It was a glorious, sunny Saturday morning, but Ronnie Anne Santiago was in a dark mood.
Sitting on the couch in front of the TV, she ignored what was happening on the screen and looking at her phone, willing it to light up and vibrate against her leg. She had been doing that since shortly after she woke up to find that Lincoln still hadn't returned any of her texts from the previous night. She sent, like, five and he didn't answer. She was upset he was ignoring her, and being upset that he wasn't answering her upset her even more. Why should she care? She didn't care if any of her other friends ignored her texts for a few hours, but with Lincoln, it was different. When he didn't text her right back, she started feeling restless, and if she walked away from her phone and then came back to check it and found no messages, bitter disappointment filled her. She didn't like feeling that way.
She checked her phone again, saw no texts, and shook her head, crossing her arms. Fine. Be that way, Lincoln. He was probably giving Lynn a sexy massage or feeling up all his sisters' tits like the pervert freak he was. It made sense. He never had any time for her because they were always holding him back. They needed him to do this, they wanted help with that, blah blah blah. He was probably railing all of them and laughing at her.
That thought made her mad, and she clenched her fists. She could see him now, all laid up between Lori and Leni, their bodies naked and their eyes dancing with malicious glee. She has no idea! Leni said, rubbing Lincoln's nuts.
Neither does Bobby, Lori said, gazing down at Lincoln's dick. You know what they say: Blood is thicker than water.
Fucking freak. She ought to go over there and plow him in his face, his ho sisters too.
She took a deep breath. She was being unfair. She knew that. It just...it hurt when he ignored her like this, because despite what might say to herself or anyone else, she liked him. She liked him and she wanted him to pay attention to her. She brought up the texts they'd exchanged. Since the one he'd sent, she'd texted six times. She felt a rush of shame. She looked desperate.
And that made her angry all over again.
Why did this have to be so hard?
She ought to march right over to his house, knock on the door, and tell him how she really felt. Hell, maybe even kiss him to seal the deal. He'd probably be more conscious of her needs after that.
Maybe. She didn't think she could do that though. No one had ever called her a coward, but she wasn't brave enough to bare her heart like that. She could take the pain of a fist to the nose, but not the pain of having her heart broken into a million little pieces.
Damn you, Lincoln Loud, you've turned me into a little bitch.
She sighed. She was just about to get up when Bobby came into the room and dropped down next to her. He looked down. "What's up?" she asked.
"Huh?" he looked at her. "Oh, nothing, Lori just hasn't texted me since last night and I'm starting to worry."
Ronnie Anne's brow furrowed. "That's funny, Lincoln hasn't texted me since last night either."
Bobby looked at her, a look of concern crossing his face. "You don't think something happened to them...?"
Ronnie Anne opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, the TV uttered an ear-piercing wail, and the words BREAKING NEWS flashed across the screen. The scene cut to an aerial view of an intersection. A police car was on its side, flames shooting out of the windows. People ran rampant through the street, some of them were pixilated, suggesting that they were naked.
"...You're looking at a live shot of downtown Royal Woods," a woman said, and Ronnie Anne and Bobby looked at each other. "Police are reporting mass unrest and violence."
The live feed switched to two anchors behind a news desk. "Welcome to Channel 5: Action News," a woman in a pink blazer said, "I'm Martha McCollum. Seven people are reported dead this afternoon after civil unrest broke out in Royal Woods. Eyewitnesses report police opening fire on a crowd that gathered at the corner of Johnson Street and Franklin Avenue..."
Franklin? That's where Lincoln lived!
"Lori..." Bobby said.
"Officials are asking people to please stay in their homes or places of business. An anonymous sources tells Channel 5 that Mayor Donovan has requested the mobilization of the National Guard..."
"Lori," Bobby said again, getting to his feet. "I-I have to go get her."
Ronnie Anne's heart clenched. "Are you kidding me? They said stay inside!"
"But it's Lori, she might be in danger!"
"I don't give a shit! If you go out there you'll be in danger!"
Bobby paused for a moment, and Ronnie Anne could see his mind working. He blinked. "I have to."
He turned to leave, and she jumped up. "I'm coming with you then."
He spun. "No. You stay here."
"Like hell."
"I don't need to worry about you out there. Stay here."
Before Ronnie Anne could reply, the back door slammed open. "Where's that Mexican cunt?" a male voice asked. "She looks like she likes it rough."
Bobby paled, then grabbed her hand. "Alright, you can come."
Outside, Bobby mounted his bike and Ronnie Anne climbed onto hers. They took off just as a naked fat man covered in body hair ran out of their front door. "Hey, mamacita, where you going?" he asked. Ronnie Anne saw his erection and nearly screamed.
