#I must leave the walmart

[meloidysoldtheirsoul]

Im at Walmart looking for the reproduction dolls and there's this girl that's also here for them and she's explaining the mh timeline to her girlfriend with such fierce passion it's remarkable

#her gf looks sooooooooo confused #this must be confusing time for a walmart employee #random alt and queer people rushing to the toy aisle and leaving angry #btw they didn't have the dolls and i got scared by a talking baby toy #so massive lost #monster high #monster high reproduction

[fishfission-dc]

Batfamily Powerpoint Night! (Part 9: Barbara)

<<Part 8: Duke    |    Part 10: Alfred >>

[Masterlist]

Barbara: Alright, my turn!

Tim: Frankly I’m terrified for what’s about to happen

Dick: Oh Babs will be nice, don’t worry :)

Dick: I stand corrected

Steph: Oh god

Bruce: [sighs and puts his head in his hands]

Barbara: I organized it roughly from newest vigilantes to oldest, since more patrolling means more room for spectacular failures

Duke: It was a bad day for me

Jason: HA

Steph: Been there, done that. Not on TV though that really sucks man.

Steph: NOOOOOO

Tim: ONE SQUARED?

Steph: I GOT CONFUSED

Jason: [Hysterical laughter]

Damian: One multiplied by one?!

Steph: I THOUGHT IT MADE TWO I UNDERSTAND MY MISTAKE

Duke: From this mask view footage Batman is just watching this go down

Bruce: He said he didn’t want help. Felt like a teaching moment.

Damian: (muttering) I was fine.

Dick: Damian we were not going to drive you to 5th grade with a knife in your liver.

Steph: You’ve had this footage for four years?!

Barbara: I keep a file for blackmail. Cass doesn’t really have much, though.

Cass: (signing) I did learn the dance. Eventually.

Tim: WILL THIS TORMENT EVER END

Jason: YOU CRASHED THE BATMOBILE INTO A WALMART, TIMMY.

Steph: You deserve every joke we make about this

Damian: Your idiocy must be remembered

Dick: Yeah Tim this is pretty bad

Jason: Can I have that mask view footage

Barbara: I got ya

Tim: I hate it here

Jason: I really can’t defend this one

Dick: Why...? Did you shoot the trashcan?

Jason: I thought it was looking at me funny

Damian: The trashcan?

Jason: I was up for 52 hours give me a break.

Barbara: Do you want to tell them why you pulled two all-nighters in a row? Or should I?

Jason: You are an evil, evil woman. How do you even- nevermind. Of course you know everything, why do I even wonder. And for the record, the first night I stayed up for a case.

Barbara: And the second night was for Animal Crossing.

Jason: ...perhaps.

Duke: Oh my god.

Steph: And you laughed at me?

Bruce: (sighs)

Steph: Stop you were adorable in high school

Barbara: Thank you, but the braces? The acne? The bangs? 15 year old Barbara had no idea what she was doing.

Dick: I for one thought you were very cute in high school.

Jason: Stop flirting or I will leave

Bruce: Why were you both on a roof at night in your school uniforms?

Dick: I think let’s move on

Dick: Nevermind nevermind go back

Tim: Oh my god, Dick.

Duke: ”Purposely” ?!

Dick: I was nine

Damian: I knew better by age 9.

Bruce: Lessons were learned. I hope.

Jason: I’m starting to think I was one of the better Robins

Dick: I felt like I see sounds for three days...

Bruce: All traces of this were wiped from the internet.

Barbara: Oh Bruce, you know I’m better than that.

Dick: Hold on, hold on, we need an explanation.

Alfred: (as he walks by) A little too much to drink goes a long way...

Tim: YOU WERE DRUNK? ON PATROL?

Jason: No way. Even I haven’t been that stupid.

Duke: What did you buy at CVS

Bruce: ...apparently... I bought lollipops.

Steph: “Apparently” as in the next morning you didn’t remember putting on the Batsuit, going to CVS, buying lollipops, and talking to a guy with an audio recording device?

Bruce: ...yes.

Cass: (signing) Very bad. Very funny, but very bad.

Damian: Also an ineffective use of a smoke bomb if this civilian saw you walk away...

Bruce: Barbara, you have made your point.

<<Part 8: Duke    |    Part 10: Alfred >>

[Masterlist]

#batfamily powerpoint au #this one took a while because i drew all the goofy art #i especially like the one of baby dick grayson #also high school barbara was just me in freshman year #projecting my cringe high school era onto barbara gordon #also i did not forget betty kane's batgirl in my numbering #batfamily #batfam #barbara gordon #oracle #batgirl #bruce wayne #batman #dc comics #dick grayson #nightwing #robin #dc robin #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #duke thomas #stephanie brown #cass cain #black bat #orphan

[fxllfaiiry]

𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐨 ! ୧ ‧₊˚

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: you go to the monaco grand prix alone, but come back with a certain someone.

warnings: none! one small spelling error please don't mind it!

notes: requested ─ yes (deleted the request by accident). I'm trying out a new format of smau, I may change it later but we'll see. face claim: simone ashley cause I'm literally obsessed with her <3

♡ liked by charles_leclerc, oliviarodrigo and 4,908,124 others

⤷ yourusername 🌷💜

─ view all comments ─

user1 mommy 🛐

szakillbill wait charles liked??

user4 ariana, what are you doing here?

wallows_4 it's probably nothing tbh 😭

user2 I just fell to my knees in a walmart

gluesong19 how is she this hot??

ynsmymomm_1 woman 😌✨

user5 I want her so bad!!!

♡ liked by f1wagsfan1, ynsonlybitch and 56,901 others

⤷ ynsupdatess y/n today at the monaco grand prix!

─ view all comments ─

user22 something's definitely cooking y'all 👀

iloveyn I need her wardrobe 😔

user09 if charles pulled my wife then istg 😒

lwymmdstan lord have mercy 😩

userskies mother is there?? omg??

katesharmaluvr we got fed today!!!

lavenderhaze1 charles must have an unimaginable amount of rizz to have pulled her

user29 she only gets the best

♡ liked by zendaya, tomholland2013 and 7,098,165 others

⤷ yourusername monaco was a dream 💐

─ view all comments ─

userynslover Y/N SOFT LAUNCHING?? OMG

taycatswift the rumors are true?? what??

tomdaya23 she didn't leave monaco empty handed 🤭

heartstopperlovebot she's living a fairytale life ✨

alwaysandforever I don't know if I want to be her or be with her??

charlesandyn it's 100% charles!!

sweaterweather505 she's the queen of soft launching, look how aesthetic this post is!!

flawlesstnb charles is one lucky guy 😔

user8 if they're together then they'll be the hottest couple fr

lanahoneymoon @/charles_leclerc WE NEED ANSWERS!!!

♡ liked by clairo, wallowsmusic, deepikapadukone and 10,769,256 others

tagged @/charles_leclerc

⤷ yourusername came to monaco alone, left with the love of my life 🫶

─ view all comments ─

yns1andonly IT'S HAPPENING Y'ALL!!!

user80 this is not a drill

sheilakijawani2 THE WAY I SCREAMED 😭😭

gracieabramsluvr the caption?? I'm crying 🥹

fxllmoonluv only the best for them <3

diorariana the stars of the show 🫶🫶

livelaughbooks 🥹🫶

charles_leclerc couldn't let you leave alone, could I?

yourusername ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

user11 SHAKING, SOBBING, CRYING, THROWING UP-

#🩹 — my works ⌇ ་ ˖ ˚₊· #charles leclerc #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 social media au #ferrari #charles leclerc drabble #f1 x you

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 9: Why Don’t We Go There]

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

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (+18), beef cattle, drugs, alcohol, smoking, Walmart, vegan baking, David Archuleta, mental health struggles, pregnancy, pigs, bodily injury, death, miscarriage, Jace acting vaguely human, angst, Southern Baptists, Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “You have no idea how much I’ve kept from you.”

Word count: 8.6k.

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

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

Only 1 chapter left! 💜

The last day of summer, the first day in Kansas City: emerald seas of soybeans, cornstalks taller than you are, massive tractors rolling laggardly on the shoulder of the road, red-tailed hawks perched on utility poles, cloudless cerulean skies, sunlight that beats down like soft rain. There is a long, rambling dirt driveway that leads from Route 210 to your parents’ farm. When you climb out of the Escalade, you cannot hear traffic or voices or some playlist of bygone pop hits or ice cubes jangling in misty glasses or the roar of jet engines. You can hear only the sounds of the Midwestern earth: wind in the leaves, cicadas humming, the distant mooing of black angus cattle. For a moment, Comet Donati just stands there breathing in the unhurried, golden air like the atmosphere of a new planet, their lungs acclimating, their eyes wide and peering around. Where have we landed? Any signs of intelligent life?

There are footsteps and then the squealing creak of the screen door as your dad throws it open. Along with your parents pour out five Australian cattle dogs. They bark uproariously, herding the new arrivals like errant calves. Aemond laughs and crouches down in the dust of the driveway to pet them. Rhaena screams and clings to Luke.

“Belmont! Bel, you git down!” your dad scolds, pulling her away from Rhaena by the collar: pink, so everyone knows she’s a girl. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart, she don’t bite none.”

“Unless you’re a cow, of course,” your mom adds, tittering merrily. She starts handing out glasses of sweet tea, already dripping with condensation. Outside it’s 80 degrees even.

Your dad whistles as he studies Aemond’s scar, his sightless left eye like a pool of blue fog. “That must’ve hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Jeff!” your mom objects mildly; she abhors swearing.

Aemond considers your dad: a man who doesn’t flinch away from him, who doesn’t bury truths under the cover of night. “It did.”

“My uncle came back from ‘Nam with something like that. Was never right again.” He taps his own skull. “You must be tough as nails to be carrying on like you are, son. What happened to you was a damn shame.”

“Jefferson, please!” your mom says.

“The man’s been to New Jersey, Carol! I think he’s heard worse words than bitch and damn!”

“Her name’s Belmont?” Rhaena says, frowning nervously at her canine tormentor: rust-orange, brown-eyed, tail wagging eagerly at the prospect of making new friends.

“You betcha.” Then your dad informs Aemond: “That’s Lone Jack you got there.” He points to the remaining dogs. “And the others are Carthage, Kirksville, and Island Number Ten. We call her Tenny.”

“They’re all named after Civil War battles,” you tell Comet.

“Civil War battles in Missouri,” your dad says. He turns to his guests. “Were you aware that over 100,000 Missourians served in the Union Army? Ulysses S. Grant’s first military assignment was in Missouri. He met his wife Julia here.”

“Daddy, they’re English. They don’t know what the Union Army is.”

“Were they for or against staying colonies?” Aegon asks, and Criston covers his face and groans.

Your dad spots the motorcycle Aemond rode here from the airport, weaving between the Escalades until Criston stuck his head out a window to yell at him. “Lord almighty, is that a Gold Star?! Made by the Birmingham Small Arms Company?”

“Yes sir,” Aemond says, smiling down at a delighted Lone Jack and scratching his long pointy ears.

“An ingenious piece of machinery! ‘55?”

“1960.”

“Remarkable.” Your dad admires it. He’s wearing red flannel, Wrangler jeans, the UChicago hat that you bought for him your freshman year of college.

“We’ve been told you don’t eat meat,” your mom says to Aemond, with a gentle, sympathetic tone like she’s conscious of some bad luck that’s recently befallen him: a grim diagnosis, a storm that carried away his house. “So I’ve got some chicken soaking in buttermilk to fry up for supper.”

