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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 9 months

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Comet Donati [Chapter 7: Heart Attack]

A/N: Hello all! Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥰 Thank you so much for loving this fic and giving all my eccentric AU ideas a chance. I’m currently in Washington DC visiting one of my best friends, so if I’m a little bit tardy replying to your comments/messages then that’s why. Don’t fear!! I will check in as soon as I can, and I am still amazed by and will forever cherish your support. 💜

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

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Shelby being a bigger plague than the locusts of Egypt, mental health struggles, references to violence and abuse, New Jersey, pregnancy, mini golf, lots of content for the Cregan girlies.

Selected Chapter Quote: “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

Word count: 6.2k.

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

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

You type into Google as you hide in the public bathroom stall, pink tile walls and mint green porcelain, very 1950s, phantom drips of water and humming florescent lights: Can Plan B make your period late?

You scroll through the results, clutching your iPhone with both hands. Faintly, you can hear the rest of the band outside, chattering, laughing, slurping on Slush Puppies, smacking trees and rocks with their golf clubs. Yes, the consensus seems to be; Plan B can delay your period. Incidentally, so can pregnancy.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You peer down at your panties, as if you can force bloodstains to appear: sparce rosy threads of warning, dark red splotches like rust, you aren’t particular. You’ll take anything. “Fuck,” you say again, defeated. You get dressed, wash your hands, and head back out into the cloudless afternoon sunshine.

“Stargirl, it’s your turn!” Aegon shouts as you trot over to them: tenth hole, shaped like an L, featuring an intimidating loop de loop. The course is dinosaur themed; Rhaena picked it. Aegon points to Jace. “This deformed bastard wanted to skip you.”

“I told you,” Jace moans. His speech is garbled and lisping, his face comically swollen, bruised yellow-emerald-indigo and drooling blood, stitches above his left eyebrow. He just had his dental implants placed yesterday; the four teeth that he lost at Club Camelot could not be readily located for reattachment. “I can’t keep track of who’s next. I’m on like four different opiates.”

Baela frets over him. “Shh, shh, baby. Try not to talk.” There’s something about watching someone get almost-murdered that makes you want to forgive them, you suppose.

You grab your club and golf ball, dark blue, from where you left them by a tree. Rhaena gives you a covert little thumbs up and raised eyebrows. Everything good? You smile—too widely, insincere, a liar—and nod. Technically, you have yet to obtain concrete evidence to the contrary.

You take your turn, somewhat awkwardly due to the splint that still encumbers your dominant hand. You are thinking about anything but mini golf. Your ball goes halfway through the loop de loop and then comes rolling back. How many strokes? Four, five, you lose count, it doesn’t matter. Aegon is snickering, though not in a mean way, never in a mean way. Aemond is watching you. He does this constantly; you can feel his eyes—river water, otherworldly atmosphere—on you all the time, you can see him on the periphery of your vision. But when you glance at Aemond, he looks away. You’re wearing flip flops, a black NSYNC t-shirt, and bright pink shorts that Baela insists are of the very short variety. Aemond is staring a little extra hard today. Shelby alternates between glaring at him and at you.

Jace putts next. He misses the ball twice. On the third try, he hits it into a nearby pond. Golden koi fish scatter beneath the rippling sheen of the water.

“Loser,” Aegon declares mildly. “Criston, why the fuck are we in New Jersey?”

“Because you’re playing three shows at the MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford,” Criston says as he putts; his green golf ball sails through the loop de loop, bounces off a wall, and then rolls straight into the cup, a hole in one. “One Direction did it, Taylor Swift did it, and now you’re going to do it too. And if you don’t make it too unbearable for me, I’ll even take you to the beach while we’re here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Aegon agrees. He slurps on his Slush Puppie. “Oh, Aemond, I need the Netflix password.”

“You forgot it again?!” Daeron says. Jace, groaning softly, lies down on the ground in a patch of shade. Baela gets a bottle of Orajel rinse out of her purse and starts pouring it into his mouth.

“Get your own account,” Aemond snaps at Aegon. “I think you can afford it.”

“Bruh, that’s not the point! I don’t know where I left off in Grey’s Anatomy!”

They keep bickering. You stop listening. You can only hear the sounds of rustling leaves, squawking seagulls, the whistling of the warm August wind. You can only feel the weight of Aemond’s half-fascinated, half-resentful gaze on you. He wouldn’t believe me, you think. If I really am pregnant, he would never believe that it was an accident. He would never believe that I was that guilelessly, unambitiously stupid. Hell, I did it and I barely believe it.

You steal a glimpse of Aemond—black shirt and black sunglasses, white shorts, Adidas sneakers—and he turns away, pretending to pick dirt off his golf ball. Interestingly, he will talk to you about things not related to that night in Tokyo; perhaps it would be too suspicious not to, a neon sign for the rest of the band to read. But he never allows himself to be alone with you. And he never touches you, not even a grazing of hands or an absentminded bump as he passes you in aisles or hallways.

Bump, you think miserably. An inauspicious choice of words.

“We should watch Se7en,” Aegon is saying now. “Comet fam movie night.”

You mutter: “We’re not watching Se7en.”

“What’s Se7en about?” Rhaena asks.

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“What’s in the box?!” Aegon shouts dramatically—quoting the beautiful yet doomed David Mills, a name he once borrowed to schedule a Zoom meeting with you—and then cackles. It’s his turn. He clobbers his golf ball and sends it flying through the loop de loop; it pops over the barrier and disappears into a bush. Startled squirrels dart out of the leaves.

“Loser!” Jace slurs as he lies sprawled across the ground, vindicated.

“Stop spitting blood everywhere,” Aemond says. He putts next, and badly: poor depth perception. “You’re getting it on my sneakers.”

“Watch it, cyclops.” Jace points to his own stitches, bruises, surgically replaced teeth. “I let you have this one. Now we’re even. But next time I won’t be so charitable.”

“You’re not even,” Aegon tells Jace, abruptly severe. He whips off his aviator sunglasses, crouches over Jace, glaring and thunderous like a storm. Baela observes this warily. “Not even close.”

Jace is intrigued. “No?”

“No. Your face will heal.” Then Aegon pokes him in the jaw and Jace screams, tears slithering down his puffy, mottled cheeks. Cregan yanks Aegon away before Baela can scratch his eyes out. Criston repossesses Aegon’s blue raspberry Slush Puppie as punishment. Luke wins the game, five under par.

Comet’s first shows in the United States this tour start just like the last few in Asia: Jace is iced, painted with concealer, thoroughly medicated, numbed into semi-consciousness. He does lines of coke in the bathroom under Cregan’s supervision. He can’t perform without it. Criston tried to negotiate a month off for Jace, but the label’s message was clear: get him on stage, we don’t care how you do it, we don’t want to know about it, here’s a blank check, figure it out or we’ll find another manager who can. Now Criston watches Jace with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes wounded and anxious, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of what he believes is failure.

The story released to the press is that Jace fell down a flight of stairs but is recovering smoothly. He can barely sing; his mic is turned up, and during Jace’s verses Cregan or Luke layer their voice with his. He wobbles and flubs his way through Night 1 in East Rutherford. You spend the show staring up at the stage without seeing it. Baela and Rhaena are with you, but you aren’t really with them; you feel like if they reached out to touch you, their hands would find only translucent emptiness like a mirage. Shelby is flocked by fellow influencers that she’s invited in from New York City. Aemond is somewhere, somewhere: lurking in shadows, brooding, avoiding, musing, suffering, jotting down starlight-colored judgments in his black-paged notebook.

Per tradition, the band and their entourage coalesce in Jace’s suite after the show. Jace himself, the gracious host, promptly collapses on a couch and lies there senseless as the party spins around him like the planets of a solar system. Baela is perched dutifully beside him, holding ice packs to his jaw, wiping away drool the color of one of Aemond’s Brambles. A tattoo artist is inking a goldfinch, New Jersey’s state bird, to the top of Jace’s right foot. Criston is across the room and speaking—rather tensely, it seems—with cigar-smoking label executives. Shelby is snapping photos with her friends; they take turns posing each other out on the balcony, adjusting elbows and wrists and knees, swiping away stray flecks of mascara, rearranging hair, recommending plastic surgeons. Aegon is typing WhatsApp messages—mostly emojis, from what you can see—to Miley Cyrus. At Luke’s prompting, Aemond begins sharing his comments to the presently sentient members of Comet. He puffs on one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes as he reads aloud. He kindly skips over any criticisms of Jace’s performance.

You can’t stand hearing Aemond’s voice; not because there’s anything wrong with it, but because there isn’t, because you can’t stop remembering what he said to you in that florescent-white bathroom at Club Camelot in Tokyo, because he uses his words on so many people who aren’t you, because sooner or later your time with Comet will be over and you’ll only ever hear him again through Spotify songs and YouTube clips from before the accident, because he will one day be a ghost who haunts you, rattling doorknobs and chilling pockets of air but never speaking. You escape to ask the bartender: “Can I get a Coke?”

“A rum and Coke?”

“No.”

“Like…white powder coke?”

“No, a Coca-Cola. With nothing else in it.”

“Okay, whatever,” the bartender says, perplexed. He fills a glass with ice and dark liquid that pops and fizzes with carbonation, then slides it across the counter to you. You meander out into the hallway where you can be alone, where you don’t have to pretend to be okay.

The carpet is gold but frayed, the walls adorned with faux marble columns and scuffs from recklessly handled suitcases. Even the hotels are worse in New Jersey. You sip your soda—nonalcoholic, huh? you think, then push it aside—and roam past suite doors and vending machines until you reach the cove of elevators. There’s a full-length mirror hanging on the wall there, gilded, gaudy. You frown at yourself, a reflection that suddenly looks a bit like a stranger. You’re wearing a short seafoam green dress, gold earrings and sandals, and an eerily vacuous expression. You turn and move your hair aside so you can peer over your shoulder at what’s been indelibly penned there since Rome: the tiny comet, the lyrics that encircle it.

I wanted to remember this band forever. To remember Aemond. You can feel your stomach drop as it grows heavy with dread. The pulsing music from Jace’s suite has followed you down the hall, Sugar by Robin Schulz and Francesco Yates. I think I might just have more than a tattoo to remember him by after all.

One of the elevators dings and opens. A man lumbers out, towering, broad, monstrous. You gape up at him: brown threadbare coat, heavy boots, unruly dark beard, grey eyes like a bleak winter sky. There is a miasma that colors the air around him with smoke and alcohol, sweat and earth.

“Hello there,” he says, politely enough. His voice is such a baritone rumble that it’s difficult to understand. He has a British accent, but not like Aegon’s, not like Aemond’s. He reminds you of someone you can’t quite place. “I’m looking for a certain young gentleman. I’m hoping you can point me in his direction.”

“Sure,” you reply, trying to disguise your shock so you don’t offend him. He could be someone important. He could be an eccentric producer or a consultant. Or a drug dealer. “Who…uh…who was it you were hoping to speak with…?”

He smiles: sharp canine teeth yellowed by nicotine, glinting eyes like silver coins. “Cregan Stark.”

“Okay,” you stammer. Drug dealer?? “Okay, okay, I’ll…uh…I’ll go get him.”

You hurry down the hall and into Jace’s crowded, smokey suite, clinking glasses and flirtatious titters in dim lighting like late twilight. You return your empty drink to the bartender, then tap Cregan on the shoulder and inform him that someone out in the hallway is asking for him. He doesn’t seem surprised to hear this. Drug dealer, you think confidently. Cregan gulps his vodka shot and follows you out of the suite. He steps through the doorway. He turns towards the stranger. And then he stops dead. His eyes go wide. The blood drains from his face. And Cregan—immovable, inscrutable, unflappable Cregan—shrinks until he is a child again.

Immediately, you know you’ve made a mistake. You reach for him. “Cregan, wait—”

“My son,” the monstrous man sighs. And of course now you’ve realized exactly who the mirrorlike grey of his eyes reminded you of. “My son.”

