#So many poor fortunes for some of my kids this year

[kanguin]

I think this post lacks significant context that:

A) just being able to Google information at any time is a pretty recent thing, and even then many people have pretty sheltered home lives. If you grew up pre-internet, pre-smartphones, or in a high control environment (which is unfortunately common in the US), your access to this information wasn't easy and required proactive action and curiosity to do the footwork to learn new things. That also runs into the hurdle that you don't know what you don't know, so outside of examples like "world's tallest building" that are very specific trivia, people in general don't tend to look up basic information that they don't know exists.

B) I've seen mention of lack of information here, but not of MISINFORMATION. You will not believe some of the things I have heard peers and former students say they were taught in school and by family that are so dishonest about the outside world. There is a large section of the US that does legitimately believe that nonwhite nations are lesser, and thus less developed, and will do anything in their power to ensure other people are taught their world view. It used to be worse, sometimes certain subjects just were not mandatory.

As a personal example, my own mother is highly educated and works in medicine, but is largely still learning when it comes to world history, because when and where she was in school it was literally neither required nor prioritized for students to learn anything but American history. I'm very fortunate she's curious and eager to learn new things (just very narrow focused on science), but the things she doesn't know and thus has never thought to look up astound me sometimes.

Like one poster above me said, the United States of America is a huge place, and our education is not standardized. School funding is determined not by federal law, but by local tax revenue, which is frankly bass-ackwards. This means low income areas receive poor funding and thus poor education, and the accuracy of school curriculum is mandated by local school boards largely staffed by conservative and opinionated retirees in much of the country. Hell, mind the tangent, but a lot of news organizations and magazines barely report on international matters outside the immediate allies of tte USA. We are literally overrun by systems and powers that want nothing more to control the information people receive about the outside world and would be delighted that some 21 year old believed Mexico was nothing more than small desert towns, because ignorance is easy to control and radicalize.

So yeah, blame the individuals, the 21yo kid who was so misled about the outside world is funny, not remotely terrifying or sad. Whatever.

Just remember:

You are not immune to propaganda.

im american and i knew that like in kindergarten so i think some of you are just stupid sorry

[cadrenebula]

Heavensturn

[lauraneedstochill]

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking �� they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

The Nine Worlds series (Hands of the Emperor)

nothing less than the world by ariex09

At least there wasn’t an audience for the look Ludvic turned on Kip and the too neutral way he said, “Tor?”

Kip could feel himself flushing - in Astandalas this was the kind of thing that had lost him jobs before - but he had the excuse of, first of all, amnesia, and second of all, “He didn’t give me any other name!” Kip hissed. “He deflected me off the topic twice!”

-

AU where the landslide at the Liauu happens several years earlier, and the younger Kip has a rather different experience of the future.

diving for a flame pearl by ariex09

It took me an appalling three hours and thirteen minutes to even realize that Kip was gone.

Ah, but that was too charitable. Once we had a timeline together, we discovered that Franzel had seen Kip last, turning in for bed at twelve minutes before midnight, and it was not until Shoänie went to wake him at dawn that anyone knew he was anything but asleep in bed. This meant that by the time the knock on my study door came, shortly past the third hour of the morning, Kip could already have been missing for more than nine hours.

-

In which Cliopher goes missing midway through The Hands of the Emperor. Fortunately, he has friends and family willing to do whatever it takes to bring him home.

A nap at the feet of the sun by SunInGlory

Prompt: Cliopher somehow falls asleep on HR’s robe, and rather than wake him, HR has one of the guards cut that part of the robe off of him. Just looking for something soft and sweet here, but of course go in whichever direction you’d like. Bonus points if Petty Treasons era.

---

Cliopher decides to take a nap. Okay, perhaps decides is too strong of a word.

Stranger Things

Robin's Guide to the Care and Feeding of Your Newly Adopted Former Mean Girl by formosus_iniquis

She extends a hand, ignoring the laugh it gets her, “Welcome to Hawkins, I’m Robin, occasional Dustin babysitter.”

The girl’s smile pulls lopsided at her mouth, kissed with a bit of irony and undeniably charmed. “It’s nice to meet you Robin,” her voice is soft, and a little unsure. Wavering like Becky Simpson’s tone deaf oboe playing, unsure of what pitch and timbre to land on. “I’m Stephanie Henderson, Dustin’s cousin.”

The bit crumbles immediately between Robin’s fingers.

“Stephanie? You went with Stephanie? Are you kidding? We workshopped so many names!”

Marvel

Three Kinds of Learning by luchia

Erik intends to recruit Raven's supposedly amazing, all-powerful older brother. Instead, he finds himself dealing with Charles Xavier, a weak, tweed-addled professor who seems to think powers don't matter nearly as much as personality. Erik's misconceptions are blown apart when Raven goes missing.

SVSSS

In Durance Veil by Mikkeneko (+ podfic)

Right, the villain's beautiful daughter, who had caught a glimpse of the Protagonist from afar and, naturally, fell madly in love at first sight. She'd used her knowledge of her father's lair to sneak into the dungeon where Luo Binghe was being held and eventually proved the key to his escape, betraying her father for love. "So, you want to try to find some random girl who's willing to sneak in past the guards to Luo Binghe's prison and..."

"What random girl could we possibly trust? I'll do it myself!"

"You know what," Shang Qinghua said. "Somehow I feel like I should have expected this."

---

Shen Qingqiu self-detonated at Hua Yue City, but he didn't die. Instead, he wakes up to a world where Cang Qiong is victorious and Luo Binghe has been imprisoned beneath the mountain. What's a poor transmigrator to do? He has to find a way to free the Protagonist before he breaks out and razes the Sect to the ground! Clearly, the best way to do this is to pretend to be one of Luo Binghe's future wives.

Clearly.

Harry Potter

A Place That Fits by BitchesLoveAngstImBitches

Harry had been prepared to save Sirius’ life, no matter what the cost. Harry put himself in danger, and Sirius had come running, and it was the last thing he ever did.

And then it turned out Harry’s life wasn’t even worth saving: Neither can live while the other survives.

At the rate of Voldemort’s rising power, Harry would be lucky to survive the year.

Sirius had died trying to help Harry. He’d died for nothing.

-

Harry is struggling in the aftermath of the Ministry battle to come to terms with Sirius' death. His isolation and mistreatment at Privet Drive only make things worse. Remus Lupin checks on him in Surrey, but with both of them grieving, his assumptions about Harry might only hurt him more.

[ladykailitha]

Crossroads

So I started writing this last night thinking it would be a short little drabble. At over 2k words, it is NOT a drabble. It is a full on fic at this point.

Enjoy!

*

Steve was at a crossroads.

To his right was his mother, calling him sweetly to come back inside so they can talk. Work something out. To stay with her and his father.

On his left was Eddie. Dear sweet Eddie calling out from him to run away with him. To get in his van and chase the sun for as long as they could and maybe find a new place to rest their heads. For a moment or to throw roots.

He could see the two paths before him as easily as he could see them standing before him.

If he went with his mom, they would convince him to give up his friends, Eddie. Well, they'd let him keep the Wheeler siblings and Dustin. But everyone else would have to go. Byers, Max, and Eddie because they were poor. The Sinclairs because they were black. He doubted they would keep him from El, considering who her adopted father was, but it would be a near thing. Robin would have to go. She would be a little too queer for their liking.

He would be forced to work for his dad where the employees would hate him and the managers would resent him. He would marry some dull woman picked out by them and have as many kids as possible.

Pretty much the life he thought he would have with Nancy their junior year of high school. He would be comfortable, well taken care of and absolutely fucking miserable. For the rest of his life.

If he went with Eddie...there would no certainty at all. It would very likely be hard. They wouldn't have a lot of money (the government hush money could only take them so far after all). It would a life on the road as Eddie and his band traveled the country looking for fame and fortune. It would be rough. Five boys in cramped quarters.