Aemond chuckles uncertainly.

“No, she’s serious,” you tell him. And then: “Mama, we went over this on the phone. He’s vegan. That means no animal products at all. No meat, no poultry, no fish, no dairy, no eggs, nothing that came from an animal.”

“Well I’ll be, what the heck does he eat?!” your dad says. “Carrots? Acorns? Sticks and leaves? He can graze out in the pasture if he likes.”

“We’ll find you something,” you promise Aemond.

Your dad surveys Aegon (white cargo shorts, neon pink tank top, sparkly matching Crocs) and then Jace (black skinny jeans and a violet sequined blazer with nothing underneath except a mosaic of tattoos). “I suppose you two will be wanting to share a room. Well, it ain’t my place to pass judgement, I reckon. But I don’t want to overhear nothing that couldn’t be done in church.”

Jace is confused. “Huh…?”

“No, Daddy, they’re not gay.”

“What, me?!” Aegon exclaims. “Gay?! For Jace?!”

Jace says: “Sir, if I ever start looking at Aegon that way, I give you enthusiastic permission to take me out back and shoot me dead like a horse with a bum leg.”

Your dad guffaws, a deep gruff rumble like an earthquake. “I don’t think I could oblige you, buddy.”

Your mom gestures to the front door. “Y’all go on in and make yourselves at home. We got a few extra bedrooms and a nice big den if anyone’s willing to sleep on a couch. But be warned: you’ll probably end up having a dog or two snuggled up with you.”

“We are guests here!” Criston shouts at the band as they begin dragging their luggage inside, suitcase wheels bumping up the creaking wooden steps of the wraparound porch. “You will not humiliate me! You will not break things! You will not cause any problems whatsoever or you can stay at the Hilton with the security guys and I’ll have them handcuff you to a bed!”

“He will,” Aegon warns the others. “I’ve seen him do it before. To…um…somebody.” He disappears into the five-bedroom farmhouse: mint green paint, white accents, two rambling stories plus an attic and a cellar.

Criston waves to the security detail as the Escalades turn around in the driveway—stirring up dust like a parched cough of earth—and then head back towards Route 210, towards the light pollution and acclaimed barbeque joints of Kansas City. Now Aemond is standing by the barbed wire fence of the pasture and looking longingly at the black angus cattle grazing on tall swaths of windswept, green-gold switchgrass. Lone Jack, Carthage, and Kirksville are all bounding around him hoping to elicit praise and scratches. Tenny has taken a liking to Baela and follows her and Jace into the house. Belmont, still held captive by your dad, whines and struggles.

“Aemond, you can’t pet the cows,” you say. “They’re beef cattle. They spend most of their lives out in fields, they don’t get handled very often, they’re not used to people. They can be aggressive.”

He is disappointed. “Oh, okay.”

“You can pet the pigs though,” your dad says.

“Pigs?” Cregan perks up. “There are pigs?”

“Sure are. Well, they’re pigs now…come Thanksgiving, they’ll be hams! Hahaha. They’re right ‘round the back of the house. You’ll show ‘em, chickadee?”

You reply: “Yeah, Daddy. I’ll show them.”

As the rest of the band claims sleeping spots and unpacks their suitcases inside, you lead Cregan and Aemond—and Lone Jack, Carthage, and Kirksville, all blue speckled with random splatters of white markings like stray dabs of paint—to the pigs. They have a large, muddy enclosure surrounded by a wooden fence that stops at your waist; pigs, fortunately, cannot really jump. They immediately come trotting over to their visitors, tails swishing and snouts twitching, spewing a chorus of guttural oinks. Aemond leans down to pet them, beaming, then takes a Ziploc bag of raw cauliflower out of his jeans pocket and starts dropping pieces into the pigs’ gluttonous, slobbering, gaping mouths.

“Wow,” Cregan says. He’s grinning broadly, something that’s rare for him. He slips out his phone and starts taking pictures. “Iris is going to love this.”

On the second floor of the farmhouse, a window slides open. “Aemond!” Aegon calls. “I need help! It’s an emergency!”

“What’s your problem?” Aemond snaps.

“Tell Jace I need the bigger bedroom!”

“Please go away.”

“Aemond! Do not betray your favorite brother!”

“Hey!” comes Daeron’s muffled objection from inside.

“Aemond! Threaten to break Jace’s face again!”

Aemond exhales in a loud sigh and then makes for the house.

Still taking pig photos, Cregan glances over at your belly: ten weeks. Not enough to be properly showing, but enough that you can feel a difference, an extra inch here and there, a heaviness that settles in you like stones plinked in a jar. Your parents don’t know. Nobody knows but Aegon. “So,” Cregan says. “Have you told Aemond yet?”

Your attention jolts to him, a lightning strike, a surge of adrenaline. “What?”

“I remember what it looks like when someone’s trying to hide the fact that they’re pregnant.” He smirks. “And I remember that night at Club Camelot.”

People are going to start figuring it out eventually. Aemond is going to figure it out. “Do you think he’ll take it well?” you ask hopefully.

“No,” Cregan says.

In your chest, a sinking like dead weight: “Oh.”

“But he’ll probably come around to the idea eventually.”

After he’s said something unforgiveable. After he buries another knife in me, spilling blood and scraping marrow. You stare down into the pigpen, observing them root around for remnants of cauliflower and blink their awfully intelligent eyes, too clever for the fate they’ve been assigned.

Cregan lights a cigarette and puffs on it, taking advantage of a rare moment out of Criston’s line of sight. “When I first found out about Iris, I did not behave in a way that I would consider to be honorable. But fortunately, nature gives everyone time to adjust to these things. I had my head right by the time she was born. If I had to guess, I’d say it will be similar for Aemond. Then again…” He takes a deep, meditative drag. “I’d like to think I was never as fucked up as he is now.”

You study Cregan. “So you’ve been watching me. I’ve been watching you too. You haven’t been partying as hard. A few vodka shots, a secret cigarette on occasion. But no more disappearing with Aegon to do lines in the bathroom or arranging drop-offs with drug dealers.”

He shrugs. “Someone has to be the adult. Someone has to help Criston look out for the others. It used to be Aemond, but not anymore. He’s different now. One day he’ll figure out where he’s supposed to be and he’ll stop touring with Comet altogether. So I’m going to do it. There are people who need me.”

“Comet is your family,” you say. “Just as much as your mother and siblings and Iris. They love you. They belong to you, and you belong to them. And that will never change.”

He smiles; his greyish eyes are teasing but kind. “Good luck, Stargirl. You need it.”

“Thanks, Cregan.” And together, you leave the pigs and join the rest of the band inside.

Your parents’ farmhouse, the same one you grew up in—a different world, a different you—is painted in shades of gold: late-afternoon sunlight, chicken thighs and drumsticks browning in canola oil, mashed potatoes wet with cream and butter, corn cut from the cob, an enormous pan of baked macaroni and cheese, homemade rolls, a butterscotch pie cooling on the windowsill. You find a vegan alternative for Aemond in the pantry: a box of Barilla spaghetti, a jar of Ragu marinara sauce. Criston insists on cooking it so everyone else can enjoy their supper. Cregan asks your parents about tips for raising pigs; Rhaena asks about the history of the farm; Aegon eats butterscotch pie until he has to roll out of his chair and lie sprawled on the hardwood floor for a while, Australian cattle dogs licking at his pink palms and cheeks. And when Aemond finally receives his spaghetti and marinara sauce, you think: That’s the same thing he was eating in Rome. And you remember the razored sting of the comet tattoo, the nightscape motorcycle ride, the incomplete truth about Aegon, the realization of what you felt for his scarred, perfect, brilliant, haunted younger brother.

“I didn’t know the weather would be so nice here,” Baela says as she scoops herself a third helping of macaroni and cheese. Tenny lies by her feet under the table, her muzzle resting on her paws.

Your dad nods, but his words hold a warning. “It can turn quick.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“He could be a stay-at-home dad,” Aegon suggests. It’s the next day and you’re up in a hundred-year-old white oak tree, killing time until the Escalades arrive to shuttle Comet to soundcheck and their first of two shows at Arrowhead Stadium in downtown Kansas City. You’re sitting on a colossal, sturdy branch only four or five feet off the ground, your feet dangling; Aegon is a few limbs above you, alternating between swinging like a monkey and lying on his stomach so he can peer down at you with those large, oceanic eyes.

“No. If he chooses to, sure. But not because he has no other options. A baby is not something to paper over a quarter-life crisis with.”

Aegon thinks, then is struck with inspiration. “He could work for your dad on the farm!”

“The beef cattle farm?” you say. “You want the traumatized vegan to spend the rest of his life as a cog in the blood-drenched machine of American industrial agriculture? Besides, I’m sure he hates Missouri.”

“I don’t know, I mean I thought I hated Missouri too. But lowkey it kind of slaps.” Aegon closes his eyes and smiles as the warm, sunlit breeze breathes through him, tousling his hair. It’s long again, it’s almost down to his shoulders. He smells like sunscreen and Axe body spray and the homemade waffles your mother made for brunch, soggy with dollops of butter and a river of amber-colored maple syrup. Something’s missing. It takes you a moment to realize it’s the scent of beer. Your parents don’t approve of drinking, the house is bone dry. Aegon hasn’t complained about that yet, a miracle, Moses turning the Nile to blood. Maybe Missouri is good for him after all. “How’s Starbaby?”

“Good, I think. I’m not nauseous anymore. Now I’m just super hungry and horny.”

“Oh my God, you can’t say stuff like that around me, now I’m having immoral thoughts.” He squeezes his eyes shut, frowns mournfully. Goodbye forever, pornstar pussy. “When are you going to tell Aemond?”

“Soon,” you say noncommittally, like a coward. Not a coward: someone who’s been hurt before. Not just hurt: slaughtered, buried, exhumed, robbed for the jewels on the bones of her fingers. You’re finally whole again. You’re in no hurry to imperil your resurrection. “Cregan knows.”

“Rhaena knows too.”

“What?!”

“She asked me in Dallas, but she waited until I was sloppy drunk first. Smart girl. I tried to deny it, but honestly she already had it figured out.” Aegon looks at you meaningfully. “If you wait much longer you’re going to lose control of this thing. It’ll get to Aemond before you can. And I think it will be worse if he finds out from somebody else.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’ll tell him, Aegon, I promise. Before Comet flies out of Kansas City.” They’ll be leaving you here, though no one except Aegon and Criston know that yet. Their private jet will take them to New Orleans, and then Miami, and then all the way to South America: Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paulo, Bogota, Buenos Ares, Lima, Santiago.

Now someone is trekking across the field behind your parents’ house and towards the centenarian white oak tree. It’s Jace. He’s wearing a rather understated outfit today: a lavender polo, denim shorts, boat shoes. His dark curls whip and tangle in the wind.

“Ugh,” Aegon says once Jace close enough to hear. “Why don’t you go try to pet a rage-filled, 2,000-pound mound of unprocessed cheeseburgers?”

“I’m here for my complimentary therapy session.”

Aegon stares at you. You stare back. The only sounds are made by the earth and the sky and the animals, air in the leaves, the low mooing of cattle. You both wait for Jace to rescind his request. He does not. At last, you relent. “Okay. Fine. Aegon?”

“You want me to leave you alone with this inked-up ogre?”

“Confidentiality is important. I’ve always given it to you, Jace deserves the same.”