You can’t stop him. How could you stop him? Faster than you can think, he has crossed the space between you and entombed Cregan in a stifling embrace. Cregan stands paralyzed, his eyes shifting, searching for escape. Tentatively, appeasingly, his hands slowly rise to hug the man in return.

“Criston?!” you shout. But within the suite, he cannot hear you over the music and the berating of smoke-veiled, bejeweled label executives.

“Did you forget about me, huh?” the man asks Cregan gruffly. And as he steps back he grips one of Cregan’s shoulders: not like Criston would, not like a father, like a vice, like a bear trap. He shakes Cregan once, not too hard. “You can fly your private jet all over the world but you can’t call your own father back? Huh? Huh?!” He shakes Cregan again, harder.

“Criston!” you scream. “Security! Somebody!”

Nobody can hear me. Nobody is coming.

You sprint into Jace’s suite, seize Criston by one hand, drag him out into the hall. On the blurry periphery of your vision, you can see Aemond getting up off the couch to follow you. The second he spots the monstrous man, Criston is roaring. “No no no, get away from him!” He pushes between Cregan and the giant, terrifying, wrathful. The man dwarfs him. Criston doesn’t seem to know it. “You can’t be here. We’ve been over this, you’re not allowed to be here—”

The man tries to reach around him to clutch at Cregan’s shirt. Aemond pulls you away from the scuffle. Criston hits the man in the solar plexus; he is momentarily stunned, wheezing. By the time he straightens up, Criston—louder than you, bellowing and fierce—has summoned security. They are swarming the man and escorting him back down the hallway towards the elevators. Aemond goes to Cregan. Criston looks at you. You’re quivering, penitent.

“I had no idea…he asked for Cregan…I would never have…I thought maybe he was a friend of the band…”

“He’s on our no fly list,” Criston says. His voice is tired yet patient. “But you wouldn’t know that.”

You try to apologize to Cregan, but he isn’t listening to you. He’s listening to Aemond. Aemond is speaking to him, low and calm, too quietly for you to hear. “I’m okay,” Cregan says unsteadily. “I’m fine.”

“It’s alright if you’re not,” Aemond tells him.

And you know that right now you are unnecessary, intrusive. Criston goes downstairs to figure out how Comet’s security guards in the lobby didn’t catch this and—presumably—to ensure that the invader is properly dealt with. Aemond slings an arm across Cregan’s shoulders and leads him back to the party where he is cared for, welcome, valued, safe. You hide in your own suite and try not to think about the dates on the calendar—missing blood, summer days ticking down towards zero—as you steep in a hot bath and attempt to scrub everything you’ve done wrong, today, yesterday, ever, off your skin. Then you change into an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants.

You try to sleep but of course you can’t, surrounded by a silence that only gets louder. When you hear the swipe of a keycard and the creaking of your door, you don’t know who to expect: Cregan, Criston, Rhaena, Luke, Baela, Jace, Daeron, Shelby, Aemond, ghosts. The clopping of his Crocs gives him away, neon pink to match his tank top. “I’m really not in the mood for anything resembling sex.”

Aegon replies as he kicks off his Crocs: “Did I ask, succubus?” He crawls into the bed, throws an arm casually across your waist, rests his head on your belly as your fingers thread through his chaotic blond hair, fond and tender. He burrows into you, into your softness and your warmth and your truth and your mysteries. Sometimes you feel like you’ll give until he falls into you like a trapdoor, the bones of his hands tangling around your spine, his blood vessels spilling into all of your rage-scarlet cavities, hollows of the flesh, hollows of the soul. “You’re sad.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what. That’s the strange thing. Usually I can tell.”

“You’ve been gone.”

He looks up at you, confused. “I’ve been right here.”

“You know what I meant.”

Aegon doesn’t argue with you, doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t make promises both of you know he could never keep. He only lays his head down on your belly again and pulls himself closer to you, closer, closer, melting into your melancholy, dissolving into dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I was eleven when he broke my arm. Thirteen when he cracked my skull for the first time. Then I got big enough to hurt him back.” Cregan looks out over the waves: blue currents, white froth, sunbeams like glinting blades. As Criston promised, Comet is spending an afternoon in Seaside Heights. You and Cregan are sitting on the sand together twenty yards from the others. “I grew up in a two-bedroom cabin with no electricity or running water. We had a metal wash tub outside, ate deer and squirrels and rabbits, never had clothes that fit, never saw a doctor except when what was wrong might kill us. We had a woodstove and chopped down trees to burn in the winter. I had eight siblings, six of whom are still alive. Barnett overdosed. Courtland drove his friend’s Nissan into a brick wall. I’m not sure it was accidental.”

Your words are soft like a whisper, like gentle hands. “Cregan, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not…” His voice breaks. He stops for a while, composes himself, begins again. “It’s not something I talk about. Not because I’m trying to forget it. I can’t forget it, I’ll never be able to, I understand that, believe me. There’s just nothing to be gained from talking about it. I never feel better afterwards. I always feel worse.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

��I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”

You wait, watching him. There’s something he needs to say. Down the beach a ways, Baela is doing yoga, her bare feet sure and agile in shifting sand. Rhaena, Luke, and Aemond are flying kites in the breeze: black dragons, green dragons. Shelby is, predictably, filming them from where she stands on Aemond’s good side. Aegon and Daeron are swimming so far out that you’re beginning to worry about sharks. Criston is parked under an umbrella with an unconscious Jace, reading Memoirs Of A Geisha and eating a sandwich full of something called pork roll.

“After Comet happened, I got all of them out,” Cregan continues. “My mum, my siblings. Good houses in safe neighborhoods. Security in case Dad makes an appearance. He does, every once in a while. He’s locked up, he’s free, he’s locked up again. He has nothing else to do but haunt us. I’ve been waiting for him to die since I was old enough to understand what a graveyard is.” Cregan looks at you. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

“The thing is…” He holds out one large hand, palm down, like he’s resting it on a table. Then he shakes it. “Nothing ever feels stable. Nothing ever feels safe. No matter how much money I see stack up in accounts, I lie awake at night wondering what I’ll do if it disappears. So many people rely on me. I can’t stop worrying I’ll end up back in that cabin somehow. I can still hear drops of rainwater seeping in through the gaps in the roof. I can still smell burning wood.”

“The fact that you feel this way, given your history, is completely logical…even if the fear itself is not. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Cregan says. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you think it would help if we sat down and looked at the numbers and did some math? Because I suspect that even with a hundred dependents, you’d easily be able to float them for the rest of your lifetime just using the money you already have. And there will be royalties from Comet’s songs forever. Maybe if we can show you exactly how improbable your worst case scenario is, that fear will begin to fade a bit. Not go away, not completely, maybe not ever…but I think you’ll be able to quiet it down.”

“I’ll give it a try. If you recommend it.” Cregan lights a cigarette and takes a drag. Criston glances over and then pretends he didn’t notice. “I have a daughter,” Cregan says; and you can’t stop the shock from hitting your face like a fist. He smiles faintly, wistfully. “I know. I’ve worked very hard to make sure she is kept away from…” He gestures broadly. “All of this.” Fame. Debauchery. Tabloids. Reddit threads. “I was way too young. And her mother and I…we were never really together. It was contentious for a while, but we’ve sorted through things. I support them financially, obviously. And when I’m not on tour or in the studio, I disappear up to Lancaster for a few weeks at a time and no one is the wiser.”

You study him as wind tears in off the Atlantic Ocean, as seagulls swoop and screech overhead. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate how you’ve protected her once she can understand.”

“I don’t know how to be a father. Not a good one. But I try. I don’t just show up for movie nights and birthdays. I take her shopping for school supplies. I put her back to bed when she has nightmares. I take her to the dentist, to the park, to the library. She really likes pigs, so I adopted a few from a farm animal rescue and we learned how to raise them together.”

“You caring about being a good parent puts you ahead of a lot of people already,” you say. “Nobody in Comet knows?”

“Just Aemond. Once, years ago, her mother needed something and I was out of the country. I had to let somebody in on the secret, somebody I could trust. I chose Aemond. I chose right.” Now Cregan is amused. “He’s the one who suggested the pigs.”

“Of course he did,” you say; and you can’t help but smile. “How old is she?”

“Six and a half. Do you want to see a picture her?”

“Absolutely. If it’s alright with you.”

Cregan pulls his iPhone from his pocket, swipes around for a while, and then turns the screen so you can see. She looks like him, a lot like him, but with round cheeks and long dark lashes. And Cregan is beaming as he says: “Her name is Iris.”

“So you didn’t have to do the Maury paternity test thing.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I knew from the second I saw her she was mine.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

Cregan shrugs, pensive, evasive. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” And he believes that you mean it; you can see it on his face. Aemond is watching you and Cregan, you notice now. He glances over, pretends he didn’t, glances again. You gesture to the crashing waves and say to Cregan: “If Aegon gets attacked by a shark, will you jump in and punch it or something please?”

Cregan chuckles. “Yeah. That’s my main job here, I think. Stopping people from dying.” And then, seriously: “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything that warrants it.”

“No. Really.” Cregan reaches out, takes your uninjured hand, squeezes it briefly before releasing you. “Thank you, Stargirl.” Then he stands and walks to the water’s edge, letting the surf rush up over his ankles, for just a moment feeling nothing on his shoulders but the sunlight.

Aemond gives Shelby his kite and, as she glares bitterly, makes his way over to you. He takes off his sunglasses so he can see you better and hooks them on the waistband of his swim trunks: black, of course, his usual color. You’re actually wearing black today too, a flowing coverup over a pink swimsuit. You feel very much like hiding. When Aemond speaks, there is perhaps a hint of envy, green like leaves of poison, gleaming like snakeskin. “What were you and Cregan talking about?”

“Fatherhood.” And then you realize how it might sound.

There is a split second where Aemond looks startled; then he remembers Iris. “Right. Not so easy for people like us to navigate.”

People like us. Celebrities, boy band members, haunted men. You scramble for a nonchalant way to feel out the subject with him. “How does Louis Tomlinson handle it?”

“He’s a saint,” Aemond says. And you think: Patron saint of baby daddies? “Freddie was very, very unplanned. The mother was a nobody, a rebound. And a lot of people assumed she did it on purpose to try to keep Louis. Or to get eighteen years of a luxury lifestyle out of him. Or to just get fame in general. Personally, I believe it was all of the above.”

“Right,” you say, sweating heavily beneath your coverup.

“But none of that is the kid’s fault, and Louis is a good enough guy to realize it. So he plays nice with Freddie’s mother and they don’t go to war through tabloids anymore.”

“So, uh…” How can I put this? “You’re good with kids too. Cregan told me you had the pig idea.”

And the look that crosses Aemond’s face, the look: caustic, incredulous, night-dark, self-loathing. “Are you insane? Have you met me? I terrify kids. And I should, but not just because of the eye and the scar. What the hell do I know about being a decent father? What do I know about being a decent anything? I’d have no idea where to start. I’d fuck it up even if I tried desperately not to. I’d end up with kids like Aegon: addicts who hate themselves, people who are irrevocably lost.”

You say meekly: “I think Criston is something like a father to you. He could be a role model.”

“I’m not half as good a man as Criston is.”

Change the topic, change the topic, before Aemond gets suspicious. And there’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask him. “Aemond…after you almost murdered Jace…when we didn’t know if or how he was going to be able to perform until he healed…did anyone ask you to come back to Comet and fill in for him?”

“No,” Aemond says. And he’s thunderstruck by the thought, appalled, petrified.

“You don’t think that it might have been a good idea? That it might make sense?”

“No,” he says again instantly.

“But…in Tokyo…when Daeron made that speech at the last show…I think the crowd’s reaction was pretty powerful, don’t you? People still care about you. They love and respect you. And I think…maybe…it might help you with what you’ve experienced. To get back on stage—even just one last time—and prove to yourself that you still have what it takes. To know that if you do leave Comet, it’s your choice, not anyone else’s.”