It's possible the band wouldn't even survive two days let alone two years.

But Eddie would love him. He would be loved. Not just by Eddie, but Robin and the kids. Nancy and Jonathan and even funky little Argyle. As their friends spread out over the country, Steve and Eddie would visit them all. And maybe someday they'd find their place. Throw down roots maybe even grow a family of their own.

Steve took a deep breath and started walking.

*

Eddie wanted to call out to Steve, beg him to stay. To give him a chance to be something. Together.

He watched in horror and disappointment as Steve took one step and then another toward his mother. He couldn’t look away as Steve reached her.

Steve’s name caught in his throat. Would she at least let them say their goodbyes or would the last memory Eddie had of the love of his life would be his back as he walked back into the house with his mother?

Steve kissed his mother’s forehead and then suddenly he was running.

Eddie barely had time to open his arms before Steve had filled them.

Eddie opened his mouth to ask, but Steve kissed him fiercely. “Come on Eds, let’s go.”

He pulled back and looked Steve in the eye. “You coming with me, darlin’?”

Steve nodded. He looked back at his mother and then at Eddie. “It’s for the best, I think.”

Eddie knew he was right. Knew it was the best thing for everyone. But he still couldn’t believe it.

“All right, baby,” he finally said after a moment of taking it all in. “Let’s go find that horizon, shall we?”

Steve grinned. “Hell yeah!” He swung into the passenger side of Eddie’s van and Eddie hopped into the driver’s side.

They had sold the BMW for extra cash as the van would be better suited for traveling cross-country in. It had been put in his name a long time ago and it was the last connection to his parents.

Steve kissed Eddie on the cheek.

Eddie laughed. “What was that for, sweetheart?”

“For luck!”

“You my princess, baby?”

Steve laughed too. “The van is in much better shape then Millennium Falcon, sunshine.”

Eddie cackled as he pulled out of the driveway. He was going to start a life with the boy of his dreams. Life really couldn’t be sweeter.

*

When Maureen Harrington saw her Steven start walking towards her, she knew.

She had lost him. Maybe she never had him. He was determined in a way she had never seen before. He was resolved.

“I have to go,” he whispered as though the answer was pulled from him.

She nodded, tears forming on her lashes. “I understand.”

He dug in his pocket and pulled out a ring. She looked at it and her heart sank.

“No, Steven,” she murmured. “Your grandfather gave that to you.”

He pressed it into her hand. “I know, but think of it as my promise to come back. To see you. That I’m not giving up on you, I’m just choosing my own path instead of the one you and Dad wanted for me.”

Maureen clasped it tight her perfectly manicured hands to her chest. “I love you.”

He nodded and kissed her forehead goodbye.

She watched misty-eyed as he ran to his boyfriend, tears streaming down her face. She stood in that driveway until they were both out of sight.

She wiped her eyes and went back inside.

“Where’s that wastrel son of yours?” Clint growled.

“Saying goodbye,” she lied.

“Good.”

He turned on his heel and then said over his shoulder. “I want him in office the second he comes in, you hear me.”

She nodded knowing that he would be angry with her later. But she also knew that he would blame Edward Munson and not her for Steven not staying.

Maureen paused. She did feel a little guilty about that, but it was unavoidable. She slipped into the kitchen. The one room Clint would never enter willingly and sat down next to the phone.

She had work to do.

*

Wayne had just settled in for the night when his phone rang. He heaved a sigh and got wearily to his feet. The government had paid a hefty sum for the witch hunt of his nephew and an even tidier sum for keeping quiet about the monsters, which meant he wouldn’t have to work another day in his life.

But he still got a nice little job down at the local plant nursery watering the plants a couple times a week for something to do. He had just gotten home from that when the phone rang.

“Hello?” he greeted.

“Hello,” greeted the warm female voice. “I’m looking for an Edward Munson, is he there?”

Wayne sighed again. “May I ask what this is regarding?”

“Of course,” she said brightly. “He applied with us a couple weeks ago and I was just getting back with him.”

“Ya just missed him,” he said. “He went on a vacation and won’t be back for a few days.” Weeks, really. But he didn’t want to scare her off in case she actually had a job for him.

“That is unfortunate,” she said softly. “I will hold on to his application of course, but I can’t guarantee the job will be there when he returns.”

Wayne sighed a third time. He knew it had been too much to ask, but it had been worth a shot.

“I appreciate you thinking of him,” he said.

“Of course, you have a good day.”

He cursed his nephew’s luck again. Just as things were starting to look up for him, he missed getting a job by mere hours.

That was the last he thought about that conversation for a few days until a large manila envelope came for Eddie and Steve care of him. The damn thing even read: Steven Harrington and Edward Munson, C/O Wayne Munson.

The boys had gave him permission to open anything that might come from the government or the kids in case it was urgent, but he wasn’t sure about this.

Thankfully he was save from something like indecision when his phone rang.

“Uncle Wayne!” Eddie cried cheerfully. “You’ll never guess where we are!”

“Disneyland?” Wayne guessed with a huff of laughter.

“Aww...you guessed,” Eddie pouted.

“A letter came for you and Steve,” he said. “You two want me to open it?”

He heard whispering and then Eddie came back. “Steve says go ahead.”

Wayne opened the envelope and as he read the contents, he put his hand over his mouth as tears streamed down his face. It took a couple of tries, clearing his throat before he said, “It’s from your mom, Steve.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a bunch of paperwork transferring your joint bank account with your parents to one with Eddie,” Wayne explained. “As well as your information about your trust fund.”

“Oh.” Steve’s voice is breathless. “God. I assumed that they nixed that when I failed to get into college. That’s what it was supposed to be for after all.”

“Not according to the documents your mom sent over,” Wayne explained. “It was supposed to be given to you under one of three circumstances. Getting into college–”

Steve scoffed. “There went that one.”

“Getting married,” Wayne said.

Again Steve scoffed. “Would explain why they weren’t a big hurry for me to get hitched.”

Eddie and Wayne both chuckled in stereo causing Steve to laugh at how similar they were.

“Or when you turned twenty-one,” Wayne finished. “Which means next year the money is yours.”

“How much money could there be?” Eddie asked with a snort.

“By the time Steve gets it, at current interest rates?” Wayne said. “A little over a million dollars.”

“What?” Steve asked, his heart in his throat.

“Yup,” Wayne said. “And according to the bank statements of the new account she set up for the two of you, it has about three hundred thousand in it.”

“How?” Steve stammered.

“Well, according the statements of your previous account that she also sent along,” Wayne said ruffling through the pages, “there were deposits of five hundred dollars a month since you were born. As well as your checks from your jobs; the community center, the mall and of course Family Video.”

“Okay,” Steve muttered darkly, “but that only makes up for about a third of what you said was in there.”

“Apparently your first payment for stopping the apocalypse was put into this account when you were under the age of eighteen.”

Eddie swore. “And they didn’t fucking tell you?”

Wayne hummed. “Looks like there were some large withdrawals at first, but they were put back in only a couple months later.”

Steve scoffed. “Probably my dad and my mom making him put it back.”

“I agree,” Wayne said. “That makes the most sense. So if we add what you got from the government for your subsequent apocalypses, you boys will never have to work a day in your lives unless you wanted to.”

“Holy shit, baby,” Eddie cooed. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “It’s all unbelievable.”

Wayne nodded even though they couldn’t see him. “She also lists a couple of good financial advisors. I’ll give them a call and find one that fits, but you boys are free to do whatever the hell you want now.”

“Thank you, Wayne,” Steve murmured.

“Thank your mom, Stevie,” he mumbled. “She’s the one that did everything.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “I will. I promise.”

*

Steve slid down in the cramped little phone booth in shock. They had only meant to tell Wayne that they had made it California and that they were having a good time. He sure as hell wasn’t expect to have his life completely upended.