"Come on!" Bobby yelled.
Ronnie Anne pedaled faster. Ahead, people ran through the streets and front lawns, banging on doors and smashing windows. She looked over her shoulder: The man was running after them, his fat jiggling. A little girl with red hair ran out of an alleyway and threw her arms around his legs. "Fuck me, mister!"
The man threw the little girl onto the pavement, and Ronnie Anne turned away, dazed. "Oh, yeah!" the girl cried enthusiastically.
What the hell was that about?
Ahead, Bobby turned down Sheridan Avenue, and Ronnie Anne followed. Up ahead, a mass of people ran out of a rolling bank of smoke. Many of them were naked, and Ronnie Anne's heart seized. Were they zombies?
Bobby looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide and his face pale. "You okay?"
Ronnie Anne swallowed and nodded.
At the end of Sheridan, they turned right, but came to a grinding halt. Two police cars were parked nose-to-nose across the street. Cops in riot gear faced away from them at an advancing group. "Disperse immediately!" one of them called through a megaphone. The army continued coming, and the policemen opened fire. Bodies jerked and spun. Ronnie Anne watched in horror as the mob overtook the cops and broke through the line.
"Shit!" Bobby screamed. "Come on!"
They took off, Ronnie pedaling as fast as her legs would allow her. They were heading away from downtown (and Franklin Ave) and toward the Sherman Arms section of Royal Woods. Dilapidated rowhouses and bungalows with peeling paint lined the street. A group of black men sat on a stoop, passing a bottle back and forth.
"Run!" Bobby cried as they flew past. "They're coming!"
At the next intersection, gunshots rose into the air, and a siren wailed. Left, a group of people were coming down the street. Bobby turned right, and Ronnie Anne followed. They were just passing the back of Flip's Food and Fuel when a massive flood of people started spilling out of Saganaw Street. A woman in nothing but a black T-shirt ran at Bobby, and, screaming, he dumped his bike. Ronnie hopped off of hers. Zombies-for-lack-of-a-better-term were all around them.
"Come on!" Bobby screamed, grabbing her by the back of her hoodie and dragging her away. She got her feet under her and ran with him. Up ahead, Flip was standing by the back door of his store, a shotgun in his hands. "Come on!" he screamed, waving with one hand. Ronnie Anne looked back and almost screamed. A thouasand faces with mad eyes were inches behind her, a thousand sets of hands reached and grasped. "Pussy!" one of them screamed. "Girl! "I want the boy!" "Dick!"
Flip aimed the shotgun and fired, flames leaping from the barrel. Someone screamed.
Bobby grabbed her hand and dragged her inside. Flip came behind, firing once more before slamming the door and locking it. A split second later, the zombies were pounding on it.
Ronnie Anne collapsed to the floor, and began to cry. "Hey," Bobby said, his voice shaky, "it's okay." He dropped next to her and took her in his arms.
Hey, you, in the comments, chill out, alright? Let's not forget that this isn't about you here, it's about me.
I'm kidding, but really, why can't we all just get along?
I also wanted to take this opportunity to say a few things. You can skip this is you like. It's not too important.
1. Someone accused me of taking pleasure in torturing the Loud family in my fiction. That simply isn't the case; I torture my own characters too. I mean, you should see some of my original stuff. I don't always write dark, extreme stories, but when I do, I don't fuck around.
2. Someone called me awful and said that I disgusted me. I just hope they realize that for a story like NOTBS, that's a huge compliment.
3. Someone messaged me and said, "Flagg1991, you've written a lot of messed up stuff. Is there anything you won't write, you soulless bastard?
Well, I thought long and hard about that. See, when you write something, you're in control. If you want something to happen, it happens, if you don't want it to happen, it doesn't. There is, therefore, no topic I would never write about because I am in control and that removes any anxiety on the matter. Totally and completely in control.
There is one concept that I've seen in TLH fandom that I can honestly say troubles me, and it has to do with the gender-reversed Loud House. I've never seen that episode and don't particularly care to, but I get the basic concept. Lincoln's a girl and she has ten brothers. Okay, fine, great. I came across a story a while back and the description went something like: "Blah blah blah Linka Loud and her ten horny older brothers." I saw that, said "Oh, hell no," and closed out of the tab. I don't know how the story played out (probably like a normal haram story), but when I read that thumbnail, the image that popped into my head was on this frightened, little 11-year-old girl surrounded by a group of leering teenage boys, and that actually bothered me. Again, that's probably not what the author was going for, but it's what came to me, and I didn't like it. So yes, even I, strange as it may seem, have limits.