“They love who I was,” Aemond says. “Not who I am now. And that’s easy to do. They don’t have to look at me.”

“Goddammit, there’s nothing wrong with how you look, Aemond!” you burst out. “You look fantastic. I never get tired of looking at you. I want to look at you all the fucking time. I’d hang life-sized portraits of you on every wall in my apartment in Kansas City. That’s how much I enjoy looking at you.”

He thinks you’re joking, he thinks you’re trying to make him feel better. You can’t stop him from thinking these things. And yet still, as he turns away, he is smiling: just a whisper of a curl at the corner of his lips, secretive, fragile.

As Comet is leaving the beach, you stop at a souvenir shop on the boardwalk to buy your keepsake for this tour destination. You settle on a pink frisbee that has I love the Jersey Shore! embossed on it in large, abrasive letters. You think your parents’ Australian cattle dogs will enjoy fetching it when you get home. Home feels so much closer—both literally and figuratively—than it did just a few weeks ago.

Criston is browsing through the t-shirts. “Hey, what size is your mom, Aegon? Medium?”

“How the hell would I know? Probably.” He holds up a pair of red, white, and blue bikini bottoms that say Firecracker across the ass. “You think my dad would mind if you sent her these?”

Criston is blushing. “Aegon, stop.”

“You could get her a bikini top too. Oh look, that one over there is red, it matches. And it says MILF across the tits. So that’s pertinent.”

“Stop!” Criston cries, distressed, and flees the store.

Halfway through the hour-long drive back to the hotel, Aegon insists that Criston stop the Escalades so he can get a hoagie from a Wawa. Aegon has never had a hoagie before. He says he cannot truly experience America without one.

At the ordering counter, Jace—slightly less bruised and swollen today, and thus in better spirits—taunts Aegon: “Are you sure you need all that bread? You’re going to be wearing a muumuu on stage by the time we get to the Midwest.”

“You know, just because you said that, now I’m going to get two hoagies…”

On the television mounted inside the Wawa, CNN is reporting on a group of tornadoes that just struck Wichita. And it occurs to you that tornadoes don’t have trajectories to calculate like hurricanes or airplanes or comets; they are climatological sharks. They strike quickly, indiscriminately, and then they’re gone again. They aren’t named. They aren’t enshrined. They don’t even have a belly to cut open and retrieve pieces of your loved ones from. If they take someone, they’re just gone.

While the rest of the band is in line to order their food, and Aemond is scrutinizing the dried fruit and nuts selection, you sneak through the other aisles.

It’s time. I have to find out eventually. I have to know.

You pluck a pregnancy test—cute, pink, nausea-inducing—off a rack, purchase it with truly impressive speed at the checkout counter, and race to the bathroom. It’s surprisingly difficult to piss on a tiny stick of doom, especially when your primary hand is in a splint and only partially useable. Eventually, you manage. You put the cap back on the pregnancy test, set it on top of the toilet paper dispenser, and stare at the metal door of the stall. The Wawa speakers are playing The Fray’s Over My Head.

It won’t be positive. It can’t be positive.

You think of pregnancy test commercials you’ve seen: happy couples rejoicing, happy single women getting negatives. How are you supposed to react to bad news? Nobody ever tells you. Do you scream, sob, beg for forgiveness, schedule an appointment at Planned Parenthood? Do you kick the bathroom stall door down in mindless feminine fury? Do you throw yourself off a balcony?

There’s no way it will be positive. It was one time. Just one goddamn time.

And who knows if that will ever happen again with Aemond. This does not improve your mood.

You pick up the pregnancy test. It is unequivocally positive.

You shove it into the small rectangular trashcan for pads and tampons, things you won’t be needing in the immediate future. You get dressed, leave the stall, go to the sink and wash your hands. Then you grip the cool, slick, white porcelain and gaze at yourself in the mirror under nowhere-to-hide florescent lights. What do you feel? Everything, nothing, things you can’t name yet. You’re a raw nerve, you’re completely numb.

The bathroom door swings open. Shelby enters. She squares up with great purpose. Your eyes roll to her, slowly, with no tolerance left, not a drop of it. “Stay away from Aemond,” she demands.

“Make me.”

She is in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

You turn all the way towards her. “Fucking make me, Shelby.”

“I knew you wanted him,” she says, she seethes. “I saw you in those paparazzi photos from Reykjavik and I knew you were already twisting your claws into him.”

You hold up your hands to show her; your thoughts are fuzzy, dazed, without inhibition. “I have no claws whatsoever. If I did, you’d know about it. Believe me. You’d be able to look down and watch your heart beating through the gashes.”

“You don’t belong here. Some Midwestern farm girl running around in flip flops and Cookie Monster pajama pants? You’re trash. You’re a user. You’re a nobody. And if you’re trying to steal a taken man, then you’re a whore too.”

“I’ve been called worse things by better people.”

“I can make them hate you,” Shelby says indignantly. “Comet. The world.”

“Good luck with that, Malibu Barbie. Nobody even knows I exist.”

“Stay away from Aemond,” she says again, trembling with her futile bleach-blond rage. “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

“And yet no future.” You smile sweetly, breeze past her, step on one of her perfectly pedicured feet with a thoroughly unpretentious flip flop. By the time you return to them, the band is almost ready to leave Wawa.

You’re not hungry, but Aegon coaxes you into taking a few bites from his hoagie. You’re not able to focus on what people are saying, but you hear Aemond mention that he wishes Comet had time to visit a planetarium in some nearby town called Toms River. You think about what it would be like to lie side by side with him under the stars, under the sky where comets appear again after vanishing for centuries. You wonder if there’s anyplace where you and Aemond could ever be truthful with each other.

At night you can’t sleep. There is no shortage of reasons why. You wander from your bed to the gold-carpet hallway to the vending machines, where you stare brainlessly at the options. Am I supposed to not be drinking caffein? Did I get any Vitamin D today? How much sugar is too much? You buy a bottle of apple juice—surely a safe bet—and head back to your suite.

As you walk by Aemond and Shelby’s door, your steps slow. Some nights you can hear them in there arguing: Shelby reiterating all the reasons why they’re perfect for each other, clearly a rebuttal to an accusation you weren’t privy to. Some nights you hear muffled casual conversation or episodes of Cosmos. Some nights you hear nothing at all. Some nights your imagination colors in the gaps before you can stop it: his hands on her, his mouth on her, things you know you have no right to dread and yet you do. But tonight, Shelby is momentarily removed from the scene. You can hear the distant pattering of the shower, and then Aemond alone in the living room gathering up plates and glasses. He’s singing something very quietly, so quietly it takes you a while to recognize it. It’s not even a Comet Donati song. It’s Through The Dark.

You sit down in the empty hallway, your back to his door. And you lean your head against it as you listen to Aemond singing softly to himself, doubt sinking into you the same way that trapped blood fills a bruise: Maybe it wasn’t as good for him as it was for me. Maybe he doesn’t talk to me because he doesn’t want to. Maybe I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I’ve invented a history that we don’t really share. Maybe he didn’t mean it when he said he loves me.

“What am I going to do?” you whisper, scalding tears brimming in your eyes, shivering hands settling on your belly. In a few months, you’ll be showing. “What the hell am I going to do?”

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

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snowyh2o · 3 months

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Hazbin Hotel Episode 7&8 Spoilers:

Ok, ok. I’ve finally calmed down a bit. I have. SO many thoughts on Alastor, that I’m just not gonna touch on them in this post, aside from I FUCKING KNEW HE WAS LOSING IT FBSKDNFBSHHDHFBS.

But what I wanna focus on is Rosie! And how she’s been described as the nicest overlord. And how Cannibal Town is like, the nicest place we’ve seen in hell??? The streets are relatively clean, no one is trynna kill each other. There’s so many people out on the streets, just? Going about their days? Aside from the fact that they’re all cannibals, it’s almost like any other town you’d visit! (I am not familiar enough with the fashion styles over the years to like, accurately date what time period Cannibal Town is supposed to reflect, but it feels old (and somewhere Alastor would fit right in with) lol).

And then we actually meet with Rosie, and she’s in the middle of consulting one of her people, where there’s a HUGE line up of others looking like they’re waiting to consult with her too! And like, even before she spoke with Charlie about her love life, she’s giving advice and comfort and support and connecting to the lady she’s speaking with who apparently wants to eat her husband. Before saying that she’ll set the man straight if the lady sends him to her, and gives her a card if she ever needs any more help.

Like. First minute into seeing Rosie and like. WOW. You can IMMEDIATELY tell that this is the reason why everyone in Cannibal Town’s so chill and happy? Why there’s such a sense of order and security in a place that’s basically just anarchy?

Rosie is both the Overlord, the unofficial mayor, the therapist and consultant and your best friend all wrapped up into one. She’s got an entire lineup of people who are waiting to tell her their woes and listen to her advice. And she’s happy to help!

Even the actual cannibalism is like, so posh and proper? Or it’s treated in Cannibal Town as like, normal food. But also it’s very telling that no one’s killing each other for said cannibalism. In fact, the only times we’ve seen them do so is after an extermination, when there’s a bunch of dead bodies that aren’t reviving lying around. (And they seem to lose their manners when eating then) It is likely tho that they just, target outsiders, since everyone we saw aside from Alastor and Charlie were a part of Cannibal Town.

Just the Juxtaposition of a town literally full of Cannibals being probably THE nicest place in hell for sinners to live in??? Immaculate.

Also, Rosie’s snide comment on how Alastor’s got no manners when it comes to being offered food LOL. And, I just LOVE their relationship and interaction. First time chatting in years and she’s already offering up place with a deal for Alastor to go make. That AMAZING little joke about him being Ace and having it COMPLETELY flying over his head. Alastor letting her touch him, and how genuinely excited and happy the two of them are just talking and interacting. Their little duet in the middle of the song, the way Rosie pulls Alastor out of his scheming to just enjoy the moment. Their dance!!! She’s never been wronged by Alastor before!!! She trusts him to follow through on his side of the unofficial bargain/favor. Looking like proud parents when Charlie finds the courage to sing her pitch. I love, everything about these two, oh my god.

Anyways!!! Back to Rosie being just, a genuinely good aunt? And giving so much good advice for Charlie. Asking her the questions that needed to be asked. Rosie has, such good insight? On what the issue was, and why Vaggie would’ve kept something from her. She didn’t shy away from how big the secret was, but she also didn’t let Charlie spiral into questioning every little part of their relationship. And that little end but when she’s saying that Vaggie is flawed, but so is everyone else down in hell. GAWD. How it’s difficult to admit your regrets. Like, if that isn’t the core of the show, the core of Charlie’s dream, then I don’t know what is. Rosie cut through to the heart of the matter, she didn’t tell Charlie what she should feel or how she should act, but asked her what she’s actually feeling, and why, and told her to trust herself and her own judgement on if Vaggie’s actions were sincere or not. Man she’s such a good therapist.

(I’m half convinced Alastor didn’t just bring Charlie to Cannibal Town and see Rosie just because they needed support and numbers to fight against the exorcists, but also because she’s the best person he knows who can give out good relationship advice and he’s getting a little tired of Charlie venting at him. Especially now that she’s past the self loathing phase and has stepped into the unrestrained anger and frustration at someone else phase)

Also, unrelated topic but here’s a thought: only angel steel/holy weapons/powers can do permanent damage to someone’s body/soul. Vaggie’s eye is torn out by Lute’s exorcist blade, but her wings were just ripped off by hand. Vaggie’s eye never regenerated or recovered, but she was able to regrow her wings. Alastor was struck by Adam’s holy weapon across his chest. What if the injury never fully recovers?

And also, Alastor’s talk about “unclipping” his wings. My friend, once a bird’s wings are clipped they can’t be unclipped! You have to wait for the feathers to shed and grow in new ones. To regenerate. Also what is this talk about you having wings??? Don’t tell me you’re ALSO a secret angel??? Probably not cause your blood is red BUT. Where are you hiding those supposed clipped wings of yours eh?!