“Does he really?” Aegon flings back; but he obediently climbs down from the tree and walks to the farmhouse. Your parents have no booze, no internet, a landline telephone, and a single tv with basic cable. Everyone else is in there playing Uno, doing animal-themed puzzles, and baking apple cider cookies in honor of the first day of autumn. You’d think Comet would be losing their minds after adapting to months of nonstop, breakneck excitement, but they seem to be enjoying themselves. You feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. You don’t miss the jet, you don’t miss the bars or the five-star hotels, you don’t even miss your apartment in the city that is still being sublet by some grad student with a Flemish Giant rabbit. You wonder if you ever wanted to leave the farm at all, or if you only wanted to leave the way you felt about yourself the last time you called this place home.

Jace grins and hauls himself up onto the tree branch to sit beside you. “Want to see my new tattoo?”

“Comet has definitely already been to Kansas City.”

Still, he’s acquired one, left wrist, black ink: a single star the size of a quarter. “For you, Stargirl. So I don’t forget about you. So I don’t lose you in the sea of gorgeous women I have marooned myself in.”

“It looks like a pentagram,” you say. “That’s appropriate, since you’re basically Satan.”

He’s not offended. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I want to talk about?”

“I already know.”

“Do you really?”

“You’re happy, but you feel bad about it. You wanted to be the leader of Comet, but you wish it could have happened a different way.”

Jace opens his hands and offers you a crooked, wry smile. “I might jibe at Aemond, but I don’t hate him. Why else would I let him knock out four of my teeth without expecting any penance in return?”

“No, you certainly don’t hate Aemond.”

“And what happened to him…it sucks. I mean, obviously, it was life-ruining for him. Not ruining, I shouldn’t say that. I’m sure he’ll get a new life someday. But it wrecked him in ways I’ll never be able to understand.”

“You’ll have to let him go when the time comes.”

“Yeah,” Jace says, unusually somber, gazing out across the field of white wild indigo, prairie dropseed, blue star, yarrow.

“And if Baela gets into ballet school, you’ll have to let her go too.”

Now Jace turns to you, startled. “I can’t. I’d miss her.”

“Yes, but you aren’t right for her. Sometimes we have to give people the freedom to realize they want something more than us. It’s the greatest act of love we can do for them.”

He laughs, a disdainful little snort. “That’s what everyone says. If you love someone, let them go. But then nobody ever really does it. They cling and they manipulate and they beg. Nobody helps the people they love leave them. Nobody escapes the indignity of becoming a regret.”

Please don’t let that be true. Please don’t let Aemond regret meeting me, touching me, maybe even loving me. “Why do you think that is, Jace?”

And he says, like it’s obvious, like you should already know it: “Because letting go is too fucking painful.” He hops off the branch and drops into the tall grass below. Then he extends a hand to help you down. “Come on. I bet those apple cider cookies are ready.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You see glimmering dresses, incandescent string lights, neon signs, the winding reptilian sheen of the Missouri River in the distance, faint dots of stars muted by the city’s synthetic luminance. You taste your faux Bramble: ice, cranberry juice, a sliver of lemon on the rim, sweet and tart and cold. The speakers are thumping out Prayin’ For Daylight by Rascal Flatts. Aegon is in neon yellow. You almost wore the same, but the flowing yellow gown you bought in Reykjavik suffered an unfortunate Australian-cattle-dog-related incident before Comet left your parents’ farmhouse for the concert. You opted for the short sparkly black dress embroidered with silver stars instead…and hurried out the door before your parents could catch a glimpse of your comet tattoo.

“No way!” Baela cries as she checks her phone. “Look, look!” Liam Payne has just posted a selfie on Instagram. Cuddled up next to him on a beach in Ibiza is Shelby, tan and with her long blond waves flying everywhere. The comments are a smorgasbord: Cutest couple EVER! Aww, did you and Aemond break up again :( Enjoy your vacay, girlie! Guess love really can’t conquer all. You are stunning, Shelby! I’m still hoping you guys get back together. You deserve better! What is Aemond even doing these days?? Is this why Comet took A Girl Named After A Car off their tour setlist :(((

“Damn, poor Liam,” Daeron says. “Should we warn him?”

Aegon replies: “Bruh, this is so tragic. That dude has enough demons already.”

“Good luck, Liam,” Luke says, toasting his Mai Tai against Aemond’s fully-alcoholic Bramble. “Thoughts and prayers.”

“Maybe he’s dumb enough to sign up to be her boy band baby daddy,” Aemond quips. You and Aegon exchange an uneasy glance. Then Aegon gets an incoming FaceTime call. It’s Taylor Swift. He beams—he lights up, he glows—and rushes away to find a quiet spot where he can talk to her. Criston chases after him, extra vigilant since Aegon’s overdose in Las Vegas.

You gulp down the rest of your not-cocktail cocktail. The bartender calls over: “Another cranberry juice, ma’am?”

“Cranberry juice?!” Daeron says. “That sounds…healthy?”

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Baela asks you. It would be a rude question if you didn’t know each other so well. Though not quite as well as she thinks. Cregan and Rhaena peer awkwardly down into their glasses, eyebrows raised.

“Because. Um.” You hesitate. Aemond looks over at you curiously. “I’m an alcoholic.”

Baela blinks. “You’re what?”

“Um. I was developing an alcohol problem so to be safe I stopped drinking altogether.”

“How mature of you!” Rhaena chirps, then drags Baela towards the dancefloor. Luke and Jace go with them. Daeron and Cregan depart to charm some potential paramours: a flock of Kansas City University students for Daeron, a bachelorette party of flattered, giggly soccer moms for Cregan. You procure another cranberry juice from the bar and then return to Aemond. You are alone together, a strange combination of adjectives: solitary, secretive, appreciated, known. You migrate towards the edge of the roof and sip your matching drinks, wearing your matching black clothes, wind in your hair and the sounds of late night traffic on the streets below.

“So this is the place,” Aemond says, playful, wistful. “Where you and Aegon…met.”

“It feels so different now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look out over the city, breathing in humid night air and a verdant, ancient wildness. “You know how when you’re a kid, you’ll go somewhere and it feels endless and magical, and then you go back five or ten or fifteen years later and you’re disappointed? Like, that’s it? Is this even the same place?”

He swigs his Bramble. Ice clinks; the glass is frosty in his hand. “I know what you mean. But it hasn’t been that long. A little over a year.”

“I guess I’ve changed.” More grounded. Less restless. Less aimless. More pregnant.

“I hope Comet hasn’t traumatized you.”

You laugh, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only two people at this rooftop bar, in this city, on this planet: one river blue eye, one pool of sightless otherworldly mist. He hasn’t worn sunglasses since Shelby’s deportation from the band’s retinue. “Not yet.”

He is mischievous. “There’s still time.”

Not much of it. Aemond’s iPhone rings, Mr. Brightside. He checks it. “Is that Shelby offering you ten thousand blowjobs if you take her back?”

Aemond smiles. “No. It’s Helaena.” He answers and puts it on speakerphone. “Hi, LaeLae. Can I call you tomorrow? I’m at a very loud, very crowded rooftop bar.”

“With her?” Helaena asks, delighted.

“Yes, actually.”

“Okay. Call tomorrow. I wanted to tell you about the praying mantis I found in the garden. Check the weather. Goodbye!” She hangs up before Aemond can.

“Weather…?” he muses, then shakes his head and slips his phone into the pocket of his dark jeans. He returns his attention to you. “Ten thousand blowjobs, huh? I think I’d rather have another ten minutes in a bar bathroom.”

You are so game. It’s humiliating how game you are. Dear Starbaby, today I had slutty bar bathroom sex with your slutty dad, the same place I hooked up with your super slutty uncle. “Really?”

“No,” Aemond says sheepishly. But the corners of his lips are curled up in fond nostalgia. “That’s not my usual style.”

“What is your style?”

He drains his Bramble and turns to you. “Do you want to get out of here?”

You want few things more. “Yeah.”

You leave your empty glasses on a tray by the edge of the roof. Aemond lets Criston know that you’re taking one of the Escalades back to the farm. Aegon pauses his conversation with Taylor Swift just long enough to wink at you. No need for condoms, he mouths with a grin. And then he shouts, as the opening notes of Starboy blare from the speakers: “Stargirl, it’s our song!”

The Escalade makes one pitstop: the Walmart just off Route 210, the same one you always shopped at growing up. Aemond piles the requisite ingredients for vegan chocolate chip cookies in the screechy-wheeled cart, flour, baking soda, salt, white sugar, brown sugar, dark chocolate chips, rice milk (Aemond swears it tastes like Rice Krispies), vanilla extract, coconut oil. You wander down the aisles together talking, joking, finding excuses to touch each other, hands on wrists and collarbones and waists.

As you scan the items at one of the self-checkout kiosks, two guys buying frozen pizzas and White Claws peek over at you and start snickering. You grab snippets of their conversation like fireflies from the air: critiques of your body, critiques of your soul. You ignore them. This happens sometimes when you’re home. Someone from high school will recognize you, someone will remember.

Aemond is staring at them. Not staring; glaring, seething, mentally splitting flesh and dislodging teeth.

“Aemond, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m not upset. Just ignore them.” He walks away from you. “Aemond, don’t!”

He grabs the closest man’s shoulder and spins him around. “You got a problem?”

Both men gawk up at him, mouths hanging stupidly open and eyes inane like fish. The one he’s clenching sputters: “I’m sorry, are you…are you…are you Aemond Targaryen?!”

“I’m the guy who’s about to go to prison for second degree murder if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

He puts both hands in the air. “Hey man, I am actively shutting the fuck up. You have a nice evening.”

Aemond releases the man with a shove that sends him staggering back into a rack of tabloids. He returns to you, puts the bags in the cart, starts pushing it out to the parking lot.

The man turns to his friend. He is starstruck, elated. It might be the best day of his life. “Bruh, I just got assaulted by Aemond Targaryen…!”

The Escalade glides through the dark to your parents’ farm and drops you and Aemond off in the dirt driveway before zooming back towards the city. Aemond insists on carrying the shopping bags…but he doesn’t go inside. He stands near where his Gold Star is parked and gazes up at the night sky: moon, stars, the hazy white shadow of the Milky Way, all unmarred by the arrogant, buzzing radiance of electricity.

“Aemond?”

“You can see everything out here,” he says. “Maybe Kansas isn’t so bad.”

“Missouri.”

“Missouri,” Aemond agrees. “But you’re still the best thing about it.”

You smile. “I don’t know the names of any of those constellations.”

He points to show you. “Ursa Major. Ursa Minor. Perseus. Draco. Hercules.”

“Heroes,” you say.

“And animals.” He ascends the steps of the front porch. They creak beneath him, weight that will soon be gone, to New Orleans and Miami and South America and God knows where else.

Your parents are watching the 11:00 news in the den. The weatherman is issuing tentative warnings for tomorrow. Summer is gone, storms are coming in. They politely ask what you and Aemond are up to and then try not to look repulsed when you mention vegan cookies. You’re actually pretty excited; you love cookie dough, and because it will have no raw eggs in it, you can eat as much as you like without endangering Starbaby.

On the kitchen counter is the same CD player that your mom has owned since 2008. You press play on whatever she has currently spinning around in there. MercyMe? TobyMac? Danny Gokey? What you hear instead is Crush by David Archuleta.

“That’s a throwback,” Aemond notes.

“My parents love David Archuleta. He’s Christian, he’s cute, he’s gracious, he doesn’t swear. I remember them incessantly calling in to vote for him when he was on American Idol. They put in a prayer request at church to help him win the competition. I guess God used his executive veto power.”

“Do they know he’s…?” Aemond draws an invisible rainbow in the air with his fingers.

