requests, whatever you want to specify BUT all I need is 1 letter, 1 number and a gender for reader :)

the event will close on the 11th of august (when the olympics end) (and also so i have a little bit of a time before a birthday celebration!)

NOW TO THE CELEBRATION:

PICK 1 LETTER - ONE FOR DRIVER

AND PICK 1 NUMBER - ONE FOR READER

drivers!

A - Alex Albon

B -  Ollie Bearman

C - Charles Leclerc

D - Mick Schumacher

E - Esteban Ocon

F - Fernando Alonso

G - James Vowles

H - Liam Lawson

I - Peter Bonnington

J - Jack Doohan

K - Kimi Raikkonen

L - Lewis Hamilton

M - Max Verstappen

N - Lando Norris

O - Oscar piastri

P - Pierre Gasly

Q - Logan Sargeant

R - Daniel Ricciardo

S - Carlos Sainz

T - Yuki Tsunoda

U - Lance Stroll

V - Sebastian Vettel

W - Mark Webber

X - Paul Aron

Y - Toto Wolff

Z - Jenson Button

reader!

breaking

boxing

volleyball

golf

rhythmic gymnastics

tennis

modern pentathlon

weightlifting

equestrian

bmx cycling racing

football/soccer

basketball

archery

diving

shooting

handball

triathlon

water polo

judo

swimming

hockey

wrestling

marathon swimming

3 x 3 basketball

trampoline gymnastics

sport climbing

mountain bike cycling

rugby sevens

track cycling

road cycling

sailing

sprint canoe

beach volleyball

badminton

taekwondo

bmx freestyle cycling

canoe slalom

fencing

rowing

surfing

skateboarding

artistic gymnastics

artistic swimming

athletics

table tennis

taglist of people who i hope are interested (if not just ignore :) ):

@barcelonaloverf1life, @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @badblondebisexualboy, @ghostking4m, @fate-posts, @evelyn-4034, @jupiter-je-taime, @redcrescentmoons, @youraveragebritishamerican, @v3lnys, @thatonesblog, @seventeendevotee, @annegrey, @pear-1206, @alchemxx

[tokuvivor]

Due to circumstances beyond the control of any others, @violetganache42 and I are splitting duty on this week’s highlights post (Competition Night edition). She did it for the shorts and episodes, I’m doing it for An Extremely Goofy Movie.

So without further ado, here we go.

“Polar Trappers”:

We bring ‘em back alive

@puffyducks: bro where is pabo

Donald hunting a penguin, which is now illegal to do so

Not the kid!

The baby penguin’s tear becoming a massive snowball

“Need 4 Speed”:

QUACK PACK (Again!)

Disney Ducks meet The Fast and the Furious

@spamtoon: huey you guys aren't in phineas and ferb

Daisy appearance!

The idea of Comet Guy Night

@ducklooney and puffy going off about humans being in the Duckverse

Us calling Donald and the authorities to kill Rocky the Rocket Throttle

From Negaduck ass car to Ratcatcher

@writebackatya: "This is like the Family Guy of the Duckverse"

Ludwig appearance!

puffy: "where's dick dastardly"

Puffy, Missy, and I using 90s slang

Daisy seeing the triplets in the race:

RIP ethnically stereotyped racers

WriteBackAtYa: "DuckTales 2017 needed a car race episode"

Violet: "Would Huey and Launchpad be commentators?"

WriteBackAtYa: "Yes Always"

Violet: "SOLD!"

Ludwig's toy kangaroo winning the race

@tealottie: erection joke

“The Missing Links of Moorshire!”:

Webby giving Scrooge semi-permanent hearing loss

Launchpad: "This lake will be used for the swimming portion of the competition."

Huey: T_T

Violet: "Cue theme song!"

Missy betraying Della with Daisy

Tony the Tiger?!

The entire coin toss scene 🤣

Us praising Glomgold

Missy commenting how Scrooge and Glomgold can't tuck their tails for golfing

The audio glitching like CRAZY

Fluttershy and Bubbles the Kelpies

Webby: "Talking animals wearing clothes?! :D"

@fantasticenthusiasttale: "Webby…"

Violet, internally:

"Bologna. Trampoline."