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eddiesguitarskills · 1 year

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When We Were Young

Older Ex Eddie Munson x Reader

Other parts 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Intro : 5 years have past since you packed up and left behind Hawkins. Well not all of it, as the people you met there are still a huge part of your life. But it’s been 5 years since you had set a foot in the small town, 5 years since you left him. And now after all that time you were back.

Warning: angst, language, mentions of suicide, miscarriages, self harm, mental health. Arguments. Mentions of break ups. Female identity reader.

Bold parts are flashbacks

Word count: 4.5k

A/n: please only read if you are in a good place, I wouldn’t want this story to trigger or hurt anyone. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in the next part

Not prove read.

The phone rang and rang, the sound being drowned out by the tantrum of a toddler who didn’t want to go to bed. Her father couldn’t hear the phone as all he could focus on was trying not to shout at the little girl despite how frustrated he was. However, the phone kept ringing. Nancy was the first to notice the vibration of the item in the living room, “st-“, she looked over to her husband who was snuggling to get the PJs on their daughter. She chuckled at the little girl’s determination, Steve often said she got her stubbornness from Nancy. She walked into the living room and picked up the phone. “Hello Harrington residents-“ she was cut off “very formal paps”. Nancy smiled knowing exactly who this was, even without the nickname she would know who it was. Who else with a British accent would be calling their house?

“Y/n! We’ve missed you, you haven’t called in a couple of days, how are you?” You chuckle at the end of the line, “do you miss me that much?”. Truth be told it was weird for the Harrington household not to hear from you. Your daily calls were part of the family routine. Nancy knew that’s why her daughter’s temper had been so bad at the moment, she missed her aunt. “Well I wouldn’t say loads but..” Nancy joked, but then her thoughts started to consume her “Are you okay? Seriously though? nothing has happened?”.

You turned the faucet to pour the bath, tears only helping to fill it more -

It was hard not to think about it any time it was mentioned, no matter how many techniques you had learned to deal with the trauma. You knew what she was asking, she usually knew better, not to ask since the only people you ever talked about it to were your therapist and Steve your best friend. But Nancy couldn't help it when she was this worried. Her nails before looking beautiful red and long were now becoming chipped from her biting, a habit she thought she had got rid of in high school. The thought of you being hurt sent her back to then, and the anxiety she felt that night. She felt so uncomfortable, twitching in her skin waiting for you to reply.

You sighed on the other end “no Nancy” it felt weird for both to hear you use her real name, it had been a while since you hadn't called her paps. It used to be an occasional nickname you used for her, but when she got head editor at Hawkins post it only felt right for her to be permanently called that. “I'm okay, I promise. I have good news actually”. The anxieties began to wash from Nancy’s body, she exhaled not realise she was holding her breath. “Steve is going to kill me that you found out first, especially since it's kind of his fault I have good news. But you know Jeremy right? Jeremy slacks, well he was talking to the staff at school saying that they need a new drama teacher. And if they had any recommendations so Steve mentioned me. It’s the perfect job for me, I couldn't say no. So I'm moving back, I'm finally gonna be able to see Rosie grow up properly”.

The anxiety crept back but she didn't want you to know, so she put on the act she used when interviewing people when she was uncomfortable with them. She acted cool. “What? Rosie's gonna be so happy. When do you move back?”. You smile on the other end not realising anything was wrong. “Three weeks” Nancy hmmed to show she was listening. Knowing that Nancy was not the quiet type unless she was overthinking. You knew she was worried about the practicality of this, she was always a worrier. “Don't worry I'll have somewhere to live, my parents are gonna help me to find a house. Hopefully they don't try to move me in next door to them” you laughed, your aunt calls you from the other room. “Sorry paps I've gotta go but I’ll see you soon. Like really soon” the phone hangs up.

Once Nancy puts the phone back on the receiver she storms upstairs in search of her husband. The sound of their daughter had disappeared now, showing that she must be asleep. Nancy didn't even notice all she could think of was the call she just received. She walks into her room to find Steve, in his boxer about to go shower. His face beamed when he saw his beautiful wife, that was until he saw the distress that was written all over her face. “What's wrong?” he walked over to her, hoping to embrace her to hopefully take some of her burdens. He reached out to in gulf her into a hug, she pushed him away. “What were you thinking!?”. Steve was very confused, he racked his brain, did he do something wrong? He knew he must have to upset her this much. He didn't know what he did but if apologising made her feel better he would in a heartbeat. “I'm sorry”. Nancy crossed her arms “do you even know what you're sorry for?”

His plan to accept guilt didn't work out as well as he hoped. He looked to the floor in search of something to say before he could even muster out a word Nancy was speaking again. “I get you to miss her but she hasn't been able to set foot here since she left. What's different now?” The pieces of the puzzle were now all together. “Nancy she's ready, I know she is”. Nancy tries not to shout to wake her daughter but Steve’s carefree attitude was pissing her off. “How do you know that? We have to meet her in the city when she visits because of the triggers, YOU say it will cause by her being here”. Steve raises his voice “I know her better than anyone. She’s ready”. Nancy frowns, Steve, noticing, sighs and sits on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair. “I'm sorry... I just can't do it anymore. every day I'm waiting for the phone to ring so I can know she's okay. So I can know she hasn't hurt-” , he chokes as a lump forms in his throat.

Nancy makes her way over to him, getting on her knees him front of him. Holding his hands running circles over his palms to let him know she's there for him. “ I thought time would help it go away, but it doesn't. It's like no matter how happy I am, I can't get rid of the thought, the what if. I hate that the only way I can know she is okay is a call at night. There are so many hours in the day Anything could happen. What if something happened again and I'm not there this time? I can't stand it. I know it's selfish, but her life is here it always has been, it's just been waiting for her to come back and claim it. She's told me she thought about coming back loads I was usually hesitant thinking there were just words but a few days ago when we talked, she sounded so sure. I guess I got excited so I decided to give her a reason to come back. I'm sorry”. Nancy kissed the back of his hands “it's okay, you should have told me”. He nodded, tears rolling down his face, that he didn't realise were there. His wife brought her sleeve to his face wiping the tears “you should have told me everything, I'm your wife, your fears are my fears.” Steve smiles at his wife, kissing her head. “Thank you”. She smiled back “ I am happy she's coming back too. I'm just worried” a laugh falls from her lips “Rosie's gonna think Christmas came early” Steve copied her laugh.

Three long weeks later, you were all the group could talk about you. Except when he was around. The him that was currently stood in his bar talking to his staff about the tasks that needed to be done before he left, not aware that his world was about to be turned upside down again. “Also the band gets in at 8, make sure everything is safe and set up for them. And please no alcohol this time, they are underage I don’t want to get in trouble with the chief again”. The staff nod to show they are listening. “Just give me five minutes Sarah and I’ll give you the handover stuff”.

He walks into the back into a stock cupboard that has a small desk with paper and pens filling every surface, a bar stool and a phone hung poorly on the wall. He sits on the chair and starts to dial a number, picking at the holes in his jeans and waiting for someone to answer. “Hello?” Eddie smiles hearing one of his favourite voices “hi dusty bun” he laughs a little. “Eddie, how's work?” Dustin’s sounded warm upon hearing his friend's voice.

Eddie chuckles “why do you assume I wanna talk about work?”. Dustin laughs “that’s the only thing you talk about other than dnd”. Eddie rubs his hands over his face “god am I that dull?”. For the younger boy this could be further from the truth, Eddie was one of the coolest people Dustin had ever met. However, because of how well Dustin knew Eddie, he knew he would mock him for the compliment so he went with sarcasm. Something he had mastered from Eddie. “You’re the dullest person I’ve ever met. It’s exhausting being friends with you”. Eddie chuckled “I can’t be the dullest, you know Mike”. A dramatic gasp comes from the phone. Every day Eddie could see more of himself in Dustin and it worried him, not that he would ever say, but he hoped he would only get his humour and the rest from Steve. Dustin deserves the best in life and being another Edward Munson wouldn’t give him that. “I’ll tell him”, Eddie nods even though Dustin can’t see him “please do”.

He loved to annoy Mike, pretending he was the bane of his existence but he loved him, he loved all of his mismatched little group just some more than others. The only way he knew to show love was through teasing, maybe that was because of who his parents were. Even though most of his life he was brought up by his uncle who showed him, love, by being there but he also never knew the best way to show it. Maybe that was the Munson way. There was only one time he thought he knew what it meant to love conventionally but that was before everything.

You wait outside his trailer, minutes feel like an eternity, waiting, hoping, praying you would feel his warm embrace…

“I’ll tell him tonight” Eddie expects a laugh or joke, something but all he gets is silence. He worries that the signal has gone, “hello” he keeps repeating hoping this will somehow help the phone reconnect. “Fucking piece of shit” the phone slams back into its holder. There’s a tap on the office door “yeah”, Sarah walks in and sits on her boss's lap. She kisses along his jawline “What’s up Eds? ” he glares and moves her off of him. No one was allowed to call him that, the exceptions being, his uncle, Dustin once and you. The name was now a trigger to him and the slight mention made him tense. A word that used to sound sweet, was now venom to him. Any mention of that word caused him to relive things he would rather keep buried forever.

He is careful not to slam the door to announce his arrival. The more time he can practice what he needs to say the better. Mutters coming from him that would be hard to hear unless you were close. Flowers clutched tightly around his fist. The walk to your door was shorter than he had hoped…

She pouts hating to upset her boss/part-time lover “Eddie, baby I’m sorry” he doesn’t react, just saying anything to get rid of her. “best start on stock and things before they get here”. She crouches down so she can rub his legs. Hoping she could help relieve his stress. His eyes roll back the higher her hands roam, a small moan falls from his mouth. She smiles loving the feeling of being needed. The moment is interrupted by the harsh siren on the wall. Eddie raises from his seat making the girl’s hands fall from him “time to get back to work”. The girl stands up looking defeated, “have a good evening off Mr Munson” she leaves his office.

He Inhales and exhales hoping to get rid of any stupid thoughts that were still spiralling around his head. After doing this for a few seconds he picks up the phone, and before he even puts it to his ear he can hear the rambles of his younger friend. “Wow chill out Dustin”. He worries something bad had happened to the boy since they last spoke minutes earlier. “So you’re coming tonight?” Dustin’s voice came out a lot harsher than he meant as the fear took over his body. “Am I not welcome?” Eddie said confidently despite fearing the rejection of the closest person in his life. If he didn’t want him around who would, he thought.

Dustin stutters “of course you are, I just thought you couldn’t come”. Eddie smiled in relief “turns out when you’re own boss you can do whatever you want”. The phone falls silent for a moment, “shit not again!”. Eddie worries the signal has gone again, he taps the phone on the table hoping it will work. He raises it to his ear. “You there?”. Nothing.

He’s about to hang up when he hears breathing on the other end of the line. “You sure you wanna come tonight?”. This is the weirdest Eddie had ever seen Dustin act, there was no way he wouldn’t go now as he had to make sure his friend was okay. “Yes even if the Harrington’s have got something corny planned… see you at 7”. Dustin softly smiles “see you then”

Not realising Eddie had hung up the phone he continues to speak “Eddie she’s gonna be there so if you don’t wanna come you don’t have to” he waits for a response anything, but there was nothing. He looks down at the phone only to realise he was talking to himself. There was now no way to warn Eddie of what he was walking into.