“No, they don’t use Google.”

“We won’t tell them. He needs the record sales.”

You and Aemond mix the cookie dough and then portion it out on a baking sheet. He slides the sheet into the oven, sets the timer, and then notices the reserve of dough you’ve left in the bowl. You dip your pinky finger in and then lick it slowly, savoringly: sweetness, chocolate, fats obtained without the sacrifice of a soul.

“Looks good,” Aemond says, a little hoarsely.

You swipe your index finger around the curve of the bowl and then offer it to Aemond. He holds your hand still and licks your finger clean, his tongue dragging over your skin, goosebumps rising on your arms, heat stirring up everywhere. You’re transfixed by him; you can’t stop watching. Then he closes the gap between you and cups your face in his palms and kisses you, not in some glittering city or on a stage or for an Instagram post but in the kitchen of a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, the home of nobodies. His lips are sweet, swift, seeking more. He only pulls away when the noise of heavy footsteps approaches the kitchen.

“Smells great in here, chickadee! Even if they are vegan cookies.” Your dad says the word vegan like someone else might say the name of a tourist destination halfway across the globe. He can’t quite get the pronunciation right. His eyes snag on the bare skin between your shoulder blades. “Lord almighty, what is that on your back?!”

Your comet tattoo, that’s what. “Uh, Daddy—”

“It was my idea,” Aemond says quickly, seamlessly. “They’re my lyrics. Lyrics I wrote before the accident, I mean. And I was feeling just…purposeless, and useless, and really doubting myself. She wanted to show me that my work still mattered. So when the band was in Rome, Jace got a tattoo and I suggested she get one too. It’s entirely my fault.”

“Huh,” your dad replies uncertainly. “Is that right? Well, I suppose there’s not much to be done about it now.” He chuckles and moves your hair so it’s covering your tattoo. “Let’s not mention it to your mother. She’s already got high blood pressure. Say, can I try one of them cookies when they’re ready?”

Criston and the rest of the band arrive back at the farmhouse just as the cookies are coming out of the oven. Miraculously, no one is drunk enough that your parents are aware of it. Everyone samples the vegan chocolate chip cookies and agrees that they are nearly as delicious as the cruelty-enhanced version. You and Aemond watch each other from across the kitchen that’s now crowded with people, hearing them but also not, wanting more and knowing you can’t have it, here in this place with little privacy and very few remaining secrets.

Comet scrambles to get ready for bed, racing to claim bathrooms and banging on doors to peer pressure people into finishing their showers faster. Back in your bedroom, clean and alone and wearing an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants, you rearrange your pillows over and over again and try not to think about the band leaving in two days. Strangely, you don’t really want to go with them; you don’t want to board the jet, you don’t want to sightsee, you don’t want to be surrounded by people ingesting poison in all its forms. But the thought of being away from the band—from Aegon, from Aemond—is impossible, unbelievable, horrifying. You’re humming something as you crawl into bed. You don’t even realize what song it is until you’re under the covers and sinking into sleep: The Man Who Can’t Be Moved.

You’re only asleep for ten or fifteen minutes. When you wake your eyes are watery and you can’t remember your dream—you almost never can—but you know that Aemond was there. Now he’s here in your room as well. He’s gently stroking your cheeks, your forehead, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he’s murmuring, only a silhouette in the darkness. But you would recognize him anywhere. “You had a nightmare. You were crying, I heard you.”

“Were you lurking outside my door or what?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he asks: “What were you dreaming about?”

“You.”

And when you reach for him, he meets you without hesitation, his hands in your hair and his lips on yours, blankets thrown aside, his weight between your thighs, your fingertips ghosting against his face, reading his past and future like braille. He bites your lower lip, nips at the curve of your jaw, kisses a path down your throat like the contrail of an airplane. You yank off his t-shirt. He lifts away yours. He’s touching you everywhere, fingers beneath your pajama pants, smothering his moans against your neck so no one else will hear.

He whispers breathlessly: “I don’t want to rush this time.”

“I’m yours for as long as you want me.” Forever, I hope. And then: “Can I turn on the light? I want to see you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. And then he reaches out to click the lamp on. The nightstand is cluttered with your souvenirs: refrigerator magnets, snow globes, figurines, cosmetics, snacks, crochet celestial objects, the frisbee from New Jersey, your plushie sika deer nestled together with the hammerhead shark from the aquarium at the Mandalay Bay. In the weak golden lamplight, you study Aemond like a painting, a marble statue, a comet you’ll only see once in a lifetime.

You say, softly like a prayer if you believed in such things: “You are so fucking beautiful.”

He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t stop. He wants to see you too. Your clothes are gone, every scrap of fabric and concealment; if he is cognizant of any minuscule changes in your body, he is not suspicious of them. Now he is bare for you as well, now he is pushing your thighs apart so he can marvel at you, taste you, drench his mouth and chin in your wetness, bring you to the edge of a cliff with no bottom, no rocks to rupture against. Now he is inside you, tremendously big but also careful, listening to you, watching every line of your face, slowly, so exquisitely slowly, his tongue darting between your lips and his palm against your cheek. And you remember how Aegon felt—always so simple and yet transient, soothing and welcome but never necessary—and Aemond could not be further from that. Nothing about what you have with him is simple. It is profound and intense and singular, and the thought of it not lasting forever is agony.

Afterwards, he retrieves his vintage metal lighter—small, square, Targaryen etched into one side—and a shimmery gold pack of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes out of the pocket of his pajama pants that are crumpled on the floor. He lies on his back and takes deep, drowsy drags, smoke like opaque morning mist in the air, one arm draped across you as you rest your head on his chest, lungs and heart and bones and blood.

Secondhand smoke isn’t good for the baby. You get up out of bed and sneak across the treacherously creaky hardwood floor. “Let me open a window.”

“So your parents won’t know?”

“Yeah.” You push the window open and then turn to him. “You should stop smoking. It’s really bad for you.”

Aemond smiles faintly. “Why would I care about that?”

“It’s bad for the people who love you too.”

He looks at you for what feels like a very long time. “Come back,” he says at last.

You do: to Aemond, to his warmth and lust and tenderness, to the space he occupies that will soon be empty like the vast expanses between comets, between stars.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I would like to say something.” You rise from your seat at your parents’ long dining room table, perfect for hosting judgmental-church-people gatherings and family reunions. Lunch for Comet Donati is steak and baked potatoes, lovingly prepared by your mom just before she and your dad left in their Ford F-150. It’s Sunday, and your parents will be at church socializing with their friends until late afternoon. Aemond is suffering through another meal of boxed spaghetti and Ragu marinara sauce. He doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite; not for food, anyway. You take turns glancing at each other and then looking away, smiling, flushing. Now he is intrigued by your announcement. His brow knits into thoughtful little grooves. The Australian cattle dogs scuttle around under the table for scraps. The television is on in the den. A tornado watch has been issued for the greater Kansas City area; no big deal, they get alerts like this once or twice a week here sometimes. It rarely amounts to carnage. Outside the sky is a tumultuous grey but not especially sinister at the moment: no greenish hue, no cloud rotation.

“You agree that Aegon hooking up with Taylor Swift would be disastrous for everyone involved,” Jace jokes.

“No, I know what it is,” Aegon says. He pokes at his baked potato with his fork, melancholy.

“I want to thank you for giving me this amazing opportunity,” you tell Comet. You have perhaps not dressed for an occasion of this significance: flip flops, a tie-dye One Direction hoodie, an old pair of shorts you found in your bedroom dresser. You like the way Aemond watches you when you wear them. “And I’ve experienced so many things, and learned so much from all of you, and I sincerely hope that we’re going to be in each other’s lives forever. But for right now…for this tour…Kansas City is my last stop with Comet.”

“What?!” Baela cries.

“No!” Rhaena gasps, her dark doe-like eyes glistening.

People are asking you why, people are asking you to reconsider. Aemond only stares, a sharp hostile look, menacing like storm clouds.

“I really, really appreciate everyone’s concern. But it’s been over three months, and this was never intended to be a permanent arrangement. Right, Aegon?”

“Right,” he reluctantly agrees.

“And it’s time for me to figure out what the rest of my life is going to look like, because I can’t just follow Comet around the world forever.”

Cregan nods to Criston. “Did you know about this?”

“I did, yeah,” Criston confesses. “We finished up the paperwork last week.”

“But we’re going to miss you,” Baela says. She sounds shockingly close to tears. Jace tries to soothe her and she shrugs his hand away.

“I know,” you concede. “And I’m going to miss you too. But we’ll still talk all the time, and I’m always willing to help you guys with anything, and maybe in the future I can visit—”

Aemond stands, his chair squealing against the hardwood floor, and flees from the dining room.

“That went well,” Jace says.

Aegon points towards the doorway Aemond left through and asks you: “Do you want me to…?”

“No, I’ll do it,” you say, and go after Aemond. He’s outside by the pigpen, his hair and t-shirt whipping wildly in the strengthening gusts of late-September air. Sparse raindrops fall from the sky. The pigs are agitated, pacing, oinking, scampering in and out of the shed they have for shelter. Aemond is smoking, embers glowing on the end of his cigarette; you purposefully stand upwind from him.

His voice is stunned and dazed and beneath that dangerously angry. “You’re leaving the tour.”

“Yes.”

“When we get on that jet tomorrow, you’re not going with us.”

“No, I’m not.”

“And you told Aegon and Criston but you didn’t tell me.”

“I had to tell Criston. And Aegon…” What can I say? What is the truth? “Aegon is easier to talk to about things like this.”

“So you feel like you can’t talk to me?” Aemond demands.

“Well, yeah, because sometimes you’re kind and patient and the single most incredible man I’ve ever met, and then something rattles your demons awake and you’re this…this…this vengeful, mistrustful, irrationally insecure person, and I can’t do anything right because you’ve already decided what my intentions are.”

“I want you to stay with Comet,” he says suddenly.

“I can’t, Aemond.”

“In Tokyo you asked me what I want, so now I’m telling you. I want you to stay.”

“Why, so you can sometimes love me and sometimes hate me, and refuse to build a new life for yourself, and relive what happened at the Budokan over and over and over again because that’s the background noise of everything you do now? Why?”

He gestures vaguely. “So we can figure things out.”

“I’m figured out, Aemond! You’re the one who isn’t and I can’t help you anymore, you have to do it for yourself, you have to want it!”

“You’ve never wanted to stay with me. You’re a liar, you’re a user. I’m glad Comet could fill that gap in your resume.” He takes a forceful drag and exhales smoke that the wind snatches away. “All you do is keep things from me.”

Venomous, violent disappointment blooms dark and scarlet in your veins. “You have no idea how much I’ve kept from you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You watch him, mourn him, commit him to memory for when you can’t see him anymore, every thread of him, miraculous and doomed. Saint Jude, you think, a man your parents as good Southern Baptists do not pray to. You tell Aemond: “You’re a lost cause.”

“And you’re a nobody.”

You turn away from him like ripping a page in two. You don’t want anyone to see the tears welling up in your eyes, escaping down your cheeks, marking you as someone who was weak enough to believe you could save him. You know that’s not the way it works, you know people have to be willing to accept the truths you help them uncover like prehistoric bones. Still, you believed in him. Why? Why?

Because I wanted to. Because I love him.

Your flip flops pound against the soil of the driveway, raindrops leaving spots like freckles, dust flying everywhere. You swipe at the tears that blur your vision. When you are far enough away that nobody can see you from the farmhouse, you rest your trembling hands on your belly. The life in progress there is half-built of Aemond, you carry pieces of him around with you like coins jangling in you pocket. You can’t forget him. You can’t forgive him. It shouldn’t be possible to be so close to somebody and yet so far away.