It was a good kind of unending. There was no doubt about that. But when he made the choice to be with Eddie, he made in spite of money not for money.

Eddie held out his hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s go make some noise in the happiest place on earth.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah. I can’t wait!”

As they walked through park slurping on sodas and laughing, Steve knew he had made the right choice.

Because really, falling in love with Eddie was the easiest thing he’d ever done.

*

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @redfreckledwolf @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @itsall-taken @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @vecnuthy

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Iowa's starvation strategy

I don’t really buy that “the cruelty is the point.” I’m a materialist. Money talks, bullshit walks. When billionaires fund unimaginably cruel policies, I think the cruelty is a tactic, a way to get the turkeys to vote for Christmas. After all, policies that grow the fortune of the 1% at the expense of the rest of us have a natural 99% disapproval rating.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/19/whats-wrong-with-iowa/#replicable-cruelty

So when some monstrous new law or policy comes down the pike, it’s best understood as a way of getting frightened, angry — and often hateful — people to vote for policies that will actively harm them, by claiming that they will harm others — brown and Black people, women, queers, and the “undeserving” poor.

Pro-oligarch policies don’t win democratic support — but policies that inflict harm a ginned-up group of enemies might. Oligarchs need frightened, hateful people to vote for policies that will secure and expand the power of the rich. Cruelty is the tactic. Power is the strategy. The point isn’t cruelty, it’s power:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/25/roe-v-wade-v-abortion/#no-i-in-uterus

But that doesn’t change the fact that the policies are cruel indeed. Take Iowa, whose billionaire-backed far-right legislature is on a tear, a killing spree that includes active collaboration with rapists, through a law that denies abortion care to survivors of rape and forces them to bear and care for their rapists’ babies:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/03/16/us/politics/iowa-kamala-harris-abortion.html

The forced birth movement is part of the wider far-right tactic of standing up for imaginary children (e.g. “the unborn,” fictional victims of Hollywood pedo cabals), and utterly abandons real children: poor kids who can’t afford school lunches, kids in cages, kids victimized by youth pastors, kids forced into child labor, etc.

So Iowa isn’t just a forced birth state, it’s a state where children are now to be starved, literally. The state legislature has just authorized an $18m project to kick people off of SNAP (aka food stamps). 270,000 people in Iowa rely on SNAP: elderly people, disabled people, and parents who can’t feed their kids.

Writing in the Washington Post, Kyle Swenson profiles some of these Iowans, like an elderly woman who visited Lisa Spitler’s food pantry for help and said that state officials had told her that she was only eligible for $23/month in assistance:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/dc-md-va/2023/04/16/iowa-snap-restrictions-food-stamps/

That’s because Iowa governor KimReynolds signed a bill cutting the additional SNAP aid — federally funded, and free to the state taxpayers of Iowa — that had been made available during the lockdown. Since then, food pantries have been left to paper over the cracks in the system, as Iowans begin to starve.

Before the pandemic, Spitler’s food pantry saw 30 new families a month. Now it’s 100 — and growing. Many of these families have been kicked off of SNAP because they failed to complete useless and confusing paperwork, or did so but missed the short deadlines now imposed by the state. For example, people with permanent disabilities and elderly people who no longer work must continuously file new paperwork confirming that their income hasn’t changed. Their income never changes.

SNAP recipients often work, borrow from relations, and visit food pantries, and still can’t make ends meet, like Amy Cunningham, a 31 year old mother of four in Charlton. She works at a Subway, has tapped her relatives for all they can afford, and relies on her $594/month in SNAP to keep her kids from going hungry. She missed her notice of an annual review and was kicked off the program. Getting kicked off took an instant. Getting reinstated took a starving eternity.

Iowa has a budget surplus of $1.91B. This doesn’t stop ghouls like Iowa House speaker Pat Grassley (a born-rich nepobaby whose grandpa is Senator Chuck Grassley) from claiming that the cuts were a necessity: “[SNAP is] growing within the budget, and are putting pressure on us being able to fund other priorities.”

Grassley’s caucus passed legislation on Jan 30 to kick people off of SNAP if their combined assets, including their work vehicle, total to more than $15,000. SNAP recipients will be subject to invasive means-testing and verification, which will raise the cost of administering SNAP from $2.2m to $18m. Anyone who gets flagged by the system has 10 days to respond or they’ll be kicked off of SNAP.

The state GOP justifies this by claiming that SNAP has an “error rate” of 11.81%. But that “error rate” includes people who were kicked off SNAP erroneously, a circumstance that is much more common than fraud, which is almost nonexistent in SNAP programs. Iowa’s error rate is in line with the national average.

Iowa’s pro-starvation law was authored by a conservative dark-money “think tank” based in Florida: the Opportunity Solutions Project, the lobbying arm of Foundation For Government Accountability, run by Tarren Bragdon, a Maine politician with a knack for getting money from the Koch Network and the DeVos family for projects that punish, humiliate and kill marginalized people. The Iowa bill mirrors provisions passed in Kentucky, Kansas, Wisconsin and elsewhere — and goes beyond them.

The law was wildly unpopular, but it passed anyway. It’s part of the GOP’s push for massive increases in government spending and bureaucracy — but only when those increases go to punishing poor people, policing poor people, jailing poor people, and spying on poor people. It’s truly amazing that the “party of small government” would increase bureaucratic spending to administer SNAP by 800% — and do it with a straight face.

In his essay “The Utopia of Rules,” David Graeber (Rest in Power) described this pathology: just a couple decades ago, the right told us that our biggest threat was Soviet expansion, which would end the “American way of life” and replace it with a dismal world where you spent endless hours filling in pointless forms, endured hunger and substandard housing, and shopped at identical stores that all carried the same goods:

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/02/02/david-graebers-the-utopia-of-rules-on-technology-stupidity-and-the-secret-joys-of-bureaucracy/

A society that can’t feed, house and educate its residents is a failed state. America’s inability to do politics without giving corporations a fat and undeserved share is immiserating an ever-larger share of its people. Federally, SNAP is under huge stress, thanks to the “public-private partnership” at the root of a badly needed “digital overhaul” of the program.

Writing for The American Prospect, Luke Goldstein describes how the USDA changed SNAP rules to let people pay with SNAP for groceries ordered online, as a way to deal with the growing problem of food deserts in poor and rural communities:

https://prospect.org/health/2023-04-19-retail-surveils-food-stamp-users/

It’s a good idea — in theory. But it was sabotaged from the start: first, the proposed rule was altered to ban paying for delivery costs with SNAP, meaning that anyone who ordered food online would have to use scarce cash reserves to pay delivery fees. Then, the USDA declined to negotiate discounts on behalf of the 40 million SNAP users. Finally, the SNAP ecommerce rules don’t include any privacy protections, which will be a bonanza for shadowy data-brokers, who’ll mine SNAP recipients’ data to create marketing lists for scammers, predatory lenders, and other bottom-feeder:

https://www.democraticmedia.org/sites/default/files/field/public-files/2020/cdd_snap_report_ff.pdf

The GOP’s best weapon in this war is statistical illiteracy. While racist, sexist and queerphobic policies mean that marginalized people are more likely than white people to be poor, America’s large population of white people — including elderly white people who are the immovable core of the GOP base — means that policies that target poor people inevitably inflict vast harms on the GOP’s most devoted followers.

Getting these turkeys to vote for Christmas is a sound investment for the ultra-rich, who claim a larger share of the American pie every year. The rich may or may not be racist, or sexist, or queerphobic — some of them surely are — but the reason they pour money into campaigns to stoke divisions among working people isn’t because they get off on hatred. The hatred is a tactic. The cruelty is a tactic. The strategic goal is wealth and power.