You had only been back in town for an hour. At that time you had only briefly seen your parents when they picked you up from the airport. Despite Steve’s grumble about wanting to see you first, as you saw your parents a month ago and in his words “it was his right as your best friend to welcome you back”. He still got his way, as despite your knowledge you were dropped off not at your parent's house, not your new house, but the Harrington’s. Being the charmer he always was of course he convinced them to drop you at his house. Not that you were complaining, as soon as you entered the house you leapt into his arms, his arms felt so welcoming, like home. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Steve knocked for the fourth time on the door, but there was still no answer. He knew it was rude to just invite himself in, but surely you wouldn’t mind since you had told him where the spare key was. Plus he hadn’t heard from you since you left the weepy voicemail an hour ago. He hated that he wasn’t home sooner to hear it. As the worry was eating him up and the key was in his hand he knew it was his right to welcome himself in. Repeating your name loudly but softly to not scare you, despite the fear he felt. He looked around the living room, the kitchen, and the dining room. Nothing. He started to make his way upstairs to look. While walking up the stairs he saw the light shine through under the bathroom door. A horrible sickly dread entered his body. He don’t know what came over him but he knew he had to get into that bathroom now…

Tears started to fall from both of the old friend's eyes. You had missed each other so much, more than you had realised. You suddenly felt a small force on your leg, break away from the hug, to see your goddaughter, Rosie. Rubbing your eyes before greeting the child. Then you reached down to her level and beamed at the precious girl in front of you. Trying to hold back tears that were seconds away from pouring again. She had grown so much since the last time you had met, her curls now long enough to be put into pigtails. “Hi Angel”, tears started to flow from the small girl’s eyes. She had missed you so much. You wiped the tears with your thumb from the little girl's eyes, “I’m sorry I was gone for so long”. Rosie sniffles “meanie”. You nod “I know I’m a sorry princess. You’ll never have to miss me again, I will always be here”. The girl pouted, she was happy at the thought of always having you around. But she was scared it wasn’t real unless. She stuck out her tiny pinky “prinky promise” she pronounced as well as she could. You smile. a tear escapes from your eye. You held both of your fingers together “pinky promise”.

After a tear felt welcoming from the final Harrington, Nancy. You were sat in the living room, Rosie’s head resting on your leg. She had tired herself out from sobbing before. Not that you could blame her all the crying made you tired too. You couldn't help the warm feeling in your heart from looking at your family, your home. Steve came in with a herbal tea, he placed it on the table in front of you, and took a seat in the armchair across from you, “thanks”.

You expected Nancy to come out as well and join so all of you so you could catch up. From the sounds of banging and frustrated sighs anyone could tell she was in the kitchen. Which was a huge surprise to you. You hadn’t been in Hawkins for a long time, but Nancy was Never, a cook. Not that she hadn’t tried, but she already had so many amazing talents, so what did it matter if there was one thing she couldn’t do? She was still perfection in your, Rosie’s and Steve’s eyes.

You leaned the upper half of your body towards your best friend, careful to not unsettle the small girl underneath you. Whispering loud enough so he can hear “what is Nancy doing in the kitchen? Isn’t it your best friend's duty to make sure I’m not poisoned on my first day back” you joked. “She’s not that bad”. You raised an eyebrow at Steve. “I swear she better, she doesn’t burn as many things as she used to”. You both chuckle “reassuring. But She doesn’t need to cook just because I’m back, I’m not classy I would happily have a KFC”. Steve's mouth watered at the thought of his favourite takeout that he had been trying to cut down on, scared of getting a “dad bod”. He would say it wasn’t cool for someone his age to have one. “Well she thought it would be nice, especially with everyone coming over”. Your mascara-stained eyes went wide. “Have you seen me?” signalling down to the tracksuit you had on for travelling, “I look a mess, I can’t see people like this”. You had never been one to worry about looks but messy raccoon's eyes and a tracksuit didn’t seem fitting for a welcome-back dinner.

After raiding Nancy’s closet for something that would fit, you came across a simple floral dress. Nothing spectacular but it was pretty. It was clear from the tag that Nancy had never worn it, but she insisted she didn't mind as she has received it for Christmas last year and it wasn't her style. She knew it would look beautiful on you. However, Nancy was always one of your biggest cheerleaders so if she was telling the truth or not you'd never know. You had also cleaned your face and put on mascara and Lipgloss you had in your bag. Feeling too bad to borrow more things from Nancy.

The couple were struggling to get the girl to bed before everyone came. Rosie has a serious case of Fomo. “I will only go to bed if auntie y/n takes me”. You would have done anything she said so you were more than happy to follow her orders. However, her parents knowing all too well knew her tricks. They knew she would make it so you couldn't leave her, showing you her puppy dog eyes, which even her parents weren't completely immune to. Meaning you were either going to have to stay in her room with her or take her to the party downstairs. So they thought it was best they did it, which made you sad, you would have honestly preferred to be stuck with the girl all night. Not that you didn't want to see your friends you were just nervous and you felt more comfortable around a 3-year-old, who you know wouldn't ask questions. Wouldn't judge. Wouldn't be scared you were gonna hurt yourself again. She would just be happy to be around her Aunt, probably talking your ear off about my little pony( her new fixation).

You sat in the living room again twiddling your thumbs, hating that could hear the sobs of Rosie upstairs asking for you. You wanted to go upstairs, hearing someone needing you so much was making your heart break but you knew you had to respect her parent's wishes, especially since they were the people you trusted most.

Bang. You jumped not expecting to be pulled away from your thoughts by a knock on the door. You hoped Steve would come down and answer it. You felt sick with butterflies. There was a knock again. You knew it was stupid to be scared to see old friends, but you could never help but feel awkward around them. When in the few times you had seen them since leaving, they all had the same glint in their eyes towards you. Fear. Maybe seeing you more now, showing that you had finally started to have your life ok track would stop that. You were being ridiculous, you knew they only worried because they cared, and it would be fine.

Upon hearing another knock, you held onto the sofa to get up scared your knees would fail you. You exhaled and put on the biggest smile you could. Waking over to the door. You grabbed the handle pulling it open, ready to welcome your friends. However, on the other side of the door was someone you still hadn't prepared yourself to see. You wanted to pitch yourself to make sure this wasn't a nightmare. ‘Ignore your heartbreaking and just keep smiling’ you told yourself. “Long time no see”. If anyone from far was watching they would have thought from the beam on your face, that you were greeting an old friend. But from Eddie’s face, you could tell it was anything but that. Well, his expression was hard to explain. But from his frozen body, it was clear he was shocked. You kept smiling trying to ignore the awkward interaction playing out. You moved your body to the side “come in”. He did but his facial expressions didn't change, he wouldn’t stop staring at you. “So how have you been?”

Steve came bounding down the stairs upon hearing the door shut, happy to be able to get away from his daughter's trauma. He stopped on the bottom step when he saw the unexpected guest. He wore the same face as Eddie. You looked between the pair, you needed Steve now more than ever so you were glad to see him. “Is she still crying for me?”. He nodded still staring at Eddie. You clear your throat you needed him, now wasn't the time to freeze up. He broke away from his trance, looking to you. “You know you should probably go up and see her”. You knew what he was trying to do but you didn't want to unsettle the girl more just because you were uncomfortable. “Steve I don't wanna make her worse”. His brows came together, how was he supposed to help if you wouldn't listen? “Fine do you mind helping in the kitchen just while Nancy is finishing up?”. You nod, leaving for the kitchen. As soon as you left the room a smile fell from your face. You thought you were over it but meeting those brown eyes brought up memories you wish you could forget.

“God why are you so controlling?”, you turn around to face him astonished by his accusation. “I'm trying to help, if you don't wanna do it fine. I just thought you might need some legal cash when you finally graduate”. He flinched. You knew you shouldn't have mentioned that word, it being a sore spot as this was his second time trying to graduate. You also knew you shouldn't mention the drug dealing, an awkward topic in your relationship as you always knew he was better than that life. You knew how sour his mood was about to become, so you were ready to make an apology when you were cut off. “I get it, you don't think I'm good enough to make it? You wanna stick me in some shitty job, so I'm stuck here forever. While you get to go live your dreams. Do you want me to be your little housewife and have food on the table ready for when you get back from your big successful job?”. How could you trying to help turn out so bad? You were always his biggest believer of him, and this was how he was treating you. You weren't sure if you should even mention the baby at this point.

Steve finally left the bottom step. He hated how sick this situation made him feel, it felt like was he responsible to make you happy, and this way the furthest away from that. However, he also didn't want to make his other friend feel unwelcome. Even if his loyalties were with you, he knew how awkward it can be to see an ex. He placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, breaking the man free from his frozen demeanour. “Eddie I didn't expect to see you here. Dustin said you had work”. The long-haired man scoffed “I guess there were things we both didn't know”.

#Spotify #older eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x yn #stranger things imagines #stranger things angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x you

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hiemaldesirae · 17 days

Note

Swap au nonny: no plans to write this at all, so go ahead an write away =)

But yeah, Valentino thought Vox had it in the bag--now he believes that Alastor doesn't deserve death, but should be someone's bitch for eternity (he should have been Vox's, but seeing how the deer acts with Vox's stuff, he would probably like that). Velvette doesn't know what to think. She misses Vox terribly, and hates Alastor, and is very upset with Valentino for not going to Vox's distress call--she definitely would have gone, but wouldn't have made it in time as her true demon form doesn't have flight. Velvette basically did most of the work for all 3 sectors of the Vees while Alastor was punishing Valentino and Valentino's souls, and becomes friends with Niffty during those first 4 years. Once Alastor takes back the reigns and Val gets back to work, Velvette goes back to what she used to do too. Like things are mostly unchanged for her. (Mostly because she befriended Niffty and eventually Rosie. Her doing that saved her)

As for Vox's sector? His giant monitor room is clean by Niffty and is visited by Alastor once or twice a month, where Alastor ponders what Vox exactly did in the room. His office has been taken over by Alastor, his last ideas and drawings framed and safely kept in Alastor's bayou space. Vox's contracted souls continued to work for Voxtech...until a day after Alastor realized Vox was back, and that's when Vox gently pulled on their chains and called them to him. (Not like there was many left. Alastor did actually land a killing blow. Vox had to use some of his contracted souls to heal himself, destroying them in the process. But Vox lived, and that's what matters.)

Alastor does say I love you to the head he sleeps with in his bed! Also, I'm sorry, and I didn't mean too, and please come back to me. I'll be better. I'll never hurt you again, my love.

Vox does have PTSD. It's so bad that he has to take relaxation meds to go to the overlord meeting (since it's required for both allied overlords to show now) and Alastor will definitely be there, with his ally Rosie. It's fine though he has Husk.

YEAHHHHHHH YIPPEE THANK YOU NONNY I WONT DISAPPOINT I PROMISE!!!! (question for writing purposes btw. do charlie/vaggie know that vox is there on behalf of lucifer or does he just Show Up)

Urghm. wughd. imgnonna. Throw up. what the FUCK !!!!!!! what thde FUCK...................!!!!!!!!!! valvel going the FUCK through it while theyre both mourning their best friends death and harbouring so sososo much guilt from it all...if hell had therapists theyd need it more than anyone else please someone put the vees together in a cage so they can hug it out :(

oh god als such a fucking freak. i just know hed keep all of voxs old shit like pristine and clean and just looking like it was preserved in time or something, even when hes also making voxtek employees come in to do constant upgrades so that it seems more like something vox would do. trying to hold on to the pieces of him that he still has left while changing them to make it feel as if vox never left in the first place... and also, once alastor finds out vox is alive again, does he jump to the idea of having someone infiltrate the hotel to keep an eye on him or something? cause if he sends his shadow, sure thats not something they can get rid of, but he also doesnt know how well vox will respond to his shadow- even if they were close, alastor *did* kill vox nearly permanently, so is this potentially how the hotel gets niffty?

banging my head against the wall WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE SAYS SHIT LIKE 'ill be better' AND 'ill never hurt you again, just please come back to me'.... makes me think of those like, manhwas or whatever where the mc goes back in time to save someone they loved but treated like shit. they make my heart hurt what the FUCK nonny why would you do this to me.... urgh. the worst part is knowing alastor is that he does honestly probably mean it but in like His way. the toxic doomed yaoi way. like he's going to kidnap vox and keep him by his side forever if it means the other won't get hurt and almost leave again. which is usually a good thing because again. freak4freak radiostatic enthusiast here . but for swap!vox... oh my poor dear. he's probably freaking the fuck out whenever he sees al. is there even any ending where radiostatic gets a happy end :sob:

ough i can imagine husk just like standing protectively in front of vox during the meetings or something, like if rosie tries to get close to him or something he tells her firmly to leave because even though they were friends, vox cant even look her in the eye anymore because in his eyes, she *knew* what al did and still stayed by his side. she knew he killed vox and probably condoned it, and she'd probably help him do it all over again if they could- or at least that's what he thinks, but she really is just trying to get close to him again and cant understand why he's pulling back so hard. and the image of al trying to approach vox after a meeting or something only to be met with val and vels interference as husk takes vox and flies him back to the hotel- valvel get punished severely afterward for keeping them apart, obviously, but theyd do *anything* to keep vox safe especially because last time, when they didnt do enough, he almost died forever

#ran rambles #hazbin hotel #general asks #radiostatic #swap au

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 22 days

Text

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 18 - final chapter)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 1.8 K

Warnings: Minors DNI - mentions of violence, swearing, morally gray war criminals with weird definitions of what 'acts of service' as a love language looks like

Summary: The final epilogue for the fic, tying off the loose ends.