THE MUSIC USED FOR THE MONTAGE!

Louie yoinking money out of Glomgold's sweater pocket

Emo Dewey

"You people are no fun."

Webby: "Not everything has to be a life lesson."

Violet:

Violet pretending to be turned to stone by the Medusa Mist (as I like to call it)

Launchpad ending the episode with a life lesson… before trying to devour golf balls

“Dog Show”:

puffy: "you know who else is an orphan"

Dreamy: "Everyone in this shit is an orphan"

The dog show people being dogs

Goofy literally begging

Pixar ball

Mickey unleashing his inner dog

An Extremely Goofy Movie

Calling out all the characters from the previous movie as they show up

The fact that Pete is celebrating his own son leaving💀

How is Goofy single?

Goofy having major rizz (this point comes up quite a bit during the movie, and for good reason)

Max’s character development from A Goofy Movie being undone

Sad Goofy☹️

HDL mention!

Bradley Uppercrust III

@kaitosduckmania: “god this shit is so pretentious LMAO”

Will: “I want this review on the back of the DVD”

Max/Roxanne vs. Max/Bradley on Tumblr

Beret Girl!

Puffy: “you know who ELSE is called tank”

Violet: “MY MOM”

Puffy: “they’re snapping at us…MENACINGLY”

Bradley having the same VA as Johnny Bravo (also, The Man with the Yellow Hat)

Max’s horrified face when he sees that he and his dad are in the same class

Bobby wearing pink panties/briefs

Hidden Mickey

Goofy’s mispronunciation of the word “trigonometry”

Puffy: “the WHAT decimal system”

Sylvia being adorable

Goofy does a Donald-esque voice

Kai: “WHAT THE FUCK GOOFY YOU CAN MAKE THAT VOICE?”

Will: “Max’s whole character is that he doesn’t want to be like Goofy but like he is so much like his father that he doesn’t even know it”

More cheese pull (pizza in the last movie, nachos in this one)

BONGO MUSIC

PJ has rizz, too

Goofy and Sylvia dancing to Shake Your Groove Thing

Papa Dog

Us dumping on the inherent cult-like nature of fraternities, sororities, and the National Honor Society

The German judge low-balling everyone

Dreamy: “Is this the olympics all again”

Puffy: “this is MY olympics”

Max shooting down Goofy in the worst way possible

Goofy’s weed/acid trip dream (plus the Goofy holler!)

More Goofy sadness

Meta humor about almost everyone wearing gloves

Missy betraying Daisy with Sylvia

CHEATING!!!!!

PJ flying off

Dreamy: “He went to visit Della”

“Mud! My only weakness!”

Will mentioning that the scene with the X crashing down was removed from the broadcast version of the movie after 9/11 (which we completely understand, because holy shit)

Also, sort of a Hindenburg reference

Goofy graduating! (And then telling Max he was getting a job at the school)

Sylvia having the same VA as Emma Glamour

Spam floating the idea of Max vs. Gosalyn for the X Games

Disco end credits!

Also, that was a goofy movie. Extremely, even.

[colourme-feral]

Get to Know Me Tag :)

Thanks for tagging me, @telomeke @callipigio @ranchthoughts @my-rose-tinted-glasses!

do you make your bed?

Kind of? It's just a thin sheet, so I try to get it to cover my bed

what's your favourite number?

I like the unlucky numbers because they are unlucky, so 4 and 13.

Aside from, I like multiples of 5 and most odd numbers.

what is your job?

To be vague, I deal with a bunch of excel sheets.

if you could go back to school, would you?

I go back and forth between whether I do or don't all the time. It's the whole 'the grass is greener on the other side' thing.

can you parallel park?

Gimme a golf cart and I'll see what I can do. An actual vehicle though? No.

a job you had that would surprise people?

I did a short part time stint at a supermarket, stacking shelves. It would surprise people because I am fairly clumsy and I did break a bunch of jam jars once on the job 😂

do you think aliens are real?

alien life forms probably exist. if conditions are ideal for things to grow, they will.

can you drive a manual car?