Tomorrow (Apr 21), I’m speaking in Chicago at the Stigler Center’s Antitrust and Competition Conference. This weekend (Apr 22/23), I’m at the LA Times Festival of Books.

[Image ID: The Iowa state-house. On the right side of the steps is an engraved drawing of Oliver Twist, holding out his porridge bowl. On the left side is the cook, denying him an extra portion. Peeking out from behind the dome is a business-man in a suit with a dollar-sign-emblazoned money-bag for a head.]

Image: Iqkotze (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Iowa_State_Capitol_April_2010.jpg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[rosaniruby]

It's interesting how the second sentence victor starts the story with is "My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics" and while i always focused on the effect it has on, for example, victor; trying to see the life of alphonse is also interesting in the way we can observe his trauma leaking out into his parenting methods and attitude towards his kids and wife.

Like,

-It is said they have a long history with being important and engaged in country's business. And as we see Alphonsa followed it, (and i highly suspect even when he sent victor to college he still expected him to take over this position later on), probably not having much of a choice either. It was all passed down, and even the character of this job is being passed down too. For example, traits fitting this job - responsibilities/brain over feelings. A sense of duty that follows them everywhere. Love isn't unconditional, it's a duty, as well as everything else they do.

It seems like he's just passing down the generational trauma.

Another instances where his bad experiences are being reflected in his behavior towards victor and others is also seen here:

-His dearest friend suddenly disappeared. Turns out he hid because of hurt pride of losing his fortune, simultaneously almost destroying his daughter's life bc of that as well as his own. and Alphonse felt betrayed that this false pride was more important than their friendship = notice how Alphonse assumes the reason for victor's misery is a false pride. And desperatively wants to keep his family in close-circle, so they won't leave each other. And him.

-He looked for the friend for a long time without stopping, but in the end was disappointed. "But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes; but it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in the mean time he hoped to procure some respectable imployment in a merchant’s house. The interval was consequently spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and rankling, when he had leisure for reflection; and at length it took so fast hold of his mind, that at the end of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion." = notice how he always thinks despair is useless and leads to even worse consequences, so, feeling things is BAD.

-After making a big deal out of loving and finding the friend, the moment he actually sees him dead, instead of thinking about that or even mentioning alphonse was sad or smth, theres not a single sentence about alphonse's reaction or even of that friend anymore, instead all attention drifts to beautiful poor Caroline and suddenly it's a story about saving her. Everything got romantized. = Obviously, the romantization of grief and suffering was very ingrained in Victor's whole family. It probably came from Alphonse and his ancestors too.

- It's also said in 1818 ver that alphonse really loved his sister (the mother of elizabeth) and she abandoned him (cut him off).

"for some years my father had very little communication with her."

= Now remember alphonse's later words and lessons about how cutting your family off means you are neglecting yourself and your other duties etc.

So yeak, Idk I just love how Frankenstein is also about generational trauma and people who didn't process their feelings ruining their kids' lifes. (and don't get me started on Caroline.)

[ninjagobythenumbers]

Timeline of Ninjago

Here's my speculation on what the timeline of Ninjago looks like. It happens to align with our timeline as, with the merge time skip, it now totals 13 years of in-show time. I understand it's likely poor quality, so here's it split in half. If anyone knows how to turn Google Sheets into an image file I'd appreciate it greatly.

I'd like to start with a note that, aside from the evidence I'll go through later in this post, this was largely a speculative timeline, so there were often ranges of time I had to choose from. Anywhere from a month to a year could have passed between some of these seasons. I tended to use the most conservative estimates. Thus, I sometimes like to think of my timeline as "at least this much time has passed between x and y events." Now for the evidence.

Dialogue

As you are likely well aware as a fan of the show, any sort of mention of an exact measure of time or age is exceedingly rare in Ninjago. However, fortunately for me there have been a few glimmers in the dark.

In season one, Cole mentions that the Blade Cup is an annual competition. This information would have proven useless if not for the fact that in Posession, when Cole finds the Blade Cup in Ronin's shop, he laments "my dad danced hard for this." As the cup would have belonged to the ninja in season one, Lou must have won the cup back in a later competition. Thus, at least a year must have passed between the Rise of the Snakes and Possession.

In Sons of Garmadon Cole once again helps me out by saying "it's been a year" in reference to Wu's disappearance at the end of Hands of Time.

In Hunted, Jay refers to himself and the ninja as "grown-up teenagers." For me, this means the human members of the core four are 18-19 at this point. This info may seem less helpful for a timeline, but just wait.

At the beginning of Forbidden Secrets, Wu says it's been months since the defeated the Oni.

This is only relavant for my "Zane's perspective" timeline but at one point in the Ice chapter, the Ice Emperor says to Lloyd that it had been "many... decades."

At the beginning of Master of the Mountain, Nya says to Jay that they had been gone a while and lists off the adventures of Forbidden Secrets and Prime Empire. This indicates to me that all three seasons had to have happened relatively close together.

At the beginning of the Island, Lloyd refers to a prison breakout having happened last month. Ungami freed all of the prisoners during Prime Empire. However, this time period mention had to be balanced by the fact that Misako had been missing for "several weeks" by the Island but was present during Master of the Mountain. My ruling here is that by last month, Lloyd is referring to for instance, August, which for me would have been 8 weeks ago at this point. An issue in my timeline is that the smallest unit I am able to mark is a month. Thus, even though it's likely that these 10 minute era seasons were closer to a week in length, I must mark them as a month.

In Seabound, when P.I.X.A.L. reveals the Hydrobounty, she says that she had been "tinkering with it in my spare time for the past several years." As P.I.X.A.L. only regained her body and access the Ninja's various workshops during Hands of Time, at least 3 years had to have passed between Hands of Time and Seabound.

In the first episode of Crystalized, the mayor and Gayle state that exactly a year had passed since Nya became the sea.

In Dragons Rising, there's many references to how years had passed since the merge including the existence of annual competitions and holidays. The most clearest one for me is when Nya says to Zane "it's been years."

When Kai first meets Arin and Sora he says to Lloyd "And who are the kids?." Because a teenager is unlikely to call other teenagers kids, I view this statement as meaning that Kai is probably in his mid-20s at this point, and thus at least 6 years had to have passed since Hunted, when Jay referred to them as "grown-up teenagers."

Lego Legs

The only clear marking we have of age in the show is when a character's legs are swapped out. This has happened naturally to 5 characters that I'm aware of: Nelson, Harumi, Arin, Sora, and Riyu (Technically Jordanna as well but it feels right to leave her out). I'm going to ignore what the leg sizes mean in other properties (ex: Star Wars and Dreamzzz (which recently revealed all the characters' ages which is crazy)) and stick to an interpretation that I think makes sense with Ninjago. These are the general age ranges, but they vary based on vibes. People are different heights of course. Child: -∞ to 11 Medium: 11 to 13 Basic: 13 to ∞

Harumi was really the foundation of this whole chart. The reveal of her backstory was extremely exciting as it meant there was a minimum time that had passed between seasons 1 and 8. To go with my "at least" general rule, I'll put her at the maximum child age (11) and assuming she's around Lloyd's age during season 8, at least 3 or 4 years would have had to pass between seasons 1 and 8, likely more.

Nelson is the only character that has gone from kid legs to medium legs. I sort of question whether teen legs are even being used anymore because as far as I know, we haven't seen them since. Either way, as they're so rare I tend to think of them as pre-teen legs for Ninjago. Thus, even if Nelson was at the max pre-teen age (13), similarly to the Harumi jump, at least 3 years or so had to have passed between Skybound and Secrets of Forbidden Spinjitzu. This turned out to line up quite nicely with the dialogue evidence.

Sora and Arin both had child-sized legs when the Merge happened. When we meet them in the present, they have adult legs. This means that they would have had had to go from at most 11 to at least 13. On a purely vibes basis, Sora acts a bit older than Arin so I put this jump at just over 3 years so that the both of them can fully make the leap from small to medium to basic legs.