December 6, 2017 14:11 - Stirling Lines, Credenhill, Herefordshire, United Kingdom

Weeks had passed since she had come home to England once more. All physical traces of her bruises and wounds had faded away (the bi-weekly military mandated visit to her therapist allowing her to wade through what remained under the surface). Her head kept down and focused on her work, Rory was back to the safe confines of her desk, the protection of a computer chair and her monitor, as she went back to her duties: checking recon footage, tracking terrorist cell movements, listening in to chatter. Her phone and email went off with near constant notifications of new reports, new objectives, new threats, and then there was the back and forth with Laswell, keeping her up to date with the intel British armed services had collected long before it would ever be shared with American allies. Life was different at the SRR for her now, she wasn’t jealous or feeling defeated and left behind, she had a purpose. Her work was actually doing some good, she wasn’t merely placed there to keep her out of trouble – she was useful.

Moving throughout the halls, heading towards the facilities shared with the 22nd SAS, Rory weaved in and out of the procession of soldiers and other staff that operated within the building. The sound of footsteps and chattering voices carried around her, bouncing off the walls, her head focused on the quickest path to the training room to work off some of the stress perching on her shoulders on the bag with her headphones in to tune out the rest of the world.

“Sinclair!”

Price’s rumbling voice rose above the din, that hoarse bark of the Captain she knew all too well, intimately even. Freezing in place, she made a quick heel turn and faced him. Standing at attention, she gave him a formal salute, hiding any smile that wanted to form on her face, but that warm glow in her eyes was unmistakable.

“At ease, Sergeant.” He stared down at her, maintaining a reserved disposition. Aloof, distant. “Got a moment?”

They were nothing more than two soldiers who had worked an op together – or at least that was the facade they put up, putting on the airs of a superior officer and a subordinate having a simple discussion in the hall. No shifting eyes to provoke questioning, or other servicemen looking in their direction.

Rory relaxed and placed both hands behind her back, her neck gently craning as she maintained a neutral expression. “Yes. Is there something I can help you with, Captain?”

“Wanted to show you somethin’.” Rory’s brow lifted; her interest piqued. “Follow me.”

Traveling behind him, she did her best not to let her eyes wander down to those damn hips of his and the way they moved when he walked. Forcing them to stay firmly planted on the middle of his shoulders, which really didn’t do much to help, but it was better than nothing to keep her cheeks from flushing a rosy pink in a crowded hallway.

Opening the door to his office, he stood at the entrance by the door jamb and tilted his head towards the doorway, urging her to enter.

Stepping inside, her eyes scanned over the boring beige room. The desk was sturdy but had definitely been in here for far longer than Price was a Captain, handed down to him. His chair worn, the material on it puckering, the padding sinking inward. A chair set up in front, facing the window streaked with rain on the gloomy late autumn day. It was clean, sparse, and likely rarely used except for when he was barraged by paperwork and reports.

“Take a seat,” he directed, shutting the door behind them. His eyes roaming over her in a long, lingering gaze.

Sitting down, she watched as Price moved around to the other side of his desk, turning his chair. Lowering into it, the seat creaked with his weight as his broad shoulders settled against the backrest. His steely eyes traveled over the room and he cleared his throat, leaning back into the chair trying to appear relaxed, but he just seemed stiff. It was clear being in a room like this was not his natural habitat.

“Got word from Laswell. Apparently, there was a rash of gangland shootings in Russia this last week.”

“Really?” She asked with disbelief, not entirely convinced by the cover story he was trying to cook up.

Price hummed and bent to open one of the drawers of his desk. Reaching in, he tossed a file onto his desk, but didn't open it. “Made quite the stir.”

With a scoff, she moved to rest her elbow on the back of her seat. “I bet it did.”

His gaze locked onto hers, holding her captive in his stare. In the hidden depths of those cold eyes, she could see the danger that brewed below. Leaning forward, his arms folded on the desk on top of the file, his voice dropped to a low conspiratorial whisper. “Took care of a few problems for us though. Remember the man you kneecapped?”

She crossed her legs and sat forward, swallowing thickly. “The one you promised me we’d handle?”

“That’s the one.” A satisfied smirk pulled at the very corner of his mouth, barely noticeable, more closely resembling a flinch of the muscle. “Took a nasty shot to the head.”

Her brows rose with mild surprise and she couldn’t help but grin, the smug look on his face gave her every bit of evidence she needed to know that this tale of gang executions was clearly a cover. “What a shame. Must have been quite the shot though.”

“It was.” His brow lifted and he pushed the file towards her. Sitting back in his seat, he crossed his arms over his chest, puffed up with pride. Nothing more needed to be said. No more detail was required than that. He had been busy tying off loose ends since they had ended their mission, and he just confirmed it.

Flipping open the cover of the file, autopsy reports and crime scene photos confirmed his claims. Her eyes went wide at just how cleanly he had handled the whole issue, all evidence swept under the rug, nothing to trace it back to him whatsoever. “Fucking hell, you’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

A pregnant pause lodged between them, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, rather it was silent appreciation of one another, lost in reverie. Acknowledging the fact that neither was concerned with the loss of a life that had been entangled with something that had been a living nightmare of Rory’s for almost a year.

“He wasn’t the only one though,” he added, finally breaking the stillness.

“Oh?” She couldn’t wait to hear just how much chaos he had created in order to solve a problem, insisting on proving to her just what lengths he would go to for her.

“Apparently Zorokov pissed off some very dangerous people.” The smirk on his face became obvious, he wasn’t even bothering to hide the fact that he had gone out of his way to take care of the man who had hurt her. There was a flicker of that feral energy that resided under the surface in his stare, before it receded once more into the depths, pleased with itself and the way it had managed to protect her. “You ask me, the bullet was too quick a death for him, but it certainly takes care of a problem, eh?”

Christ , that feeling that stirred in her gut at that look in his eyes was a savage reflex. He was a trained killer, and with what he had just told her, he let her know just how easy it was for him to take care of a threat, comparatively as simple a task as tossing out the kitchen garbage in the bin. If she was anyone else, she likely would have run for the hills – this was a man capable of violence and with a conscience that had learned to accept it and carry on, doing whatever he thought was for the best, no matter the cost. Yet, in the grand scheme could she really say she was any better (when she had wanted the Bratva boss handled, she certainly hadn’t pictured a simple bullet to the head)? Rory had to concede to the fact that her and Price weren’t so different, and she truly did appreciate the gesture from him.

“Thank you, John.”

“No need to thank me, my girl.” He tipped his head at her, a quiet chuckle drifting from him as he shrugged his shoulders, acting as if what he had done was something anyone would do for their significant other. “Just thought you should know.”

She closed the cover of the file and slid it back towards him, sure that he would destroy these last shreds of what he had done now that his good work had been shared with her. “Well, all the same – I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” A small grin caused the crow’s feet around his eyes to crinkle, that dark, dangerous spark in his eyes becoming a gentle twinkle. “Now, go on. Can’t be hanging around me all day, darlin’. You’ll spoil our cover.”

“Yes, sir.” She gave him another of her playful salutes and pushed back her chair to stand.

“That’s a good girl.”

Shooting him a sideways glance, she caught his cheeky, confident grin before he slipped back into the mask of the hard, stoic Captain once more. Her brow cocked and a smirk pulled at her lips. “Really? Thought you’d just slip that one in, eh?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, his lips barely parting into a smile. God, he’s good at that. Two sides to him like he was Jekyll and Hyde, able to maintain two very different personalities and not lose sight of them both. “Told ya, can’t help myself. ‘Specially ‘round you.”

A soft blush carried up her cheeks and her features softened for a moment as she looked at him. “We still on for next weekend?”

“So long as I’m not deployed anywhere. Yeah.”

“I’ll pack my overnight bag then. Been a while since my last time in Liverpool.”

“I’ll make sure to show you all the sights, my girl.” The purr in his voice already suggested exactly what his plans were for her visit, the only sights likely being the inside of his bedroom.

Giggling, she moved to his office door, placing her hand on the knob, looking back over her shoulder at him. “Thank you again, John. For looking after me.”

“Always,” he spoke with a furrowed brow and a quick shake of his head as if she was thanking him for something that she should have expected of him.

Giving the doorjamb a little pat with her hand, she opened the door and headed back out into the hall, back to pretending that things were purely innocent between her and the superior officer whose office she had just walked out of as though they barely knew each other at all, back to the second life she had chosen to live to keep up her secret with him.

#call of duty #fan fiction #cod fanfic #john price #john price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #fic: all along the watchtower #chapter 18 #final chapter

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haggishlyhagging · 6 months

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The media's preoccupation with single women's miseries reared up suddenly in the mid-1980s. Between 1980 and 1982, as one study has noted, national magazines ran only five feature articles about single women; between 1983 and 1986, they ran fifty-three—and almost all were critical or pitying. (Only seven articles about single men ran in this same period.) The headlines spoke bleakly of THE SAD PLIGHT OF SINGLE WOMEN, THE TERMINALLY SINGLE WOMAN, and SINGLE SHOCK. To be unwed and female was to succumb to an illness with only one known cure: marriage.

The press contributed to single women's woes as much as it reported on them, by redefining single women's low social status as a personal defect. The media spoke ominously of single women's "growing isolation"—but it was an isolation that trend journalism helped create and enforce. In the '70s, the media's accounts featured photos and stories of real single women, generally in groups. In the '80s, the press offered drawings of fictional single women and tales of "composite" or "anonymous" single women—almost always depicted alone, hugging a tear-stained pillow, or gazing forlornly from a garret window. McCall's described the prototype this way: "She's the workaholic, who may enjoy an occasional dinner with friends but more likely spends most of her time alone in her apartment, where she nightly retreats as her own best friend."

Just as the press had ignored the social inequalities that cause career women to "burn out," it depoliticized the situation of single women. While '70s press reports had chipped away at the social stigma that hurt single women, the '80s media maintained, with the aid of pop psychologists, that single women's troubles were all self-generated. As a therapist maintained in the New York Times story on single women, "Women are in this situation because of neurotic conflicts." This therapist was even saying it about herself; she told the Times she had entered "intensive analysis" to cure herself of this singular distaff disorder.

The media's presentation of single women as mental patients is a well-worn backlash tradition. In the late Victorian press, single women were declared victims of "andromania" and "marriage dread." After briefly rehabilitating single women as sprightly "bachelor girls" in the early 1900s, the press condemned them to the mental ward once more for the duration of the Depression. In the '30s, Good Housekeeping conducted a poll of single career women that looked for signs of psychic distress. When the single women all said they were quite satisfied with their lives, the magazine inquired hopefully, "May not some of them have hidden a longing that hurt like a wound . . . as they bent above some crib and listened to the heavy sleeping breath that rhythmed from rosy lips?" And yet again in the '50s, a parade of psychoanalysts led by Marynia Farnham and Ferdinand Lundberg, authors of the 1947 leading manual, Modern Woman: The Lost Sex, marched through the women's magazines, declaring single women "defeminized" and "deeply ill."