I once stalled a friend's pick up truck while she was trying to teach me how to use it. End of my driving career.

what's your guilty pleasure?

Watching excessive amounts of tv

tattoos?

I don't like things for long enough, so I'd probably get bored of the design too soon and then wish I didn't have that, so no. Also, needles are scary.

favourite colour?

Green. I guess 😂

favourite type of music?

It depends on how I'm feeling.

do you like puzzles?

I like Wordle and some variants, same with Sudoku.

any phobias?

I'm afraid of birds, heights and sharp objects.

favourite childhood sport?

I was gonna say lap sitting, because I really liked sitting in my parents' laps, but then I also tried sitting in some toddler's lap and broke his leg. So I'll say swimming instead.

do you talk to yourself?

I've been doing this the entire time I've been answering this post!

what movies do you adore?

Don't test my memory like this... 🤡

coffee or tea?

I'm already thinking about what tea to drink tonight after work... Probably an oolong

first thing you wanted to be growing up?

Probably a detective. I remember I liked the idea for a long time.

No pressure tagging @blmpff @troubled-mind @sparklyeyedhimbo @neuroticbookworm

[housethemd]

Inlet

(House/Wilson, pre-relationship, loosely set in S2. This will be cross posted to my AO3, where I am WhiskeyRose1)

There are very few physical activities House can still do. After the infarction they had to trade golf weekends for movie marathons, tennis night for bowling night, and lunch break runs for a seat in the cafeteria.

Except for one Tuesday every month. On the third Tuesday of the month the local YMCA pool has a free swim from 2-3:30pm. Lord only knows why, because by that time the housewives and their toddlers have left for nap time, it’s too late in the afternoon for the usual lunch break crowd, and the after school rush hasn’t started yet. It means that the pool is practically deserted.

That’s how Wilson talked House into going. Never mind the plethora of benefits that being in water has for House. While he would never say it, Wilson knows that floating in the tepid water eases the ache in his ruined thigh as well as the aches he never talks about. His hips, his back, his shoulder, all take additional strain due to his disability and the weightlessness of the pool eases the pressure.

They have the changing room to themselves, and they strip down in front of one another with the ease that over a decade of friendship brings. Wilson’s swimsuit is a simple pair of black swim shorts, while House’s are neon yellow with black flames up the legs. House’s are also board shorts, instead of falling just below mid-thigh like Wilson’s, House’s bathing suit touches his knees.

Wilson remembers going to the beach together in the early days of their friendship. House always wore these bright red, 6 inch inseam trunks. They came well above mid-thigh, showing off his muscular legs. Back then House was incredibly physically active and his years of lacrosse, rowing, cheerleading, and running showed on his physique. Wilson was no slump physically, but the looks he got were nothing compared to the number of heads House turned - female and male alike.

They hose off in the provided showers, getting themselves nice and wet before entering the pool area. Wilson watches the water sluice down House’s bare chest and wishes he could make House see how attractive he still is. Sure his body is more lithe than it used to be, but he’s still well put together with broad shoulders giving way to a slim waist and narrow hips. He’s no less attractive at 46 than he was at 33 when they met. House wears his age well. The salt and pepper of his hair distinguishes him, his scruffy look giving him a care free air, and of course he still has those huge bright blue eyes that threaten to steal your soul if you stare into them for too long.

Once they are sufficiently soaked Wilson offers his arm to House. He takes it, let’s Wilson take some of his weight as they make the slow walk from the men’s change room to the pool. The floors are wet and slick and even though House’s blue water shoes give him a little traction they still take their time, lest either of them slip. He still can’t quite believe he talked House into wearing the water shoes. House had balked against them when Wilson first bought them for him after their first pool trip, citing that only old people and toddlers wore water shoes at a pool. After some very blunt words about how like it or not House was a fall risk due to uneven balance, he’d slipped them on wordlessly the next month.

They walk until they are at the edge of the deep end. House finds it easier to walk poolside until they hit the deep end, then slide off the edge into the water, as opposed to trying to walk through the shallower water until it’s deep enough for swimming. Wilson supports House as he lowers himself to sit at the edge, feet dangling into the water.