Riyu makes the jump from a dog-sized dragon to a horse sized dragon. The latest we see him as a dog-sized dragon is in the Mech Shorts, which, according to Arin's pie competitions, takes place a year after the Crossroads Carnival. Going by my at least rule though, I still stick Blood Moon at just over a year after the beginning of Dragons Rising. This is mainly because I see the way legos grow as just one day >pop< they're bigger. No in-betweens. We don't know Riyu's age or the dragon life cycle and there's no medium legs to gauge time by. Thus, I think of the mech shorts as occuring the day before Riyu hit dragon puberty. However, I may put more time between DR and Blood Moon if I get any more information.

Vibes

I used the leg sizes and dialogue as guidelines I had to stick to. The final placement of the seasons on the timeline is based on vibes. As you can tell by my at-least rule, I didn't like to put a significant time-skip between seasons unless I have good reason. Truthfully, since seaosn 8, while I love timeskips I've been suprised each time like a year is said to have passed between seasons as the ninja can only be young for so long. I thought the close together temporally seasons of the 10 minute era was sort of the writers parking the brakes on needless timeskips, but then there was a year between Seabound and Crystalized. Also, of course, the Merge but at this point we seem to have stopped pretending the Ninja are teenagers so it matters less. Of course, we still have Arin, Wyldfire, and Sora so it will be interesting to see how fast time passes. I plan on going through the more speculative reasoning between why I placed each season the way I did, but I'd like to keep this post to more "concrete data" on the timeline. Thanks for reading this far! I'm sure I missed things, so do let me know if you have any additional evidence or suggestions! As a bonus, here's Zane's perception of the timeline.

[natsuki208]

Seeking Warmth ❤️‍🔥

After a long night of snow training, Marco gets very cold and needs to warm up. Jean sneaks him out to the main room and builds a fireplace for both of them to keep warm.

———

“Brrr, it’s freezing out here.”

The young freckled boy struggling to carry his supplies on his back thinks aloud to himself. This has to be the coldest day of the 104th snow training yet.

But he isn’t the only one who’s having a hard time coping with the cold, everyone else in front and behind too. In fact, some have to be dragged along in the snow by rope after falling unconscious, which will make the journey back to camp go a bit longer. The young teens are very tired, and very hungry, especially the ponytail girl with her stomach growling like a beast.

Fortunately, they all managed to return to their cabins much sooner than they figured. The instructors informed them all the have a well-deserved rest while they unlock the cabin doors. Seven of the exhausted teens huddle together for desperate warmth, and to think back on their trip.

The icy winds howls louder over their conversations, while snowflakes flurry from the sky and onto their already cold cheeks. It’s certainly not a pleasant experience for young teens such as them to trample through, but for upcoming material for soldiers, they have little no choice - for what they’re training for will be undoubtedly worse.

“About time, I can barely feel my legs.” The light brown-haired Jean complains on the snowy ground.

“None of us can, dude.” The bald kid Connie quips back at him. “Well, maybe Mikasa is still feeling like herself.”

Glancing over at the concerned Mikasa checking on both Eren and Armin’s health, even if Eren tells her not to, is the clearest sign. Yup, aside from her, these guys and girls are not themselves tonight. All they want is a good meal and to warm up.

“I just want something to eeeaat.” Sasha whines as her stomach growls even louder.

“Just hang in there, Sasha…. it will only be another minute.”

Jean looks up after hearing that weird pause from Marco. The boy’s been breathing into his gloves, rubbing them together to attempt to keep his face warm. Now this wouldn’t be bad or unusual since a lot of them are currently doing this, but what is putting Jean off is the ashamed look in his eyes and frown. Sure it’s hard to feel anything positive while freezing but it still doesn’t feel like Marco at all to him.

Not until Jean begins to stand up, quite shakily, is when the bell rings for the chilly cadets to come inside the cabins for the night. Everyone sighs in relief and head on in, in groups or one by one, which Marco does so Jean doesn’t get his chance to question his friend straight away.

-

The last meals of the day were served, the bell rang once again to acknowledge bedtime for all cadets, and so they all obeyed nicely and checked out for the night. Boys and girls sleep in separate rooms from each other but not enough for them all to sleep separately - this of course leads to having roommates like back in the main training grounds.

All should be sleeping soundly, however, this year’s winter is undoubtedly the harshest one on record. For the past few days, heavy snow and wind have been blustering non-stop, with howls like a wolf pack, and the strength of titans trying to bury them in the snowstorm. The wood the cabins are made of may be strong enough to stay on, ground but not enough to keep the bitter cold out.

Poor, tired teens are left to shiver under mid-thin sheets every night. It got so bad that the instructors had to travel back down mountain for extra warmth like firewood and blankets, which is very helpful but also very limited. Many of the cadets had to take turns using both and sadly, led to the instructors having to take control of choosing after endless arguing.

This night, no where near as calm as previous nights, had to be the final straw for the restless Jean Kirstein.

Just barely audible under the gusting wind, are the sounds of chattering and whimpering on the bed next to him. Jean tosses over to his side to hear them closer, and to see how badly his roomie is taking it - which is very badly.

He’s never seen Marco in this state before; from the redness on his nose and cheeks, to the saddening frown shaking away. His whole body is shaking under the sheets too, and it really puts a sour taste in Jean’s stomach more so than the cheap supper he had. But just when Jean can even think about daring whoever has the thicker blankets tonight and take ‘em back here, he thought of an even better plan.

Slowly creeping out of bed, he tip-toes along the creaky floor as to not disturb Marco any further. The cold air surrounding him is no different from how it felt under his sheets, but it doesn’t stop his arms from shivering. One shivering arm reaches for Marco’s shoulder and as he gently places his hand, could lightly shake it but the freckled boy already senses Jean’s presence.

“Jean…” He whispers.

The boy jumps in slight surprise. “M-Marco… are you awake?”

Marco nods while opening those tired brown eyes of his, he roughly looks like he’s about to cry. “Can’t sleep.”

This is definitely more serious than Jean thought, or he likes to take it that way, to make his planned actions more justifiable. He reaches down a hand for Marco to hold and the boy accepts immediately. It feels closer to an icicle which upsets Jean more. Before Marco can say anything, Jean practically and slowly pulls Marco up from the mattress until he’s sitting up.

“Come on.” Jean informs quietly. “I have an idea.”

“W-What? Jean, we’re not suppose to go out of our rooms this late-”

“Look. Do you want to freeze to death or not?”

A pause occurs, Marco looks sad again, and Jean feels inner regret for that small burst out. It doesn’t take long fortunately for Marco to visually respond with standing up and keeping his grip on his friend’s hand. Jean understands this gesture so the two now quietly step across the wooden floors, Marco staying close as possible, and soon they are outside in the eerie hallway - nothing but the wind howling outside.

-

Everyone in the cabin, including the instructors themselves, have all hit the hay for the night, but Jean and his freckled companion are still hesitant to enter the main room at first. The former takes the lead with reaching for the handle to open the door, slowly creaking it open, only to see nothing but empty furniture inside. With permission, Marco walks slowly to sit down on the floor while Jean searches for the firewood.

“I found some over here.” He says, picking up about four or five logs and throws them in the fireplace (quietly of course).

“I’ll lend you a hand.” Marco replies.

It’s a good thing these were taught a lot about building a fire from their hiking training in the forest; after rubbing some sticks together they manage somehow to start up the fire. It begins small, but it feels much nicer than the plain cold room they’re stuck in. A few more minutes pass and the fire gets bigger and brighter enough to fit the fireplace. It glows of orange, shines with brightness and of course, spreads the warmth throughout the room.

Marco feels almost better already, so does Jean, as they shift to get a little closer. They rub their hands together and sigh in relief, it feels like forever since they experience proper heating like this. The smile on Marco’s face catches Jean’s eye, forming a small yet comforting smile of his own.