There’s no one out on Route 210. Your flip flops cross from a dirt road to black pavement. You lose track of how long you’ve been walking. Five minutes, ten minutes, it doesn’t matter. What are minutes when your mind is years away?

How will I keep Aegon in my life without tabloids finding out about the baby? What will I tell my child when they ask who their father is?

A vicious wind, so strong it snaps branches from trees and almost knocks you over. And then you hear it, that sound that every inhabitant of the Lower Midwest knows: a deep rumbling like a train. You peer up into a sky that is dark and murderous and glowing a strange sickly green. And above your head, spiraling with increasing speed: a funnel cloud, an emergent tornado.

~~~~~~~~~~

Criston is herding everyone towards the cellar, bellowing, waving frantically: Aegon, Luke, Rhaena, Jace, Baela, Cregan, Daeron, five yelping Australian cattle dogs. Through the window, they can see the tornado approaching the farmhouse, a column of shadowy atmospheric fury, unpredictable and unstoppable, here and then gone, the meteorological version of a comet.

Aemond slams the door as he sprints inside from the field behind the house. He breaths heavily, his chest heaving as his clear right eye studies the band’s panicked faces. “Where is she?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘where is she’?!” Aegon pitches back. “She was with you! She’s with you, right?!”

Aemond looks at Aegon, looks through the glass at the tornado, grabs the keys to his 1960 Gold Star off the dining room table.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re running, but you can’t see; there’s dust and debris everywhere, there are pieces of trees and fences careening through the air, when you breath you choke on airborne earth. The wind keeps pushing you off the road and then you have to fight your way back. You have to find your parents’ driveway. You have to get to the house. The sun is gone, and the roaring like a freight train is louder, louder, louder. And now there is another sound too, a different sort of growling, mechanical and familiar. Punching through the haze like a bullet, Aemond and his Gold Star screech to a stop beside you.

“Get on!” he screams over the storm, then helps drag you onto the seat behind him. You link your arms around his waist and then you’re flying together, just like Rome, just like before Reykjavik or Paris or Singapore or Tokyo or East Rutherford or Las Vegas or any of the other cities happened, back when you believed you could cure him like a witch with a spell, back when you wanted him in a way that was unburdened by truths you wish you didn’t know.

The Gold Star rockets by trees, utility poles, fence posts seconds before they are ripped from the ground by 200 miles per hour winds. Aemond steers roughly onto the dirt road of your parents’ driveway. You cling to him, breathing him in: smoke, cologne, memories, nightmares, dreams. In the rearview mirror is a maelstrom of dark, churning grey peppered with wreckage.

Something collides with the motorcycle, a pence post, a tree limb, you don’t know, it doesn’t matter. The Gold Star is knocked off the driveway like a bloodied tooth from a jaw. You sail off of it as it begins to roll; you hit the ground hard on your back, loose a pitiful wounded howl, try to start crawling towards the farmhouse.

“No, stay down, stay down!” Aemond is saying over the roar of the tornado. He covers you, he shields you, he pins you to the ground, he puts his hands over your eyes. The last thing you see is the Gold Star lying on its side a few yards away, its wheels still rotating. It’s over 400 pounds, too heavy for Aemond to lift even if you helped him, even if that couldn’t hurt the baby.

The baby?? Your own hands go to your belly. You try to ascertain if the heat throbbing in your back has traveled anywhere else, reached with blood-red, needle-sharp talons to your child, to your future.

The wind is letting up; is that your imagination? No, the tornado is receding, the debris fall to the earth, the deafening runaway train made of rogue air evaporates. Cautiously, Aemond rises from you. When you look at him, the right side of his face is riddled with shallow, bleeding gashes; but his eye is mercifully unharmed.

“Aemond,” you say, pained, reaching for him, trying to clean the blood from his face with your sleeves, a hoodie with some boy band on it, men you don’t know and don’t care to meet, fantasies that pale in comparison to the reality that stains you like rust.

“I’m fine, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so…”

They come stampeding down the driveway: Criston, the rest of Comet, the barking Australian cattle dogs.

“Oh my God, they’re alive!” Jace exclaims, and soon everyone is there, surrounding you and Aemond like a circle, a ring, an orbit, something that goes around and around and might fade but never ends.

You aren’t worried about the baby. There’s no cramping, no pain except the throbbing in the curve of your back, blood loosed and then trapped, indigo bruises tattooed under your skin like ink. You press your palms to the earth and brace yourself so you can stand. No one is helping you get up; why is no one helping you? Why are they only staring, gasping, covering their mouths with shaking hands?

“You’re bleeding,” Aemond says, a panicked voice through fog. Slowly, like trying to run in a dream, you look down. There are thin rivulets of scarlet snaking their way down your thighs, calves, shins, ankles, painless ruinous tributaries, constellations unraveling until the patterns cease to exist, no myths, no monsters, no men, just senseless pinpricks of distant light you’ll never know the names of.

“No,” you whisper, like you can stop it from happening if you refuse to believe it, like it’s a mistake you can talk yourself out of. You gaze up at Aegon. Knowledge flies between you, something shared like an heirloom or an oath.

“Call an ambulance,” Aegon says to Cregan. “Tell them that she’s…” His eyes dart to Aemond and then back to you. “Tell them to hurry.”

Aemond is holding you, he is touching your face, he is asking: “Are you cut, do you need stitches—?”

“I’m alright, it’s nothing, it’s—”

“What are you talking about?! It’s not nothing, you’re bleeding, why are you bleeding?”

“Aemond, it’s nothing—”

“Tell me what to do, tell me how to help you!”

“It’s just…” And a sob breaks from your throat, and your words are brittle and splintering, and you can’t lie to him anymore. You’re out of time in so many ways. “It’s just the baby.”

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aegon ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii

[freyjas-musings]

"They only react to Gwyn and Azriels voice, this is canon .... it is most likely because they ARE MATES."

Smh. Gwynriels after reading the bonus said that Az's shadows danced with gwyn's breath so that definitely means they are mates. So sjm showed in HOFAS that the shadows dancing is not that big of a deal nor is it a mating bond detector. Now y'all are saying it dances only with Az and gwyn. Like how are you not seeing what sjm did with the Walmart bonus?

Secondly, Azriel was humming the song and that's why his shadows were dancing. Was gwyn singing or humming any songs when the shadows danced with her breath? No. So what were they dancing to? Unless there was some silent music they could hear.

Like I don't know what y'all hope to achieve by pretending that these lines don't exist:

"one of his shadows darted out to dance with it before twirling back to him. Like it heard some silent music."

"His shadows had not warned him."

"Even his shadows had calmed."

"Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him."

Why did sjm put so much emphasis on some "silent music" ? Why did clotho saying "I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her." and Azriel immediately seeing that image in his mind "for whatever reason" makes it seem like clotho planted that image in his mind?

So is it us that are not seeing all the pieces of the puzzle or you?

I wrote this long ask because it seemed like you genuinely want to know why Elriels still think gwyn is a lightsinger after reading hofas.

Hello Anon,

This has had to be the most amused I have been .... you basically answered your own questions ...

The shadows reacting positively to Gwyn is not the only reason Gwynriels think they are mates ... his magic reacting positively is one of the reasons... but there are a lot of other common parallels between other mated couples and gywnriel.

And like you pointed out silent music is also basically song between their souls... Mates !!!

Also, didn't you just disprove your own lightsinger nonsense? So she didn't sing ... but the entire lightsinger theory of Elriels hinges on Gwyns "VOICE" luring people ... so she didn't sing ? So she didn't lure the shadows ... they just happen to be love her like they love their master 🤗... See ... you answered your own questions as you went ...

Also while you are shaking you head ... perhaps sit in a position with your head down while you do it? It would help blood circulation and wake those dormant cells in the brain 🤗

"I THANK YOU FOR THE JOY..." 😂😂

Clotho who basically has parallels to a fate saying that.... means there is more to what Gwyn and Az will have to do with each other... Why on earth are you baffled about that ... ????

I am sorry I don't answer lunatic questions so .... for whatever reasons I will be leaving out that nonsense ...

Either ways, see what you want ... do what you want ... kindly stay the fuck out of my way ...

We saw what SJM DID in the Walmart bonus ... she basically proved the shadows dancing is positive and unique to Gwyn and Az ...

Clearly that's what you missed on Glee !!!

Also, you must be new here .... kindly know I have no interest in talking to Elriels for anything ...

When the fuck did I ever ask Elriels for answers ???? 😂😂😂😂.... I know why the lightsinger shit ever came up ... I know who initially came up with the theory ... which few blogs first twisted that nonsense to suit their agenda .... I honestly would never ASK elriels a damn thing ...

Listen, even if I am left on earth with just one other person and that person is an Elriel I wouldn't ask them for answers and explanations.... 😂😂😂😂😂😂

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #pro gwynriel #gwyn acosf #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #gwyn x azriel #azriel #post acosf #acosf theory

[meshlasolus]

Tw: suicidal thoughts (don't be alarmed I'm just venting)

I am so tired. I am so worn out. It doesn't matter what I say. It doesn't matter what I do. I have been financially and physically giving to Palestinians and Israelis who have been injured and were innocent victims through this war. The organization my family and I are working with has done so much to try and save lives. I have done all I can possibly do, but it's not enough. Those of you who drop in my dms or my asks to call me a 'genocidal colonizer' are so truly lost. I hope you all get help, because the amount of hate I've seen against not only myself but against literally every Jew I know is absolutely abominable. Don't say 'from the river from the sea' unless you know what it means, and if you say it, don't say it to a jew. You may hate Israel, and you may even think that all the people there deserve to die, but have you ever taken into consideration that the innocent Jews of either Israel or the rest of the world have nothing to do with their government or the mistreatment of Palestinians? Did you ever once think before you commented on a Jews post to 'wipe Israel off the face of the earth'? Chances are you did not. Chances are also that if you did, you probably just hate jews. Don't comment any bullshit on this post, I'll just remove it. I'm not here to fight anymore, I'm just here to say a few words, and give a perspective to those who think I'm some devil worshipping satanist just because I'm jewish.

These are the asks in my inbox on the daily:

Do you have any idea how this mentally affects a person? Do you even know how horrifying it is to know that so many people want you dead? I've had run ins with depression and suicidal attempts and thoughts my entire life, but never have I been this influenced by outer forces into thinking that I should be dead. Never once has anyone encouraged me to pull a trigger or off myself. Not until this has happened.

The comments and reblogs on posts about my best friend who lived in Israel, and her mother (who is arab, btw) that was killed in the October 7th attack are beyond wild. I can't even imagine how crazy it must be to live in the middle east as a jew. This is only a fraction of the hate that I experience in my day to day life, now.

The middle fingers I get from pissed off passersby at Walmart because I wear a star of david, or the slurs I get called because I told someone I had to leave an event early for Shabbat. It's all hatred, and it all sucks.

The violence, and the aggression that innocent jews are getting from random people who hate them. The little old man who stood on a street corner and held a sign in protest of Jewish hate that was killed today by a pro-hamas protestor. Its all too overwhelming. Why? Because even if you choose not to see it, or even if you condone it and think its 'not that bad', Jewish hate is getting dangerously close to what it was during the time of the holocaust. What's worse? It's being praised. Not just accepted, but encouraged. I posted on my instagram asking for prayers over my friend who's having to hide in a bomb shelter because of the war. The amount of comments saying 'just let her die' were astounding.