Wilson retrieves a pool noodle from the bin near the lifeguard station and tosses it in the water before diving in himself.

When he surfaces he shakes the water from his face and hair like a dog, making House laugh from where he is still perched on the edge. Wilson always expects more of a shock when he hits the water, but the pool is kept at a comfortable 85 degrees. Once he’s stopped laughing House pushes himself off the ledge and into the water, momentarily disappearing beneath its surface. When he bobs back up Wilson passes him the pool noodle. House slides it underneath his waist and lays back. House is heavy enough that his body still sinks beneath the water but provides enough buoyancy that he can float without having to move his limbs to much.

Wilson swims laps for a while, as House floats leisurely. Wilson pauses periodically to observe him. His eyes are closed as he lets the ripples of water push him around. Every few minutes he checks his surroundings and if he is nearing a wall or the shallow end he’ll kick his good leg and use his arms to gain enough momentum to float in a different direction.

When Wilson is satisfied with the number of laps he’s done he’ll climb out to grab his own pool noodle and he and House will float side by side. They talk about nothing in the way only old friends can. House says something rude and Wilson splashes him in the face. This evolves into more and more aggressive splashing until the lifeguard has to tell them to settle down. Wilson looks appropriately chastised but House just smirks.

Nearing the end of their extended lunch break, they make their way out of the pool. House stands on his good leg on the ladder out of the pool and uses his arms to push himself back onto the tile floor outside. Wilson scurries out after him to help him stand. They make their way back into the change room and go through the same motions as when they arrived but in reverse.

When they make their way back out to Wilson’s Volvo, both with hair still damp, Wilson can’t help but notice how House moves a little easier. He always does after an hour in the pool. Wilson wishes he could get House to do this more regularly. The university campus has a gym with a pool, and faculty gets in for free. There is no reason why House couldn’t be swimming a few times a week, but Wilson knows being seen by his peers needing support is what keeps him from going.

So Wilson will keep bringing him to the deserted free swim at the YMCA, where he can lean on Wilson’s arm and wear his water shoes without fear of his colleagues losing respect for him.

[riding-the-sunset-bird]

Hello! I was wondering if I could pitch the idea of having a guide system for MC's athleticism points? I think that would be pretty cool and useful! But ofc you can take all the time you need! Especially since you're working on the rest of Step 3 and 4 Cove guides and probably other things. ^^

Hi!

And oh, it's no problem! Athletic points are pretty basic and I've talked about it before, but it'd be nice to have it all in one place (along with what it affects) soooo~

For Step 2

Intro

When the MC is talking to Kyra about their hobbies:

"I go to the beach and..."

○ "Build sandcastles." [no change]

○ "Swim." [athletic +1]

○ "Look for seashells." [no change]

○ "Walk along the shore." [no change]

○ "Go surfing." [athletic +1]

"I'm into sports, like..."

○ "Tennis." [athletic +1]

○ "Volleyball." [athletic +1]

○ "Golf." [athletic +1]

○ "Basketball." [athletic +1]

○ (Type in your own sport to play!) [athletic +1]

○ "All of them, generally." [athletic +1]

○ "Watching them." [no change]

When the MC is talking with Lee about positive elements of schools:

"Learning new things can be cool." [no change]

"Gym is pretty great, though." [athletic +1]

"It's the easiest way to hang out with people not in the neighborhood." [no change]

"The cafeteria lunches at my school could be better than they had any right to be." [no change]

"There's nothing good about my school." [no change]

Step 2 athletic points only affect winning the gummy toss in Birthday, which I explained here.

Your Step 2 athletic points also do not carry over to Step 3, so you start fresh.

For Step 3

Intro

If the MC chooses that they've gotten into new things since they'd grown up:

You liked going to the beach and...

○ Building sandcastles. [no change]

○ Swimming. [athletic +1]

○ Looking for seashells. [no change]

○ Walking along the shore. [no change]

○ Going surfing. [athletic +1]

You were into sports, like...