“Ain’t this much better, huh?” He states while the smile forms into a smirk.

Marco only nods. The smirk on his friend fades away.

“You know…” Jean cannot take holding back the beans any longer. “I couldn’t stand seeing you freezing like that, it’s news to me to see how vulnerable you can be. So I had to do this.”

“I… wouldn’t say I’m vulnerable.” The freckled boy returns with his piece. “I’m just not use to the cold such as this.”

“But you’re from Jinae, I heard that it gets very cold with it being like a small farmland of sorts - at least that’s what I heard.”

“Y-Yeah. But usually in the winter, my little sister and I would huddle by a fire like this with my mother’s quilt. Sometimes we’d stay there the whole night.”

The happy chuckles from reminiscing along with the fire’s glow shining on his freckled cheeks is a sight to behold - it makes Jean blush a little.

“My mother is really good at sewing. She eventually made quilts for both of us for the winter.”

That surely brings flashbacks to Jean too. The light brown-haired boy glances back at the fire and remembers various winters with a similar scenario with his parents, all pleasant and inviting. Jean mutters with a smile.

“My mom is like that too…”

“Hmm? You said something?”

Jean snaps back and looks away. “Nothing!”

Quiet is shared between the boys now, a flustered Jean won’t turn back to face his friend, just leaving Marco to find comfort with the fireplace. Although it’s nice, there’s something pinning in his chest. A little birdie is telling him to not leave things as they are, after all, Jean did this for him so he should give back in return.

He gulps a little as his hand shifts towards Jean’s. “Hey, uh… Jean?”

Jean doesn’t verbally respond but slowly looks back.

“Would you mind if you sit a little closer?” The blush can’t be notice as it blends in with the glow of the fire.

Jean thinks for a split second, yet he does so anyway. “Sure.”

The two of them are just close enough for their shoulders to touch, and Jean unintentionally puts his hand on top of Marco’s. Even though he quickly notices, he can’t find himself to pull it away, only to stare down in embarrassment. He worries for what Marco will think but quicker than a snowflake in the storm, the freckled boy rests his head on Jean’s shoulder. This catches him off guard and his eyes widen with surprise. Next thing he knows is the Marco closes his eyes peacefully too.

“Hey, wh-what-” hesitant to say something that can come out rude, he zips his mouth for a bit to think first.

The more he stares at Marco, the more relax he feels. To have his close friend like this, even more physically closer, and to feel his warmed-up hand intertwined their fingers together gently is all that he needs to tell him to not move. Jean begins to lean his head down too, on top of Marco’s head, his eyes slowly droop while still on Marco’s smile. Before he can drift away, he mentions some things:

“What will the others say?”

“Mmm… it’ll be alright, Jean. They’ll understand.”

“Can we at least… get the blanket?”

“No thanks… this is enough.”

No more words are shared, just the soft sounds of breathing. Not even the gusts of the heavy snow outside was enough to keep them from snoozing. There they stayed, throughout the rest of the frosty night, cuddled and embraced into each other’s warmth.

They feel at home.

——————————————————————————

Thank you to @lying-on-floors for inspiring me to write JM again. ^^

[cotton-candy-vodka]

Hi! Who is ur fav ASOUE character?? :)

Hello anon! Thanks for the ask!

ASOUE is one of the few pieces of media I enjoy where I really dont have a favorite character. Typically what makes me choose a character as a favorite is if i see myself in them, and in ASOUE that just happens so freaking much. But i want to answer your question at least a little bit, so here’s some ASOUE characters and how they relate to me/why they’re my “favorite”

Violet - she made a promise to her parents to protect her siblings. And honestly, she loves them so much that I think she’d protect them as fiercely as she does even without the promise. But the paradox with her character lies in the fact that she will do anything to keep her siblings safe: like risking their lives. She suggests stealing a boat and riding it across a large lake in the middle of the hurricane. She convinces her siblings to go down a 46-story elevator shaft at the chance of seeing their new friends. Even though her inventions are typically flawless, a lot of them could fail horribly and end up costing the Baudelaires not only their plan, but their lives. Her love is reckless and impulsive. Violet would destroy herself for her family, but when will she drag them down with her?

Klaus - No matter how much time, research, and dedication this poor boy pours into exposing evil, his work is never enough. Klaus pulls an all-nighter studying a subject he doesnt find interesting in the first book alone - i dare any one of us on this wretched website to do something like that. He shows Mr. Poe proof time and time again that Olaf is lurking and attempting to steal the Baudelaire fortune, but no matter how many facts he conjures up, Mr. Poe is ignorant. He spends the whole series fighting for what he believes is just, only to be told that there are no noble people in this world. The philosophies he built his life on are challenged by the world’s obliviousness, and perhaps unwillingness, to decipher what happens in the shadows. But in a world filled with more grey than black and white, will he become the very thing he’s sworn to destroy by blindly believing in good and evil?

Sunny - Say you lived in the shadow of, oh, I dont know, a pandemic. Gen Alpha will live their lives hearing stories told by those before them about how many deaths there were and how the world stopped. But Gen Alpha themselves will only have a lack of social skills and an accute knowledge of technology, not even realizing that what forged their generation is because of covid. The tragedy lies in the fact that they wont understand what made them what they are and why everyone else is so upset about it. Now, how many people do you know that remember what happened when they were around a year old? Exactly. If Sunny is still alive, she’ll always live in the shadow of unfortunate events that defined her life without her knowing it, all while her siblings suffer from immense trauma and all she can do is watch.

Olaf - Is any of his behavior okay? Absolutely not. But what is so upsetting about his narrative is that I believe he sees himself in the Baudelaires. He sees a childlike naïveté in believing noble people exist, that despite trial after trial one can continue to do what is “right”. But Olaf knows. He knows that there is betrayal, greed, and evil prevalent in everyone. And in his masochistic nature, he finds the Baudelaires learning such life lessons the hard way gratifying. He is satisfied to see others suffer as he did, seeing his vision of the world play out. Heck, he thinks he’s doing these kids a favor, teaching them whole they are still young and able to run from VFD. Terrifying? Yes. Understandable? Also yes.

Quigley - This poor boy. Being only thirteen, stripped of his family and almost everything else he cares about, has to survive by himself. No resources, no help. Just a light at the end of the tunnel: VFD. If he can uncover this mystery, he assumes all will be well, that the hole in his heart will heal. But the more he learns, the more he is brainwashed by the cult that is VFD. His savior slowly killing him from the inside. How poetic is that? (This is definitely going into headcanon territory but definitely dont imagine how if he reunites with his siblings normally he’ll only be a shell of himself and how they’ll try to convince him how VFD destroys everything its sworn to protect and how Quigley doesn’t believe them because if they’re true then what’s left of him??? Definitely do NOT think about that).

Isadora: I am a simple woman. I see a hopeless lesbian crushing on a girl who’s in love with her brother and i receive the biggest emotional attachment of my LIFE

I hope in some round-a-bout way all that answered your question. Have a wonderful day!

[rosie-rosem]

hate pt 1

❥ pairing: nonidol!jake x fem!reader

❥ genre: angst, fluff?, highschoolau!

❥ summary: y/n is the quiet type; however, she cannot stand bullying. Is it because she been involved with something similar or not?? jake, her next-door neighbor and childhood friend (not really), is dating the girl who is making y/n's school life exhausting. she can't catch a break between being at school and home. But she also can't express her feelings...