I have to ask you, where is your humanity? When jews can not only feel compassion but openly support Palestinians and try and give their services to save their innocent women and children from dying in the war, where is your compassion for innocent jews? Where is your willingness to feel an ounce of sadness for the loss of a life? Are you so hateful that you will condemn a teenage girl to die because of the violence her government commits? And if it happens, will you be so heartless that you will praise the notion that she is dead?

A common phrase used when I ask pro-hamas bloggers what their stance is on the beheading of children or the raping of women is, it usually comes out as: "well what do you think declonization looked like?"

I am always shocked. Every. Single. Time... why? Because I hope with every shred of naivete i have in me that people who have lost so much will understand the pain of those who are also losing so much. When you condemn one government for killing your children, and bringing a genocide upon Palestinians, why do you not also condemn the murdering of children and innocent Jews? Is it because 'that's not your team?' Is it because you want to win so badly that you don't care what the cost is? Do you think that turning into the thing that killed your people will make you a hero? The only thing I can possibly think of that would make a person respond that way is bloodlust. When you condemn an entire nation (including the innocent people) of killing your own, then turn around and do the same thing to their innocents, do you think you've proved something?

Whenever I address these things I'm usually met with the same stuff about how I'm a Jew so I'm biased and I don't get to have an opinion... but I don't think it's fair to say that to someone who's literally living with the repercussions that your hate is causing. Don't tell me to be quiet if you're spreading nazi rhetoric about jews and telling people to kill us.

Again, don't bring any bullshit on here. It will be deleted, and you will be blocked. I've spoken my piece. If anyone is interested in learning more about the organization I work with and donating to help Palestinian and Israeli families getting caught in the crossfire, please drop me a message, I'd be glad to give you more information.

#israel #palestine #fuck hamas #antisemitism #stop jewish hate

[clemswinecorner-socials]

monaco, baby [cn, jmc]

Maybe not your usual relationship, but still a good one ;)

Yourusername

Monaco

liked by clementnovalak, alice.blows and others

yourusername oh monaco, oh monaco tagged clementnovalak, juanmanuel, alice.blows

posted june 15th, 2023

randomfan this looks so fun to be a part of how do i have this friendgroup

yourusername they were 10 for 1 on ebay

fanacc the hats 😭😭😭 paris_armstrong im kind of jealous and i really miss youuuuuu we should go back soon !! jamesharveyblair whose that cutie on the 4th slide😍😍

yourusername my girlfriend x 😚😚 jamesharveyblair is the other one single? juanmanuel idk is he🤨

... view more comments

Yourusername

London, UK

liked by clementnovalak, richardverschoor and others

yourusername lover era🤭

posted june 23rd, 2023

gpetecof i know some guys must be jealous 😂😂 marcusarmstrong gross

yourusername oh you wanted some kisses too?

randomfan you cannot convince me that's not clem in the last slide yourbestfriend god 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️i see what you've done for others🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ otherfan i'm still a little sus of this relationship...

y/ndefender if she's happy just let her be omg

... view more comments

Yourusername

liked by lissiemackintosh, jamesharveyblair and others

yourusername anyone need a drink?🥂 tagged clementnovalak, juanmanuel, yourbestfriend

posted july 10th, 2023

jamesharveyblair yes🍸 formula2fan i keep getting more confused on who she's dating each post randomfan i would sell my sister to be there with them omg marcusarmstrong una tequila per favore clementnovalak what a bunch of 🔙🦴🔙🦴🔙🦴

yourusername dadooooosh🍷🍷

... view more comments

Yourusername

Budapest, Hungary

liked by goldenchild.tv, juanmanuel and others

yourusername wag life with james tagged juanmanuel, clementnovalak, jamesharveyblair

posted july 23rd, 2023

fanacc dream life yourbestie so when are you taking me 🤨🤨

yourusername literally next week you know this

juanmanuel slay! someotherfan "this is my boyfriend clem. this is clems boyfriend james" jamesharveyblair wag life = best life

yourusername so true!

... view more comments

Yourusername

liked by callum_ilott, richardverschoor and others

yourusername some cameraroll selfies tagged yourfriend, juanmanuel, clementnovalak, jamesharveyblair

posted august 2nd, 2023

f2fan that selfie of juan!! asking for a friend how do i also get those yourfriend how cute!! fannumbertres clem is a mood😭 anotherfan how do i get this camera roll

yourusername walmarts lost and found section yourusername Marcus at whole foods though so you could also try there if you'd prefer someone like him

clementnovalak i deffo wasn't asleep in that picture😐😐

… view more comments

Yourusername

Monaco

liked by olliebearman, marcusarmstrong and others

yourusername what happened in monaco definitely did not stay in monaco ;)

posted august 13th, 2023

randomacc is it me or is she kissing different guys f2fan ok that is deffo clem🫠🫠 jamesharveyblair as if monaco was the first time it happened

yourusername you can shut up now x

yoursibling miss you guys! fanaccount miss girl is this a soft launch

yourusername 🤫🤫

... view more comments

Yourusername

liked by jamesharveyblair, marcusarmstrong and others

yourusername love is a weird thing tagged juanmanuel, clementnovalak

posted september 30th, 2023

yourusername alternate caption was definitely 'my boyfriend and his boyfriend who is also my boyfriend' jamesharveyblair i reaaaally though marcus was going to spill this one

yourusername honestly shoutout to rory he's the reason that didnt happen

juanmanuel is your boyfriend single? fanoff2 omg wtf this what i mean slay but wtf??????? clementnovalak my loves 💞💞 otherfan y/n really said 1 f2 driver isn't enough i want both

yourusername it's ocasionally beneficial

yourusername to clear this up, yes i'm dating juan and clem and yes they are also dating each other. if you only have hate to comment just leave because we love and know it works, and your opinion doesn't really matter.

comments limited.

other social media works & main writing masterlist

#f2 x reader #juan manuel correa #clement novalak #formula 2 x reader #juan manuel correa x reader #clement novalak x reader #f2 #jm x clem

[cowpokeomens]

I’m so sorry but I must speak!!!

I am from the Trailer Park and I cannot stop thinking about Trailer Park Neighbor Nick Folio!!!! You moved in a few weeks ago and it just so happens that you both have your morning coffee + cigarette out in front of your respective trailers at the exact same time. You never speak, just nod at each other and go about your business. One day you get an itch for brownies, so you make some using that $1.25 mix you can get at the Walmart, only to realize that you have a whole goddamn tray of brownies now and there’s no way you can eat them all before they’ll get stale. So you load some up not a paper plate with Saran Wrap and take ‘em over to Nick’s, figuring everyone likes brownies, right? And he does- like brownies, that is. He’s delighted when you knock on his door, in a tank-top with no bra and Daisy duke’s barely leaving anything to his imagination, and maybe he invites you inside for a beer, because his momma raised him right and he’s polite to pretty girls who bring him food. And maybe he thanks you by going down on you for an hour while static plays on his TV because he didn’t get around to paying the cable bill this month. Idk just a thought.

#bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #ramblin gal #bad omens x reader #bad omens smut #nick folio headcanon #nick folio fanfic #nick folio fic #nick folio smut #nick folio x reader

[what-even-is-thiss]

I just remembered that time when I worked for Walmart and my left arm just stopped working properly one morning and I requested two days of unpaid time off for medical reasons and they didn’t approve it and I didn’t show up anyways because it was just a summer job for me so they couldn’t really fire me

And my arm got better when I rested it and I went back to work but you know. Some people had been working at that store for like ten years. So I guess if your arm stops working one day you either put your job at risk or go to work with one of your arms missing basically.

And there are people who leave Amazon to go work at Walmart because Walmart treats people better than Amazon. Must be literal hell on earth in those warehouses if that’s the case.

#roman said a thing

[kernyen-xo]

Here we go. It’s a long one.

My aunt is dying. Any day now, her son told the family. So, everyone flocked to see her, including mom, which entailed a 17-hour train ride from San Diego to Sacramento. My brother and I usually meet up in Bakersfield to deliver the momster because she refuses to fly and now refuses to take the train. Of course, doing the Bakersfield thing is a pain, especially if you’re not a morning person because I have to leave by 4:30 am to make sure I’m in Bakersfield by 10. Now, really, I’m glad for it in the end because I’m back home by 2:30-3p.

This time around, mom had to take the train because she was afraid her sister would die before she got to see her. So, mom was insistent she had to leave asap, which meant no Bakersfield trip since my brother and I had to work.

Easy-peasy.

That is, except this last weekend. Mom arrived Friday night near midnight (17-hour train ride, remember?). The next day we see Auntie Sally. That night, I go to the birthday celebration for me, the kid, and grandkid. Mom didn’t want to go.

Anyway.

I assumed my brother and I would meet up in Bakersfield the following weekend, which is a-ok. I have plenty of time to rest and mentally rev myself for the trip, which is something I need to do. Otherwise, without this precious time, I don’t handle it well.

Guess what? Mom wants to leave the next day. I’m like, wait, what? But, I just say ok and quietly freak out inside. This really changes everything. I tell my granddaughter, who is staying the weekend with me to shower at night, that all she has to do is roll out of bed the next am and get in the car where she can sleep.

Easy-peasy, right?

Except, when we arrive in Bakersfield, my brother is not at our meeting place. He’s always there first - always. The guy is an extreme morning person, up every day by 4am. In fact, I thought it was weird that he didn’t call once asking me for an update of my progress.

Long story short. I know, too late.

He thought the mom delivery wasn’t taking place until the following weekend. I was thinking, ok, we’ll head back home and try this again next weekend. But mom? No way. She refuses to go and suggests I leave her there to wait for my brother. Really? Like, I’d do that, and she knows I’d never do that.

So, after drinking a lot of beverages, shopping at WalMart and Nordstrom’s Rack, my brother arrives. He must have booked it because what’s usually almost a 5-6 hour drive, he made it in 3.

The grandkid and me were home by 6:30. I apologized to her for how the day went. She said, what a day! I agreed. We really didn’t get to spend quality time together. I was supposed to take her home that night, but I was so exhausted that I asked if the kid could take her instead, which she did.

The last-minute trip was hard on me. I remember the days when I could drive in a pinch no problem! Those days are gone. I missed work on Monday to recuperate. Ya, this old gal ain’t what she used to be.

And now, I need to get ready for work.

Thx for reading.

Have a good day :)

Toods!

#this has been a kernyen update #20240425

[momentsbeforemass]

Someone else's miracle

I saw God at Walmart last week.

A mom was getting shoes for her two little boys. They looked to be about 4 and 7 years old.

She had found a pair of shoes that fit the older one. And he really liked them.

The younger one really liked them too. And that was the problem.

Because the 4-year-old didn’t just want the same shoes that she found for his big brother. He wanted the same shoes – in the same size as his big brother.

She was trying to get him to try on the shoes, but in a size that would fit him. And he was having none of it.

The more she tried, the more upset he became. Because she wouldn’t give him the same thing that she got for his brother.

He didn’t understand that she was trying to get him shoes that would work for him. Instead of the comically huge ones that he was demanding.

It gave me a glimpse of how you and I must look from God’s perspective.

When we see something that God did for someone else – someone else’s healing, someone else’s healthy relationship, someone else’s promotion, someone else’s successful struggle with addiction, someone else’s growing business.

And get bent out of shape because God didn’t do the exact same thing for us. Because He didn’t give us someone else’s miracle.