○ Tennis. [athletic +1]

○ Volleyball. [athletic +1]

○ Golf. [athletic +1]

○ Basketball. [athletic +1]

○ (Type in your own sport to play!) [athletic +1]

○ All of them, generally. [athletic +1]

○ Watching them. [no change]

When the MC is walking back to the neighborhood with Cove:

You were walking tiredly after such a long day. [no change]

You strolled with a skip in your step. [athletic +1]

You ambled along. [no change]

Cove was giving you a piggyback ride home. (Fond/Crush only) [no change]

Hang (Cove or Baxter's version)

When the MC is choosing their body definition:

You had noticeable muscles. [athletic +2] {also sets MC to buff}

You had a little muscle definition. [athletic +1] {also sets MC to toned}

Your body was soft. [no change] {also sets MC to shapely}

Your body was delicate. [no change] {also sets MC to shapely}

Charity

If the MC agreed to meet Cove at poppy hill:

But you wanted to use the front door. [no change]

You could leave from your window. [athletic +1]

Your athletic points affect a few things in Step 3.

In Hang (Cove's version only), there's an extra bit of narration if you chose to stay with the group instead of going back to the neighborhood with Cove. With more than 2 athletic points, the game will note how good the MC is when the group is playing with the abandoned soccer ball.

In Errands, the MC can give Cove a piggyback ride even if they're average (with 1 or more athletic points) or short (with 2 or more athletic points). I explained this in more detail here.

In Charity, if the MC wanted to use the window to go out to poppy hill with Cove and refused his help, they'll have varying degrees of success whether they have 0 athletic points, 1 athletic point, or multiple (2 or more) athletic points.

In Boating, if the MC chose to decide turn order based on an arm wrestling competition and didn't try to distract Cove, they win automatically if they're buff (by choosing that your MC had "noticeable muscles" in Hang). However, if they're toned (by choosing that your MC had "a little muscle definition" in Hang; also, for some reason, the game checks specifically if you've played Cove's version of Hang for this but not if you chose to be buff, so ignore this if you played Baxter's version), then your MC only wins if they have 1 or more athletic points and Cove is not in any way Sporty. If the MC is toned but has no athletic points (same as above, you have to have played Cove's version of Hang), they can only win if Cove is in any way Studious. If you played Cove's version of Hang but are not buff nor toned, then Cove automatically wins regardless of athletic points, but if the MC did not play Hang (or played Baxter's version and is not buff), then the MC wins if Cove is in any way Studious.

In the Step 3 Ending, if the MC chose to go to visit Cove at night, there will be extra narration whether the MC has 0 or 1 or more athletic points when they try to clear the fence.

The Boating one specifically was kind of a headache so to recap that one specifically:

Buff MC (in any version of Hang)?

○ MC wins.

Toned MC (in Cove's version of Hang)?

○ 1 or more athletic points?

○○ Cove is not Sporty at all?

○○○ MC wins.

○○ Cove is Sporty at all?

○○○ Cove wins.

○ 0 athletic points?

○○ Cove is Studious at all?

○○○ MC wins.

○○ Cove is not Studious at all?

○○○ Cove wins.

Soft/Delicate (Shapely) MC (in Cove's version of Hang)?

○ Cove wins.

Did not play Hang at all (or played Baxter's version and didn't choose for their MC to be buff)?

○ Cove is Studious at all?

○○ MC wins.

○ Cove is not Studious at all?

○○ Cove wins.

[differenteagletragedy]

omg.. for the holidays, the olba poly boys and mc go on a nice cruise together. cove is at the food places 24/7 derek is swimming and playing the sports stuff, baxter is taking those dance classes with mc. please hear me out.

Oh how fun!!!

-- Lollllll Cove at the food places, you know he would! He's going to have a bellyache the whole time.

-- Except he won't because Derek is there, and Derek is going to tell him to take it easy. He also packed some tummy meds too because he knows how Cove is and everyone saw his coming a mile away.

-- Personally I love sporty Cove, so he'd also take some time to play stuff with Derek. You and Baxter like to watch Cove and Derek be sporty together, so that's a fun activity for you guys too!