-Susan Faludi, Backlash: the Undeclared War Against American Women

#susan faludi #amerika #single women #anti feminism

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this-is-ally-and-im-confused · 1 year

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Achilles Come Down|| T.Zegras

A/n hi hi loves! It’s been awhileeee but I’m backkkkk. Here’s a little fic based on the song “Achilles Come Down”. It’s also my first writing for Z and ofc it’s angst.

Warning:Z is in the roof, panic, fear, talk about therapy, whole lotta crying. Don’t read if you can’t handle stress!!! I love y’all.

Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, come down. Won't you get up off, get up off the roof?You're scaring us and all of us, some of us love you.

“Trevor pick up the phone!” You yelled at your screen.

God, you were scared. It wasn’t like your boyfriend to miss his post-game call. Even after such a series of losses. He’s normally so talkative, easy-going, and he didn’t let things like the press or his performance affect things at home.

And yet, you are still 3 hours post game with no call. It was well after midnight, you knew he’d be home soon. With the anxiety you felt, you couldn’t help but have a few tears slip down your face. You cried until sleep came and took you into its clutches.

You didn’t know how long it had been when you woke up to a very distressed Jamie shaking you.

“Y/n get up! Trevor’s on the roof. And he’s not doing too good.”

The two of you ran to the front yard. You didn’t care about the chilly night air running over your exposed arms and legs. The blood and panic pumping through you had numbed you.

Only as Trevor paced over had you decided to check your phone. It was just after 6 a.m. and you only had one text from Trevor…an apology.

“Trev! What’s wrong? Can you come down and talk to us?” You called, desperately.

“Yea Trev, come down bud.” Jamie pleaded with you.

“We love you baby. Come on down.”

The fluffy-haired boy just hung his head.

Just humor us, Achilles, Achilles, come down. Won't you get up off, get up off the roof?

By now, your heart was pumping three times too fast. Jamie’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing keeping you upright.

All you wanted to know was what had driven Trevor, the sweetest guy you know, to act so irrational.

“Z, please. Just come down. We can get some rest and talk about this when you feel better.”

“I-I can’t!”

You crave the applause yet hate the attention–then miss it, your act is a ruse.

The boy stood on the edge of the building, his hands gripping the ends of his hair. Tears poured down in fat droplets over his rosy cheeks.

“Baby, talk to me.” You called.

“E-everyone needs me! They need me to be happy, to be the face of the team–and I can’t live up to that. What about how I feel when I want to disappear? What if I don’t want to be THE Trevor Zegras, what then?”

You paused. Had he really felt like this the entire time? You glanced over at Jamie, and he was looking back at you. He could relate to the hockey side better than you could.

So the darker-haired boy stepped forward looking upwards to his best friend.

“I get it bud. We can talk to coach, get a you a therapist or a break. But this–this isn’t the way to do things. You’re scaring y/n, and you’re scaring me.”

Trevor’s eyes finally met yours. He looked at you with such pain, you felt your heart crack.

Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, come down. Won't you get up off, get up off the roof?

“Honey, please.”

It was all you could beg before tears complete fell in rivers. Your vision was blurry and you were shaking while leaning into Jamie.

A few moments later you were standing clutching a sobbing Trevor. Jamie’s arms wrapped around the both of you. There were so many tears. So many things left unsaid.

All you could think of was how grateful you were for the two boys. You had never seen before exactly how much things could add up and take a toll.

No words were said as the three of you parted, you gave Jamie one last hug and whispered how you could take Trevor for the night but the three of you would talk in the morning.

With that, you brought Trevor to your bed and lulled the restless boy to sleep.

#send in requests #send anything #ally loves hockey #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #nhl angst #ally loves angst

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tmf-confessions · 7 months

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confession #234

confession by @seander

Misinterpretations of Hailey's character annoy me to no end and I can't fathom how anyone could watch the show and come out of it with some of the takes I've seen on her. She clearly means well, regardless of how she may mess up at times; I can understand why someone may not like the way she tried to give Jake advice. She clearly didn't understand how difficult his situation was, and that's fine to dislike how she wasn't very understanding but I see the most bad-faith interpretations of it all the time? She wasn't really being manipulative or pressuring him. ( Not intentionally at least, I DO think that her saying she thinks they're bad to be around did put a little pressure on him regardless of her intentions ) Again, she maybe wasn't handling this as best as she could but what bothers me is thinking she had bad intentions behind this when she clearly didn't. ( + Unrelated a little, I do prefer that she wasn't perfect with responding to Jake venting! I hate when characters are suddenly therapists who can understand how exactly to help another character who is reaching out when the character isn't anything like a therapist. Hailey is a random sixteen-year-old girl, she doesn't really know how to deal with her own problems; What she says is very realistic to me! ^_^ ) The line "Sooner or later, Jake, you'll have to decide for yourself. Not me, not Drew, but you." is misunderstood quite a bit, Rosy did make a comment on this; "what Hailey is referring to here is Jake staying in or leaving the club. NOT choosing friends/a side. In context, it's only about Jake thinking of quitting after the competition due to pressure, which she is upset by." How exactly this got interpreted as being about his friendships with Drew/Hailey I do understand, but I don't understand seeing it as her pressuring Jake when she's making it clear she wants this to be HIS decision. She doesn't want what she or Drew might think to influence his decision, it should just be up to him. Again, again: My point is not that Hailey did nothing wrong at all or that she didn't make any mistakes, it's that she means well and I don't get how people think of her with bad intentions. That's all ( Sorry if this is too long lol, I'm just very passionate about my silly gacha show aha )

#tmf confessions #tmf #the music freaks #rosyclozy #freakblr #confessions 230-239 #this was really long lmao/nm #i hope hte text is still readable in the image

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darkimpala1897 · 2 days

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I'm currently doing a storm chaser Au for MOTA, I posted my three part today, so I just wanted to drop some lore slash headcanons

1. Bucky was adopted at age seven by Jack and Chick, he doesn't call them his dads. He calls them his weird uncles.

2. Buckys parents were killed by a tornado.

3. Bucky has been chasing tornados since he was a kid.

4. Bucky and Buck are married, but currently divorcing. But also at the same time not really.

5. Curt and Dickie have been married since the dinosaurs.

6. DeMarco is engaged to Brady, Meatball is their son.

7. Bubbles and Crosby are married duh.

8. Douglass and Hambone have been dating forever.

9. Helen and Nash are married.

10. Quinn is in a situationship with Bailey and Babyface, I can't even explain it.

11. Ken is married to Winks, they have a son named Sammy.

12. Sammy was carried by Helen, but she is not biologically his mother.

13. Meatball was found in what was left of a barn, he was just a puppy.

14. Helen is the only one with her life together, she's a sex therapist, which Nash finds hilarious.

12. Ken and Winks are farmhands slash mechanics, that live on Jack and Chicks farm.

13. Everyone lives in Jack and Chicks basement.

14. They live in Wakita Oklahoma.

15. Nobodys car dates past 1996 is a running joke between everyone when in reality its like 1990.

16. Hambone is the human barometer.

17. Croz is the navigator, he has a whole a conniption if Bubbles folds the maps.

18. DeMarco drives a retired school bus, for some reason well drunk DeMarco put where it use to say school, it says "Burrito Barn" now. He doesn't know either.

19. Bucky drives a blue 1983 GMC Vandura with a unicorn painted on both sides.

20. Ken painted the unicorns on Buckys van.

21. Curt and Dickie drive a black 1989 Chevrolet Suburban, it's nickname is "The Beast"

22. The Beast has been put back together four times now, the most severe incident was a cell tower piece through the windshield.

23. Bubbles and Croz drive a 1982 Ford F-150.

24. Douglass and Hambone drive a 1983 Ford LTD Country Squire, Hammy calls it "The Boat" or "The Wagon" depending on the day.

25. Douglass loves to drift his Squire, which is not good for it.

26. Rosies drives a 1985 Chevrolet Chevy Van, it has utility lights on it, Bucky calls it "The Boring Van"

27. Helen and Nash drive a 1975 Chevrolet K-10.

28. Bucky is the resident idiot of the group.

29. Rosies operates all the fancy equipment, and the cameras for obvious reasons.

30. They have a YouTube channel, which is called the Windy 100th. Rosie thought of it because he was a history major.

31. Their YouTube channel isn't that popular, but it's more about them having fun then anything.

32. Curt and Brady do audio, they have the best ears.

33. Smokey is their doctor, but he is a registered wackadoodle.

34. Smokey drives this hideous green 1990 Crown Victoria it belongs to Stormy, though he pretends not to own it for obvious reasons.

35. Instead of Brady yelling "Son of a bitch, that's France! He's yelled "Son Of Bitch, that's the tornado." He nearly died that day.

36. Brady just owns a baseball helmet for some reason.

37. Hambone is called Hambone because he literally got smacked by a flying pig.

38. Babyface is called Babyface, because for some reason he keeps getting smacked in the head by babydolls.

39. Stormy is an actual meteorologist, that just helps out the group. So he slightly has his life together.

40. Ken owns a flatbed tow truck for obvious reasons, but he normally drives a 1977 GMC C-15 which he shares with Winks.

41. Buck owns a 1984 Jeep Wagoneer.

42. All of them met in college well studying you guessed it weather.

43. Rosie knows Oklahoma by heart, he sings with Smokey.

44. DeMarco loves rock music, he blasts it on drives through speakers on his bus.

45. Douglass loves classical music.

46. All of them are amazing drivers which is surprising considering.

47. Chick is the one who cooks, Jack bakes and makes pretty much everything.

48. Jack makes wind chimes that he sells.

49. The only one to ever have seen an F5 was Bucky, its what killed his parents.

50. Bucky thinks he's the leader, but it's actually Rosie.

That's it, that's lore for the Windy 100th aka Storm Chaser AU.

#masters of the air #headcanon #gale buck cleven #john bucky egan #harry crosby #howard hambone hamilton #buck x bucky #joseph bubbles payne #Mota storm chaser Au #everyone is gay #except Helen and Nash #bubbles x crosby #crubbles

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hells-greatest-performers · 10 hours

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Maybe Rosie and Husk could sit in as mediators? Pretty sure they're the closest thing the pride ring has to therapist

Lucifer: That maybe a bit bias. Rosie is Alastor’s best friend and Husk is technically owned by Alastor. We’d someone completely neutral and that doesn’t really exist at the moment.

#hells greatest performers au #hazbin hotel #ask lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #alastor #therapy for radioapple

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platonically-loving-alastor · 17 days

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Hazbin Top 5

I was going to make a top 10 character list, but realized after the first 5 I didn't know where to place anyone- But in case you're curious, some contenders for the remaining 6-10, in no specific order, were Angel Dust, Charlie, Emily, Niffty, and Sir Pentious. Now here's my top 5 with reasonings and appreciation for them all!