We all do it, just like the people in today’s Gospel. We pray for something, we ask God for it, we believe for it. And then get upset when God doesn’t do it for us the same way that He did it for someone else.

Whether our reaction takes the form of doubting ourselves, wondering whether we prayed and believed hard enough for it. Or if it takes the form of doubting God. Maybe even rejecting God because we didn’t get someone else’s miracle (or trying to kill Jesus like in today’s Gospel). It really doesn’t matter.

Because all of them leave us in the same place as the 4-year-old who was angry with his mom for not getting him the shoes he was demanding.

His anger makes perfect sense. But only to his self-absorbed 4-year-old brain.

All because he can’t see the big picture. Because he can’t see beyond himself enough to trust that his mother loves him and wants the best for him.

The challenge for you and me when it comes to our relationship with God?

To see if we can do better than a self-absorbed 4-year-old.

Today’s Readings

#Walmart #Someone else's miracle #Doubting #Demanding #God's ways #God's love #God #Jesus #Catholic #Christian #Church #Moments Before Mass

[oh-my-damn]

Wrote this a little while back. Didnt post it bc I didnt want to create drama. But as Im currently sitting on a plane about to leave for Venice I decided, fuck it. I'm gonna post it now.

And then turn on flight mode so I can miss the reaction to it lmao.

Enjoy.

Okay, I have to get this off my chest because it's been bugging me for a while.

First of all, the idea that any blog on tumblr would have legitimate insider-info on a celebrity is absolutely ridiculous. That's the first point I want to make. Please explain to me why PR teams would be going to one of the lesser-known/popular social media sites to spread info they want out there? And if they don't actually want it out there, why leak it? And if they do want it out there or at least some details, why not go to actual magazines or SM accounts with huge traction like DM?

Second of all, why would they then, after leaking said info, ask the recipients of it to NOT share the details.

Who benefits from that? What is the point?

I beg you, please open your eyes. If you're being sent "info", it is because whoever sent it to you wants you to spread it, in the exact manner they're informing you to do so.

That is when you're supposed to question why? Why are they sending this? Why are they sharing it with you and only you and then asking you to not relay any details about said info, but only to leak the info itself?

Why would they do that? What would the motivation be?

Could it perhaps be because this info is actually being planted in your hands as literal free PR, for whoever said info benefits? AKA if you've received tips in the past that turned out to be true, who did those tips ultimately end up being about? Who did they end up pushing or benefitting? Why are you not receiving tips or info that relays to who it was actually meant to be about, but instead on content that actually gets spun around to be about someone else?

Could it perhaps be that the reason it's being sent to a tumblr blog and not a more reputable source like DM is because it may not actually be factual, but it'll create enough buzz for someone in particular to spread it on here, and that way there won't be repercussions in the media if it turns out to be false?

If you're receiving info or tips on content that ultimately gets spun around to be about or centered on AB (because the fandom and also yourself is perpetuating that) then you must be able to realize who is sending you info. It's coming from the person who is benefitting from it. That is perhaps the reason why you're receiving tips that can be spun around to be about her, but not tips that has nothing to do with her (AKA Walmart event or podcast release or Jinx interviews, etc)

Please. Please please please. Take a look and consider why you're being sent this. Please consider who is sending it. Please consider who benefits from it.

Whether you have the info or not, please be rational. Because it might not turn out to be real in the end (we'll see). The point remains that someone wants this info out there in the manner it's being leaked and instead of just doing whatever they want, we should instead question why they would want that in the first place.

#mandy rants #chris evans #alba baptista #sources #fandom #bullshit

[head-empty-just-sigma]

*aHEM* okay. let's try this again

so i did a theory thing i guess like months ago where i tried to figure out why Fukuchi said that Fukuzawa's answer was wrong about his motives, and it SUCKED tbh. which is why it is now in the trash next to my sanity

and recently i did that again, but this time i went back and read 30+ chapters (starting from chapter 71 and backtracking a few times) and collected Too Many screenshots of panels to use while i write a new theory because i was unhappy with my first one but i promise i'm not going to make you look at all of them because that would be cruel and make this post infinitely longer

i'll include a tldr at the bottom for this since it really boils down to one point, and to get to that one point i want to cover quite a bit of context so i understand if you just want to read the Main Point lol

so let's try this Fukuchi's goal theory again but better this time

*distant sleep-deprived sobbing*

🔺spoiler warning for chapters 70-104.5🔻

Starting with what we know...

So this is the first thing we learn before we even know Kamui is Fukuchi, coming from Mushitaro in chapter 70. What I want to focus on is Ango's response to the information, because YEAH that's exactly what I said too the first time I read it!! Why does he say "eliminate" and not "overthrow"?? Don't people usually overthrow a government? Well, this makes more sense to us later once we learn Fukuchi doesn't actually plan on overthrowing anything. What he really wants is to eliminate the concept of different "governments" and different "nations" altogether. This is what we learn in his speech about heading what he calls 'the Humankind Army', in chapter 82. He's not trying to become the leader of the entire world, so to speak, he just wants the entire world to be united with a single army so that there are no borders and no armies beyond the One Single Army.

Okay, but why?

Fukuchi, now that he's be revealed in chapter 85, just straight up admits he plans on "eliminating" every single nation. He doesn't want to leave a single one out of his Humankind Army, because that would leave room for error. Every nation must be brought into the fold or eliminated altogether in order to prevent wars from ever breaking out again, according to him. I'm not going to explain how ludicrous this plan is because I don't need to, he's a villain doing villain things and he genuinely believes that he will get away with this because he has Bram and One Order. Not to mention, he is amplifying Bram's power to some degree, as this is something he reveals to Tachihara when the latter claims that taking over half the world's armies is an impossible feat in chapter 90. It’s possible he could do the same with One Order, since it is an ‘ability weapon’, but it’s impossible to know for sure until we see him use it.

I think the second image pretty much explains why he wants to eliminate the nations. He was a weapon of war, essentially, commanded by the nation he served to slaughter his adversaries while he watched his comrades die around him. He's clearly traumatized/haunted by the deaths of his comrades, as we're shown a couple of times that he has PTSD-like flashbacks or hallucinations to when he was on the battlefield. In one of these flashbacks/memories, we see him being told by a dying soldier to seek revenge.

calm down walmart batman

Now, here's where things get interesting, because in chapter 104.5, we learn that revenge is not his goal.

Fukuzawa guesses it is, saying it's revenge on the government that sent him and his comrades to war over and over again using a healing ability, and also punishment for Fukuzawa himself for ‘betraying’ Fukuchi and not going to war with him. However, Fukuchi immediately corrects Fukuzawa by straight up stabbing him in the gut... So his goal obviously isn't actually getting revenge on the government or Fukuzawa, or the ADA as a whole even.

I don't think he wants revenge, either. He's not necessarily vengeful, despite what those flashbacks might say. No... It's worse.

Fukuchi wants justice.

There's a few things that led me to forming this theory, so bear with me here...

I think these pages specifically are interesting because, while it doesn’t say much about his motives, we clearly see he has complicated views towards Fukuzawa. He offers Fukuzawa (him, specifically, not the ADA) protection from the government and the Hunting Dogs, and even acknowledges that he considers Fukuzawa a close friend in front of Atsushi. However, he is also upset or maybe even spiteful that Fukuzawa didn’t go to the battlefield with him like he wanted, and therefore didn’t have to experience all the horrors that Fukuchi did during the war. To some degree, he wants to make Fukuzawa suffer as he has (hence why he captured the ADA members and is displaying them for Fukuzawa to see).

Fukuchi also talks about angels a lot. Which does make sense considering he heads the Decay of the Angel, where ‘angels’ are more accurately Devas from Buddhist scriptures, which are mortal angels. The 5 stages of decay are what we witnessed at the beginning of this whole thing, when the DOA went through the first 4 stages with high-ranking politicians, and then Nikolai framed the Agency for the final stage with even more politicians as victims. The line about reincarnating is interesting to me, because it could be alluding to Fukuchi eliminating every nation and then creating the Humankind Army in its place as the ‘ideal reincarnation’, as there would be no more war. This, with Fukuchi, could be manifesting in the form of wanting to bring the world itself and these ‘angels’ to justice for their wrongdoings. But also enact justice on behalf of his fallen comrades who no longer have the ability to do so.

The entire theme of the Hunting Dogs is that they all have an extremely strong drive for justice, but all in their own ways. Currently in the story, however, almost none of them agree with Fukuchi anymore, and have either formed their own sense of justice that goes against Fukuchi, or has placed more value in something else over that justice.

Out of all the Hunting Dogs, the one who talks about justice the most is Tecchou. But we’ve already seen Tecchou find something worth putting above his sense of justice; Jouno, who he wants to find more than he wants to enact justice on Kenji for being a ‘terrorist’. Jouno also has his own form of justice, which is to protect the innocent above all else, as we see him declare as he defies Fukuchi in chapter 93 before being bitten.

Tachihara was the first to abandon his belief in justice and Fukuchi, stating that orders make him who he is as we see a panel of Mori telling Tachihara to destroy the enemy of the world (aka Fukuchi). Unfortunately, following orders apparently can’t save you from being stabbed from the past. And then blinded. And bitten. Tachi can’t catch a break or any story time even 2 years later

Teruko, who has already been told all of Fukuchi’s plans by the man himself as of chapter 103.5, still chooses to follow Fukuchi of her own free will, telling Atsushi that ‘justice is but a word’ in the face of that. I’m not sure if this means she’s no longer following a sense of justice at all, or if she just puts her will to follow Fukuchi to the end of the earth above it. Either way, she’s the only one still following Fukuchi in the Hunting Dogs at this point. However, she lets Atsushi go, which makes me think she’s resigned to letting Fukuchi carry out his plans but doesn’t want to get involved herself.

Fukuchi is the only one who believes in his own sense of justice above all else, and it could be what is fueling him to carry out whatever world-ending plans he has. There’s not many other explanations as to why a man like Fukuchi would be so determined to reach his goals, since we know for a fact that revenge is at least not the main contributor here. Not to mention, Atsushi calls Fukuchi a ‘representative of justice’ in chapter 83.5, and Fukuchi doesn’t correct him or mention it.

So besides another reference to angels, it’s interesting to see Fukuchi call the chairman ‘foolish’ for thinking he was doing all this to save the world. This adds to the idea that he doesn’t see salvation for the world as it is, which ties into the fact that he wants to remake the world under the Humankind Army. He doesn’t plan on saving the world as it is, nor does he plan on dominating it at the basic definition of the concept. He wants to carry out justice to destroy and then reincarnate the world under one army controlled by one man and one nation. It’s probably more accurate to say he wants to unite the entire world under the army more than under himself specifically, but it’s still debatable at this point.