❥ warnings: crying, grammar mistakes, not proofread, bullying, let me know if I forgot something

---------------------------

WC: 2.8k

A/N: It's been a while since I last posted. this is going to be 2 parts just cause wanted to post something by today but wouldn't have been able to finish it so here you are. the second part should be posted sometime next week! please be patient with me :3

school. not exactly your favorite place, you don’t get the best grades or have to many friends. There is too much bullying at your school, an unexceptionable amount. Your school like isn’t a normal public school, it’s more like an all “rich kids” school, not quite private either though. The only kids who get picked on are the scholars which is completely stupid because they are probably smarter than half the non-scholar kids there.

you, on the other hand, are not a scholar which is only beneficial because you do get a good education (even if you suck at it) and you don’t get picked on too much. Your parents are quite wealthy. your father owning a tech company and you mother working for a fashion company. Your parents obviously want you to go to college, graduate and find some amazing career, but that’s not going to happen so quick. You fortunately don’t have the pressure of being an heiress for your dad’s company due to your older brother already being next in line.

Compared to you brother, you are more troublesome and carefree. Him being a workaholic and definitely more mature. Of course, you get compared to him. but while he’s finishing up his years in college you're finishing up yours in high school. oh, can’t you wait to graduate from school, especially this school. You don’t exactly like cause trouble, it just happens a lot, which brings us here.

you rolled your eyes at the scene that was happening in front of the class. You just wanted to rest your eyes a bit more before the bell rung but you clearly got disrupted. Cha Soo-Yun, the most annoying girl you’ve met, she’s always the one to pick on the scholars which annoys the hell out of you. She was currently picking on a transfer student who got the scholarship and gladly switched schools, she’s a junior and her name is Soon Yunji. “Haha, look at all this garbage” Soo-Yun said laughing with her one friend after dumping Yunji’s belongings from her backpack on the ground. the poor girl looks traumatized, who wouldn’t I mean Soo-Yun looks like a clown with the amount of makeup she wears to school. You couldn’t stand seeing Yunji look so pale from being embarrassed so you stood up and gladly walked in front of the girl’s desk. Soo-Yun just scoffed “ruining the fun again i see.” she crossed her arms. “it’s kind of pathetic that the first 20 minutes after you arrived, you're already picking on someone.” you must look tired but also annoyed because that’s exactly how you feel.

“Why do you always get in my way?” Soo-Yun complains. You cough, aiming it towards her, she scoffs and backs up in disgust. “Sorry, I’m getting over a cold, wouldn’t want to catch it princess, would you?” you smile to her in an annoying way, which just pisses her off even more. “euk, I can’t believe someone like you goes to this school” she states, still looking at you with disgust. you sigh, shoulders dropping “and I can’t believe you looked in the mirror this morning and thought your makeup looked good.” you give her a slight smirk. she fumes as some of the other kids in the classroom whisper after your comeback. she sprints over to you with an arm raised, she goes in for a slap, but you successfully dodge the hit. “Ah, you missed.” you say, eyebrow furrowed. You sigh after lifting your chin a bit more “it’s okay, hit me. I can take it. plus, I probably deserve it…right?” you say, stretching a bit, read for a hit. she scoffs once again as she glares into your cold gaze. “Unless you're scared.” you cock your head to the side which an eyebrow raised. Soo-Yun breathes a frustrated sigh. “a few minutes ago, you didn’t seem so scared to- “you state before feeling a stinging pain on your left cheek.

she did it. she fell for it. you hear a few gasps leave other classmates' mouths after the girl slapped you. you chuckle to her. Soo-Yun frowns “why are you laughing” she practically growls. “I need you to realize that I didn’t start this fight, okay?” you say, she furrows her eyebrows “what? -" she begins but before she finishes you kick her at the waist, causing her to fall to the ground. “Oh, I’m sorry, did that hurt” you crouch down and give her a mocking look.

Just as you stand up from crouching a familiar scent comes quickly, Sim Jake. Helping Soo-Yun up, he glares at you, and you shrug, “you need to control your girlfriend Jaeyun.” you say before quickly turning around and help Yunji pick up her things from the ground. “You good?” you ask, she just nods “yeah, and thanks.” she smiles you nod, “no problem.” you respond before standing up and heading back to your desk. You lay you head on your desk once more, trying to find enough peace to rest a tiny bit more but all you hear is Soo-Yuns' whiny voice complaining to Jake about you.

You weren’t worried about possibly getting in trouble at school, you were mostly worried if your parents would find out, which of course they did. “Why did you attack Cha Soo-Yun at school today.” Your father spews his anger out quite quickly once you get home. “Who told?” you said which no expression on your face. “That doesn’t matter right now y/n! I’m asking you a question.” his jaw clenches, you sigh “was it jake?” you ask. he lets out a deep, frustrated sigh. “Unfortunately, we had to hear the news from his parents, do you know how embarrassing that is?” he rests his hand on his forehead in embarrassment. “that’s why tonight i made plans to have dinner with Jaeyun and his parents, you're not only going to apologize to jake but also to Soo-Yun tomorrow in school.” he points his finger at you. you nod, acknowledging that you're listening to him. “Okay now head you your room, I’m tired of you.” he says with annoyance in his tone.

"Tired of me, oh please." you say as you lay your head down on your pillow after falling onto you bed. once again jake’s being an asshole. you look over to your window only to see Jake walking around his room like he’s looking for something. you stand up and walk over to the window, he also sees you, giving you and annoying smirk only for you to reply by harshly closing your blinds.

The time came, when Jake and his parents were invited over that day. You work a baby pink sweater with a knee-high white skirt. "You look good, Hun" your mother complimented. you slightly smiled to acknowledge that you heard her. "Is everything fine at school?" She worriedly asked you. "everything's fine mom, Soo-Yun is just problematic and jake's not much better." you said with a frustrated tone. "Plus, dad just clearly likes jake more than me so..." you slightly rolled your eyes at the thought, you mom sighed in return. "You know your father-" She began but got cut off by the sound of the front door opening and familiar voices be heard.

you and jakes' families have been close for as long as you can remember. Part of that being because both dads grew up together another part being because you are neighbors. Although, you and Jake started disagreeing a lot more once you both hit puberty. You both were never very close but close enough. Well, until high school.

"y/n!" a sweet voice calls out to you as you walk towards the door. You give a soft smile to the beautiful lady. Jakes mom, she was so sweet, she was like another mom to you. You loved her. You opened your arms and gave her a tight hug. "How are you, my love?" She pets your head with a gentle touch. You nodded to her with a genuine smile, still in her arms "good, I've been good." She soon let you go, to which you walk over to Mr. Sim, Jakes dad. You look up to him, awkwardly. "Ah, come here" the man says, pulling you into his side, with a hug. You smile, once again.

You were quite close with both of Jakes parents, they were like a second pair of parents to you. You loved them dearly. "Hey kiddo" Mr. Sim says. "hey" you laugh in return. You both let go, only to walk back over to you mom but turn to look at Jake and slightly bow your head a little just to show a bit of respect, to which he gives nothing in return.

You all head over to the dinner table and get settled to start eating. A few conversations start but you just listen quietly. A bit longer into dinner, you get asked something. "So how has school been y/n?" Mr. Sim asks, genuinely curious. You look up from your plate, "It's been okay." You pick at your food while answering. Jake gives a quiet scoff which only leads you to sigh. "Speaking of which, I believe there's something you would like to say to Jake, isn't there y/n." Your dad says while giving you a glare. He motions you to stand up. You assumed you would be able to apologize to Jake privately, but no, Hes making you do it in front of everyone. Everyone else looked a bit confused, besides Jake of course.

You gulped and stood up from your chair. You hesitated for a bit, "I'm sorry..." You said but soon continued after you dad gave you a look suggesting that you continued. "I'm sorry for how I treated Soo-Yun today. I will be apologizing to her separately as well, but because she's someone you care about, I'm apologizing to you too." You said, keeping you head down, biting the inside of your cheek in embarrassment. Jake just nods his head but then continues to eat. you sigh. Meanwhile, everyone else felt the awkward tension. "Good enough." your father says, which absolutely outrages you. You sit down as your lip quivers. You dad basically showed everyone how much control he had over you, and you hated it.