-- It doesn't even have to be on the cruise, like Derek asks Cove if he wants to go kick around a soccer ball one afternoon, and you and Baxter don't even have to be invited, you just start packing a few things and they're like "???" but then you get to the park together and you and Baxter just set up a blanket and some snacks near the field.

-- What if Derek convinces Baxter to try a sporty thing with him because it's a cruise and it's a special occasion?! You're out on the ocean with a bunch of strangers, no one is going to know Baxter. It'll be fine if he borrows a little athletic shirt (well, it's little on Derek, pretty fitted, but it'll hang on Baxter) and some shorts (Derek is going to have to help him tie that drawstring tight, he is skinny boy) and does an activity.

-- I pulled up an itinerary, looks like some cruises have mini golf too! Everyone can play mini golf! Baxter is going to cheat though, so keep an eye on him.

-- Or you probably don't need to, because Cove will. And if he catches him then boy is he going to be in trouble.

-- Also it looks like most cruises that leave from California go somewhere in Mexico, so that's fun! You can go to an island! Forget the buffets (for just a moment, anyway), this is Cove's favorite place.

-- Oh man you're on some island, not your usual beach in Sunset Bird, and it's such a magical experience. Everyone is feeling extra happy and cozy, and Baxter lets Cove take him out a little farther in the ocean than he usually does.

-- Derek is taking pictures, he's got a little waterproof thing for his phone.

-- Everybody's sitting on the beach, taking it in, feeling all romantic, and Baxter goes, "If you were a mermaid, what would you want to look like?"

Cove: *explains with not a single nanosecond of hesitation*

You and Derek: *secret fist bump*

-- Baxter is going to be dancing with all three of you and he's going to be the happiest guy in the world.

-- Did he make everybody pack their formal clothes? You already know he did.

-- You know when you go on a trip with a group and there's always that one person that knows everything that's going on and has a schedule and tries to stick with it? That's Derek. Make him let loose.

-- It's such a special experience, you decide to make going on cruises a semi-regular thing!

Derek: Maybe next time we can fly out to the east coast and do one in the Bahamas or something!

Cove: And get lost in the Bermuda triangle? No thanks.

You: Cove, I don't think that's --

Cove: No.

Baxter: Perhaps an Alaskan cruise? See the northern lights?

Cove: *scoffs* Yeah, we'll go on vacation and get eaten by bears, Baxter, sounds like a blast.

Derek: ... We could do this cruise again.

Cove: *smug* Now you're talking.

[askagamedev]

What do you believe are the easiest and the toughest real world sport to translate into video games? My guess is Golf being the easiest since there are so few active objects at any given time.

I suspect you're asking from a technical perspective, since the "business" answer is that the easiest game to translate is the one that stands to make a good profit, and the hardest game to adapt is the one that won't sell. The number of active objects don't really matter all that much, we've got tech like the Dynasty Warriors games where we can have hundreds and thousands of moving dudes at once. Difficulty to adapt is also dependent on how much abstraction we're doing - today's Madden NFL 24 is an entirely different beast than 1988's John Madden Football was, even though both games are ostensibly translations of the same sport. Back in 1988, the biggest roadblock for the game was Madden himself insisting each football team needed to have 11 players on it and the hardware couldn't support that many.

From a technical perspective, I think the hardest sports to adapt have core features that are (currently) extremely expensive. Features such as:

Physical deformation - physical bodies contorting and deforming accurately when hitting each other

Signature movements and likenesses from well-known and familiar real life players

Real time environmental changes - rain causes players to get wet and changing their characteristics and animations, but also certain patches of the ground turn to mud, resulting in players getting muddy and difficulty traversing those areas

Thus, I think Rugby is probably the most technically difficult sport to chase after. American Football and Football/Soccer are probably close contenders as well.

Easy games to adapt tend to be the ones that need the fewest resources. Most games that are easy to adapt show up in compilation games like the Olympic type games. A 100m run or swim, for example, could take advantage of reusing a lot of resources (environments, animations, etc.) and don't have a high bar. Weight lifting games would be similarly low-effort for feasibility.

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