5. Lucifer

Obviously bro is relatable, not only for his awkwardness and hyperfixations, but he also happens to be the same height as I am at about 5'2" (according to the sources I've seen). Being the same height as Lucifer is my biggest flex lmao- I still have no idea why his hatred of Alastor seemed so instant. Like yeah, Alastor was trying to annoy him by being a better dad to Charlie, but the whole 'fuck you' moment happened before any of that started. Did he just sense the bad vibes off of him or what? Anyway, his awkwardness and desperation to connect with his daughter make for probably my favorite lines of the episode, such as the "Hey bitch!" and the whole "You like girls? So do I!" situation followed by him being so distracted he called Vaggie by the wrong name. Perfect comedy

4. Lute

I love her an insane amount for someone who shows up so relatively little with so few lines, but here we are. I've already made an entire post about her, here it is if you want it, so I'll keep this short (Spoiler alert: I failed). I actually don't think I mentioned just how attractive this woman is, so let's get that out there right now. I know I'm not the only one who thinks this, about half the people I've seen react to Episode 6 have seen Lute without her mask, took a pause of recognition, and we all knew what they were thinking before the pressed play. Istg my taste in women (and sometimes even men, thanks Vox) is just "Can they murder me without a second thought? Yes? That's hot". My favorite line of hers is when she's hyping up the army with Adam and says "Rip Vaggie's cunt mouth out her ass!" and even Adam has to be like "damn girl chill what the hell-" She's so feral I love her so much

3. Rosie

Everyone needs a Rosie in their lives. I don't just mean a regular therapist, I mean a person in your life, friend or family member, who will talk you out of your downward spiral and gently call you out on why those paranoid thoughts are actually pretty unrealistic (the other side of the same coin would be Husk, he's just more blunt about it). I'm also still completely convinced she has some interesting and sad backstory based on how she was talking to Charlie and I need to know about it so bad. "It can be difficult to admit to things you're not proud of, especially if those things hurt the ones you love" Ma'am what did you do? I find it hard to believe it's just about the cannibalism. I don't know if in this instance, she's the one who hurt someone or someone else hurt her and she was the one who failed to forgive them, but either way I need answers.

2. Vox

Y'all know I love this man in more ways than one, he one the hottest Hazbin character poll for a reason. But I swear everything about this man makes me love him as a character more. First, I always love a technology based character, his electricity powers and literal screen head are the coolest thing in the world to me. He's voiced by Christian Borle, which was a fantastic choice, along with the glitched effect his voice gets when he's mad, I love to see it. Apparently it's also canon he can fly (with rocket shoes)?? He just keeps getting the best character design choices possible, this can't possibly be fair- The fact his first introduction was being done with Val, telling him to call tf down, and treating him like a child ("Now that's why they pay you the big bucks!") was a pretty good first impression for me lol, made even funnier when it was followed by him losing all sense of rationalism when Alastor entered his line of sight.

1. Alastor

The character my blog is named after, this should not be a surprise. Shockingly enough, despite my obsession for him and acknowledgement of his charming nature and generally attractive design, I' do not simp for him in the slightest'm not personally attracted to him in the slightest. I simp for a TV and yet apparently deer man with permanent smile is where I draw the line idk- The most I want from him is to be as good of a friend to him as Rosie is (well that and to touch his ears but that's a given). But this is another character I love literally everything about. Who would've thought the concepts of 'radio host', 'serial killer', and 'literal deer' would work so well together to create this dapper yet terrifying fucking cryptid. Not only can he be either incredibly scary or a silly guy, he can and has done both at once. Example: Episode 3 when he's just casually eating a deer carcass in his room (in which he summoned a whole ass bayou). I was genuinely so glad when the 'this face was made for radio' thing happened in episode 1, confirming that they were still gonna lean into his creepy-as-fuck distortion and general vibe he had in the pilot. He's horrifying and evil and I love that about him. Meanwhile he also says shit like "Now he's pissy, that's the tea" (definitely taught to him by Rosie) and kicks his legs on the bed like a schoolgirl as if he hasn't committed countless atrocities. My favorite character, everyone-

Wow I wrote more than I meant to for this, sorry about the essay-

#hazbin hotel #alastor #vox #rosie hazbin hotel #lute hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel

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prince-liest · 1 month

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I can't imagine that Alastor is a kiss and tell kinda person but at the same time his best friend in the entire world is the most gossipy bitch ever and I feel like if anyone would know about Alastor's weird relationship with Vox, it would be Rosie. What would Local Therapist and part time Shitstarter™ Rosie have to say about these 2 idiot garbage babies who only recently figured out what talking is

I answered something similar recently with a link to this older post about not exactly what Rosie would say, exactly, but what her general impression would be! I'd go into more detail but I think I need to 1) sleep and 2) rewatch Rosie's episode to get a better bite of her characterization before I take a swing at her, haha.

I do think that the things that Alastor really needs to talk about (ie. radiostatic's total off-the-cuff handling of serious boundaries), though, is something that he'd keep close to his chest, hahaha. Unfortunately.

#ask #personal #Anonymous #hazbin hotel

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frostedsketches · 3 months

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Scarlet Rosebud

Scarlet Rosebud Chaos-Shy "Oh please don't say that, you are anything but a mistake, you are perfect the way you are and you have ponies who care so very deeply for you, I care, you're my friend and I'll stand by you no matter what."

Nicknames: Rosebud - by everyone. Scarlet - by family and friends. Buddy - by Screwball. Rosie - by Toasted Marshmallow S'more.

Parents: Fluttershy and Discord

Species: Pegasus-Draconequus hybrid - Dracpony

Age: 20

Voice: Dee Dee Magno-Hall

Birthday: September 14th ♍

Place of Birth: Ponyville/Ponyville General.

Place of Residence: Ponyville/Fluttershy's Cottage.

Special Talent: Nurture

Personality: Scarlet Rosebud is a kind, caring and motherly soul, who just wants to comfort ponies and help them with their problems; because of this she can come off as overprotective and a bit too mushy-gooshy at times. She at first glance is upbeat, optimistic, and playful, and can come off as a bit clueless to insults or mockery when they are directed at her, but when she does figure it out, she won't hesitate to defend herself. She can have a huge temper, powerful bark and intimidating essence when those she loves are being threatened.

She, like her mother, loves animals, and like her father, has chaotic powers. She doesn't use her magic much and when she does it's for trivial things, not causing mischief. She uses her powers for good only, known to like to do things traditionally as opposed to magically - though she is a pacifist, she has used chaos magic on bullies when she was a filly, but as she matured, she began to realize there are better ways to deal with them.

She is very understanding of emotions and takes her job as a nurturer seriously, for she just can't stand seeing any-creature or animal in distress, physically or emotionally, often acting as a personal therapist to those who confide in her, so in that way, she takes the job of both a motivational speaker and a shoulder to cry on, which all ties into her Special Talent, being a nurturing, caring person. She is amazing with kids, adults, and animals alike and makes her mother very proud.

Relationships:

Fluttershy: Scarlet Rosebud is very close to many ponies, and is especially close with her mother. Fluttershy is the one that taught her, her whole life to be kind, caring, and fair to everyone, even those who want to harm you - that last part she usually brushed off as a filly, but as she got older, she realized Fluttershy was right. She often helps her mother at the sanctuary and is usually the one in charge of calming and comforting the new arrivals.

Discord: Her relationship with Discord is uncertain at best. They were extremely close when she was a filly and he would teach her to control her unpredictable chaos magic in her young age. Rosebud enjoyed doing magic with him to no end, but as she grew older she grew into a more laid back and mature mare and her chaotic powers became more of a helping hoof to lie back on when needed; she is more pony than draconequus, so she does not feel the urge to cause randomness and does not need to cause chaos to exist.

Her and Discord bonded over magic, but now that she's older, Discord feels they are growing apart, which is not Rosie's intent, it's just that now that she is an adult, she has a responsibility to the town's ponies and the animals in the sanctuary and they have so little in common that she just hasn't gotten the chance to really spend quality time with him and find common interests, despite this, she loves him dearly and he loves her to pieces, they'll get there eventually.

Screwball: She and her half-sister Screwball share a dynamic sisterly relationship. The two will hang out, Rosebud will laugh and amuse over Screwball's crazy antics, and Screwball will encourage her to show off her magic and embrace the chaos that runs through her veins, which Rosie would rather not, but does it for her sister. They are polar opposites but close as close can be. Screwball did practically raise her, as in she took on a guardian role much like a third parent: she would babysit when both Fluttershy and Discord were away, and she helped and watched her grow up her whole life, loving her as much as if they were sisters by blood.

Cottencandy Raincloud: Her little brother is a shy one, socially awkward, self-depricating, and lacking in confidence. No pony knows how to help him despite Fluttershy and Discord's efforts and to their dismay. Rosebud is determined to make him happy, get to the roots of the problem and fix it. She's the only one he really opens up to and they are extremely close. Progress is slow, but Raincloud always seems happier and more at ease when with his big sister.

Honeycrisp: Her and Honeycrisp have a quiet yet close friendship. When they're alone together they enjoy just sitting quietly watching the clouds, taking walks, or sometimes Rose helps him with his chores on the farm. When she's with him, she sees a whole new side of him, a gentle, caring, and even kind stallion, though he tries to muddle it with his usual snark. She also sees how sensitive he really is, and she's the only one he seems to open up to. He has cried on her shoulder once or twice, but don't tell him I told you~

Toasted Marshmallow S'more: Her relationship with Toasted Marshmallow is filled with an assortment of sweet playful banter, a shared love of telling bad jokes, and supporting each other through thick and thin. Rosebud feels strange and happy around him, when given a chance he is actually a very pleasant pony to be around and he listens to her problems like she does with Crispy, him being one of the only ponies she can express her worries with without feeling like she's failing at being the emotionally stable one of the group.

They like to hang out one-on-one and with friends, when they're together she acts as a practice audience for his comedy proformance before he shares it with others, making suggestions and giving out inspiration. They are definitely the best of friends and have known each other literally since they were born - seriously, they were born on the same day in the rooms across from each other.

Strawberry Sundae: Being Toasty's brother and also born on the same day as her, Rosie is also best friends with Strawberry Sundae. She thinks him so sweet and fun to be around, finding herself continually amused by his antics and bad prank attempts, but taking him seriously when it's clear something is serious to him, even if it might not seem so to others. She has sort of taken him on as a baking apprentice, since he needs all the help he can get and she's quite good at it herself, and she believes he gets better at it every time — might be a bit too optimistic there.

Pastel Prismarine: Though she still finds Prismarine extremely difficult, they are good friends. Rosie is always trying to teach Prism to be more calm and chill out, have fun, maybe not intimidate everyone who gets on her nerves, the last part has been getting better, but her troubled friend is not one to willingly accept her more psychiotrist-y attempts at trying to help Prism out of her aggressive habits. She won't give up on the troubled pegasus though, and stays patient with her through it all.

Diamond Crest: She and Diamond Crest are good friends. Rosie goes to her to use her motivational speaking on the skittish unicorn, but it seems no matter what she does, she can't get Diamond to finally face her biggest fear: telling her mother Rarity that she wants nothing to do with the fashion business. Besides this, they like hanging out, but both find it more fun when the whole group is together.

Prince Meteorite Star: She has heard of Meteor Star, as he's her honerary cousin, but hasn't met him yet.

Extra:

When Scarlet Rosebud was born, she caused the electricity to flicker and cracked the windows in the hospital room.

Rosebud is deathly afraid of heights like her mother, but she is actually a swift flyer and doesn't mind going as high up as grabbing a cat off the roof or scouting just above the trees, anything higher however is a no-go zone.

She is a total bookworm and can spend hours at the library in the Castle of Friendship.

She actually aspired to be a teacher for awhile, but when she finally got a job as a substitute teacher at the Schoolhouse, she realized it wasn't for her. Why? Well I'll leave that open for the imagination.

Rosie also has a pet rabbit, Persephone, who is one of Angel's grand-daughters. Lovingly calling her Sephie, Rosebud absolutely adores her and would bring her with her everywhere if she wasn't so worried about her getting lost. Sephie is just as rambunctious as her grandfather and prone to running off, but at home is also lazy as hay.

She loves to sing but didn't really gain the skill of it from her parents, she sounds incredibly off-key but sings anyway just because she enjoys it.

Due to rivalling draconequus genes, she is unable to gain a cutie-mark.

#mlp fim #mlp g4 #mlp next gen #scarlet rosebud #hopes'ndreamsverse #reference sheet #ref sheet #art #fluttershy x discord #fluttercord #oc #frostedsketches

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