Fukuchi’s mental state is also called into question a few times. We see Atsushi questioning it in chapter 91 during the ADA meeting in Lucy's room, and then obviously there’s the handful of flashbacks we get of the battlefield Fukuchi stood on, either surrounded by bodies or witnessing the end of one of his comrades, or standing before a crater where soldiers were most likely standing at one point. We also see during the two Fukus memory flashback that Fukuchi was scared he’d return from the war a changed person, which is why he wanted Fukuzawa to go with him. This is most likely what Fukuchi is referencing in chapter 103.5 when he tells Fukuzawa that ‘the person he knew before does not exist’, and that ‘the battlefield changed everything’. This mental state probably doesn’t help the whole destroying-and-rebirthing-the-world thing he has going on right now. Not to mention, in the memory in chapter 104, Fukuchi originally went into the military with the idea that his actions were ones that saved lives, and that war was not the enemy of everything on earth. He genuinely believed he could protect his comrades in war. But when he couldn’t save anyone, his views changed drastically to what they are now, which is shockingly similar to what Fukuzawa said in opposition to Fukuchi in the memory: that the only things found at war were actions that took away lives.

Conclusion/TLDR: Fukuchi doesn’t want revenge or to dominate the world by himself, he wants to destroy the governments and nations of the world and then create the Humankind Army to begin the reincarnation of one unified nation under that army. All for the sake of preventing war from ever breaking out again, and therefore enacting his delusional form of justice upon the negligent nations that allowed war to happen in the first place. This is also justice served for his fallen comrades that beg him to take revenge.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd manga #bsd spoilers #bsd manga spoilers #bsd analysis #bsd theories #bsd fukuchi #bsd fukuzawa #bsd tecchou #bsd jouno #bsd tachihara #bsd teruko #bsd hunting dogs #bsd decay of angels #long post #praying this is better than my old theory #(which i already deleted) #this took so many days to put together hhhh #it sat in my drafts for a month. to cook yk

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

... What if Walter became a vampire?

Actually, now that I think about it, that would be very bad for everyone involved. Like Mike said, the man is a time bomb and you don't want to be around for the boom.

Somehow, I can imagine Walter ends up destroying the Volturi and dooming humanity after a full season of thinking Aro is going to kill him any second.

The thing is, Walter White probably wouldn't run into the Volturi and he wouldn't really be able to conceptualize them as powerful people or people he wants to be (e.g. Gus). To him they'd be nutjobs who go around killing vampires and insist on them all being secret.

Walter agrees he shouldn't be near people as he ah tends to eat them but... well...

But to back up a bit, let's turn Walt into a vampire.

Walter White's Problems Go Sideways

We'll say that Walt has already started. He's learned he has lung cancer, he's found Jesse, he's killed Crazy Eight in his basement and had to do the cleanup, and things are not going great but meth is being made.

Then he gets eaten by a vampire.

Only, the vampire doesn't get very far because Walter and his radiated lung cancer tastes like shit (canonically, illnesses, substance abuse, etc. can seriously fuck with your taste). They scamper off, not having intended on turning cancer ridden Walter White, and Walter is left... very confused.

His skin is some strange carbon substance that under a microscope looks eeriely close to diamond. He's breaking everything he touches and uh... he ate a guy in a Walmart parking lot.

Walt desperately runs out into the desert and is terrified of going home a) looking like this b) having eaten someone. Something has gone very very very wrong with him and he doesn't think it's the cancer.

Then Walter realizes it doesn't matter.

He's dying anyway and he must provide for his family.

Walt puts on a hazmat suit he stole from a lab (as he now has no fingerprints), which helps with the um people smell that keeps driving him mad, and spends an episode bullying Jesse into helping him fake his death.

(Walter ends up eating another poor person and, not knowing what else to do, they shove the man in Walter's car then light it on fire. Walter White has now died in an awful awful car explosion.)

There's a very sad funeral that Walter attends from the shadows. Gretchen and Elliott show up, Hank gives a eulogy on how Walt was kind of a nerd, Walt hates it so much.

Jesse's asking what the fuck is going on, he's seen lung cancer and that ain't no stage he's ever heard of bitch, and Walter (who doesn't know the answer either) blows him off and tells Jesse he's stupid. They also have a lot of meth to make. Find a new Crazy Eight.

"You killed Crazy Eight," Jesse points out.

Yeah, well, let's get a new one.

So, Jesse regretfully goes to talk to Tuco. This goes poorly. Walt then has to go confront Tuco himself (which is um... bad news...) and ends up eating both Tuco and all of his people.

Walter decides not to tell Jesse this.

"I took care of Tuco" he says instead, having rescued their meth (and cash from Tuco's safe).

Jesse's impressed and a little disturbed, he has no idea how to answer this.

(Hank, meanwhile, thinks drug lords have reached a new low. Someone set their pet dog/bear/something on Tuco Salamanca and ate his entire face. Just. Wow. What a way to go. Hank is celebratory but even he's grossed out by this one.)

Well, Jesse and Walt (now always in a hazmat suit, by the way) are back to square one. They have a whole lotta meth and no one to sell it to.

Walt, slowly getting over his existential horror of being a cannibal, suggests that they sell it on the street. Jesse points out that's mad, the gangs control distribution, if they try to get in on that, massively, they are fucked.

"I can take care of it," Walter promises, having at this point tested out his new, invulnerable, ridiculously strong body.

Walter is easily able to steal them more and better supplies (moving faster than cameras can trace, leaving no prints, etc. And takes out anyone who even thinks at looking at Badger or whoever funny.

(Hank, meanwhile, is seeing a pattern of someone setting their bear loose on every one of Salamanca's men. They've got a gang war going on. Fuck.)

Gus is also noticing and keeps Gale well off the street and asks Mike to look into this.

Mike finds himself very confused. These are low level punks, local kids who dropped out of school and destroyed their lives with meth, but they're not gangsters. They clearly have no idea what they're doing and no muscle.

So who keeps killing everybody?

Unfortunately for Walter, the Volturi are also starting to take notice, as this is a lot of people dead in Albuquerque from rogue cocaine bears. Oddly focused on the human drug trade, but the signs are unmistakable. Aro sends Demetri and Felix off to deal with it.

Sure enough, they catch Walter's scent and ah...

The show's suddenly over when two cosplayers take Walter (in his hazmat suit) out in an alley.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #breaking bad #breaking bad meta #breaking bad headcanon #walter white #anti walter white #meta #headcanon #opinion

[gloryofroses19]

In Sickness and In Jest

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x wife!reader

T/W: Allusion to sex

“I’m going to kill Hangman.” Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw’s voice was typically a rich deep cadence, however, the flu had replaced his voice. Now it was weak, hoarse and nasal leaving the pilot to endure chamomile tea and honey.

“Hush up, you love him.” [y/n] chastised as she perched herself at the edge of what was normally their bed. Since becoming sick, Bradley insisted they sleep separately to save her from what her husband affectionately called “Jake Disease”. 

Squinting his eyes in confusion at his wife, Bradley considered her. “The fever must be making me delusional because you did not just say I love Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin.” 

Rolling her eyes at the dramatics, [y/n] leaned back on her palms regarding the grounded pilot. While he tried to maintain a faux annoyance at his wife, his rapidly blinking eyes as if to warn off sleep, told her a different story. Coupled with his flushed complexion, he looked more like a petulant toddler than an irritated adult. And normally she adored a flushed Bradley. Especially when she caused the flush that ravaged his body, however, she did not enjoy it nearly as much when it was ravaged by Sickness. 

With a smirk and a sing-song voice, [y/n] Bradshaw rebuffed his claim. “That’s not what Phoenix told me. I heard there was a hug and a deep confession of gratitude and respect.” Pausing, her voice morphed into a deep tone. “‘Oh Jake, however can I repay you?! You’re the best pilot in the world! I wish I pulled off the Walmart Ken Doll look half as good as you!” 

The theatrics weren’t lost on Bradley, he adored how his wife livened his mood on his worst days. However, Bradley’s laugh soon became a series of coughs as his lungs were unable to keep up with the glee. “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.” 

“Sorry, my love.” With a sheepish smile, [y/n]  handed Bradley his glass of water. 

Running his hands down his face, Bradley huffed out in annoyance. “God, this sucks. I can’t go to work because I can barely breathe. I can’t watch TV because it makes my headache worse. I can’t taste anything so what is the point of eating?! And worst of all, I can’t cuddle, let alone kiss, my wife who is about to die without my affection.” 

Laughing, [y/n] stood up from their bed not missing Bradley’s continued whines as she moved about their bedroom. “I hear naps do wonders for cranky naval pilots.” 

“We both know how horribly we sleep alone. It’s our curse.” 

Taking a seat against their headboard, she patted her lap. “Who says you're sleeping alone?” 

Biting his lower lip to hold on to his last resolve, Bradley heavily considered the enticing sight in front of him. “Hangman already ruined my health, don’t let him get you sick also.” 

“That is a risk I’m willing to take. Plus I can’t say I wouldn’t love a chance for you to go full Mother Goose on me, baby.”

Her innocent look of love and adoration completely dissolved Bradley’s resolve. Draping his aching body across her lap, he nuzzled affectionately into her thighs. 

“Maybe this isn’t so bad…” Bradley mumbled as sleep began to overtake him as his wife carded her hands through his soft tresses. Despite the lack of proper breathing, sleeping, eating and body pains, it did earn him undivided attention. And Bradley Bradshaw lived for his wife’s attention and affection. 

“Remind me to thank Hangm…” Bradley sleepily trailed off as the Sandman’s magic finally worked. 

Chuckling to herself, Mrs. Bradshaw made a mental note to never let her husband live this down.

A/N: Please enjoy this sick fic I wrote after two weeks of going MIA! Taglist: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @n3ssm0nique @shadeds-libraryry

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun maverick x reader #top gun imagine #bradley bradshaw fic

[maveras-posts]

🖤ART 🤍✨HEADCANONS✨

Art the Clown General Tingz:

Art is c h a o t i c to say the least

He sometimes is manic and does some questionable things (he’s in a silly goofy mood)

Some nights he just stays up and practices his ✨MaKeUp✨ (May or may not listen to Britney Spears while doing it😭✋)

CLEAN YA MAKEUP BruShEs ART—

Art is also a Barb ( I’ve walked into some dance routines 😂✋)

Also ATTITUDE 🙄🤌

IS IT ME? AM I THE DrAmA?—YES my dear Art YES💅

Actually a big Teddy Bear if you can get him to warm up to you (Clingy VERY clingy)

Also LOVES the ✨TEA✨ he’s that gay bestie you tell everything to (Careful tho, ✨HE WONT HESITATE✨ to put a Bitch 6 FEET DEEP🙄✋)

Also loves cotton candy and ANYTHING flavored like it (Blood gotta be made from cotton candy syrup)

Also watch him he ✨NiBblEs✨ on arms and toes— ART DAFUQ. Art BIT ME— (ya know sometimes violence is the answer🙄💅)

Idk how to describe it but he smells like vanilla, blood and ✨DeViL’s LeTtuCe✨

Also LOVES Insane Clown Posse (Art is an insane clown and it feels nice to be represented)

He Shoplifts A LOT(EVERYTHING he owns is ✨StOleN✨)

Also the type of guy to be in Walmart at 3AM riding a bike or riding a shopping cart (The workers know him they leave him be)

Also has candy on him at all times (HE LOVES the ✨SoUr CaNDy✨)

Tbh one of my my favorites cause he is just fucking batshit crazy (Art is my homie for real)

So…I watched both the Terrifiers and I must say… I LOVED IT— tbh these movies are very slept on and forgotten especially our mans of the hour/ post whatevs… ART THE MUTHAFUCKIN CLOWNN— Idk why but instantly when he entered the diner I fell in LOVE. Lmfao I kinda knew he would just be CHAOTIC (I was right) he’s just such a lil shit and he ✨SLAYS✨ (literally and figuratively) so I cooked up these headcanons, don’t worry he confirmed and denied…

#creative writing #lgbtq writer #writers supporting writers #writingblr #slasher love #writeblr #slasher writing #slasher hcs #slasher whores unite #slasher memes #art the clown #clowns #clowning #walmart #halloween #trick or treat #nyclife #New Jersey #the terrifier #terrifier #scary monsters #scary movies #slasher fandom #what have i gotten myself into #what have i started #jesus fucking christ #im baaaaaaack #terrifier 2 #horror lover #horror writing