You held back your tears and continued to eat while putting on a smile to not show how upset you felt. After a little bit, when the tension cooled off you spoke up, "Excuse me, I'm going to use the bathroom" You gave a soft, yet fake smile.

Instead of going to the bathroom you went to your backyard patio and sat on the little bench swing. You felt even more frustrated and upset than you did earlier. You dad was nothing like jakes, and of course you didn't want to compare them, but your always jealous of how jake gets treated by his dad compared to you with yours. You sat there with a frown, picking your nails but soon hear heavy footsteps getting closer, Jake. "That was tense" he says, sitting next to you. "You enjoyed it, huh?" you said, still not looking his way. "Not as much as I will tomorrow when you say it to her." He says which makes you finally look at him. how did he know you were going to apologize to her tomorrow, your dad only told you to a few hours ago. "What if I don't do it tomorrow, huh?" you raise your eyebrows at him. "I would, because I can easily tell your father." he chuckles. You clench your teeth. "What, are you mad I know your weakness?" he says. "Weakness?" you question. "Your dad." he says. you squint. was he right? was your dad your weakness? "You don't know anything about me Sim Jake." Your lip twitches. "we'll see about that" he says, you stand up and walk away.

When you return to the others, you speak out, "I'm sorry, but I'm not feeling very well. I'm going to have to say goodbye now so I can lay down." You explain and say your goodbye before heading up to your room. Once you close your door, you feel an overwhelming sense of sadness and panic. Your dad is your weakness and that hurts your heart so much realizing it now. You dad wasn't always like this, he was kind, loving and fun up until you hit middle school. you don't know what happened, but it was like once your older brother left, he was terrible.

You walked over to your window and opened the closed blinds, sliding the window open to get a bit fresh air due to feeling suffocated. You didn't want to cry, but you couldn't help it. What's happening to you.

You eventually head over to your bed and fall asleep with shiny streaks on your face from the tears.

I hate you sim jaehyun.

The next day at school was nothing you ever imagined. It felt like all those k-dramas you watched where you were walking towards your classroom and everyone around you was whispering while you walk past. You felt confused. When you walked into the classroom, all eyes were on you which gave you chills. You scan the room only to see Soo-Yun crying in her seat, arm wrapped in a bandage. You sigh as Jake glares at you.

“Park y/n!” you turn to the crying girl. “Do you see what you caused?” she stood up and stomped your way. you eyed the ground annoyingly. “Ah, about that, I apologize for how I acted yesterday. It was wrong of me to kick you” you looked at her, apologizing. Jake kept a close eye on you while his girlfriend let out a snotty comment. “You realize that you're the bad guy now, right?” she chuckled, you turned to her. “That doesn’t matter to me. Just be happy I apologized.” you glared at her for a moment before turning away and heading to you seat. “Hah, only cause your daddy told you to.” she scoffed, you turned around in shock by her words. “What?” you said with furrowed eyebrows. You tightly closed you fist at her words, how did she know anything about that? you looked at Jake, he just looks back with no expression at all.

you looked around to see everyone looking at you like you just committed a sin, what the hell is going on. You ran out of the classroom, only to bump into someone on your way out, “sorry.” you mumbled not paying any attention to who they were, and you heart was racing, it felt like you were going to throw up, why though?

“Can you pick me up?” you called you brother with a shaky voice. He said he’d be there soon, so you just had to wait.

Did Jake tell? What was going on. Why were you so affected by your dad getting brought up? You brought you hand to your chest and rubbed it to get your heartbeat to slow a bit. “y/n” someone called for you. you turned to the familiar voice with anger and hurt in your eyes and a quivering lip. “What?” you practically yelled. Jake walked closer, only for you to back up. “Did you get what you wanted?” you said, holding you tears back. Jake really hurt you this time. “What?” he asked. Just then, a car pulls up. You brother rolls down the window and greets jake. “Go.” you say to you brother after getting in. He’s confused, but still listens.

You sit across your older brother in his apartment. He gave you a juice box which you were currently drinking. “So, what happened?” he asks, putting his elbows on the counter in the kitchen. “Nothing much, I just felt like skipping today. And please don’t tell dad!” you practically begged him. “Is he still giving you a hard time?” he asks. you were always comfortable telling you brother things, but this was different. It was your dad, and he was very close with your dad. “Ah, no..” you lied “he’s just been busy lately.” you say, reassuring you brother with a fake smile. “Hm, okay” he pets your head.

“But what was Jake doing outside with you?” he questions. “Not sure, but I don’t care. he’s an asshole,” you frown more when thinking back. “What?” he asked. “Him and his girlfriend are both assholes.” you share, still feeling mad. “I hate him.” you start tearing up. “Huh? what’s up?” he walks over to you. you start crying harder. “he’s so stupid.” you say. Your brother pats you back. “What do I do?” you question into your brother's chest. “I’ll make some ramen.” your brother says, you sniffle and nod.

______________________________________

hope you liked pt 1! come back for pt 2 (here) <3

© rosie-rosem

[brickcentral]

🤩 ARTIST SPOTLIGHT: jcmimoso Hello everyone! It's time to direct the spotlight toward our community members, and today we will get to know better jcmimoso!

"Hello fellow LEGO photographers, my name is Juan Carlos Mimoso. I'm from Spain and I grew up in the 75-80s. When I was a child I never had access to LEGO, due to economic reasons and poor distribution in my area. On the other hand, I did play with Playmobil and also with Exin Castillos bricks, with which I built spectacular castles.

I am currently a Doctor in Primary Care in a health center, and when in 2020 we suffered the COVID-19 pandemic and forced confinement, I continued working. I changed my work in the clinic for work at home and in the clinic, with no limit on hours and with the uncertainty and feeling of not being able to offer everything my patients needed. That caused me a lot of added stress. I had always liked photography, landscapes, macro, etc... and I relaxed by walking to see the world with photographic eyes. Instead, now I found that I was confined and unable to create new content.

My son had a couple of LEGO minifigures and a small set, and I thought it was cool to take a photo with an interesting background and post it on Instagram. And since then, I have been hooked on toy photography. I have seen that there are many colleagues spread around the world, and communities like Brickcentral, where tricks and ways to take the final photo are freely shared.

I took almost all of the photos with an old second-hand Fujifilm X-E2 mirrorless and the little Fujinon 27/2.8 pancake lens with a +2 or +4 close-up filter attached. I like that combination because it is very small and portable. A couple of years ago I added the Fujifilm X-H1 because, although it is a little bigger, it has a flip-up screen, which makes it much easier for me to make low compositions without having to move the whole equipment to check the focus. This year I bought a 1:2 macro (Fujinon 60/2.4) and so far I like the results, although due to work and family issues I haven't been able to take many photos. I hope that changes in a couple of weeks.

My workspace is typically my desk. I use the PC monitor as a background, or if it's a building without any background at all, and I place everything on heavy, thick medicine books so I can use my tabletop tripod at the right height. For lighting I use LED spotlights (Ulanzi VL49 and Lumecube Air), although I have also sometimes taken photos with matchstick lighting.

My compositions are not very large because as soon as I finish the session I have to put away everything that is on the desk so that I can use it to process the result. I usually take several shots with different lighting, aperture and sometimes even stacking photos to give more depth, although I never usually use the whole stack, but only just enough so that the background does not look too sharp. Later I choose the shot I like the most in Lightroom and complete it with Photoshop for basic retouching such as cloning, filters, etc.

I mainly use LEGO minifigures from various series (Marvel, DC, Ninjago…), although you can also see some Playmobil and Star Wars figures. The main type of photography I do is usually related to medieval, fantasy, sword and sorcery environments, among others.

In my posts you can see that I use extensively the Barbarian (series 11) and Viking (series 20) minifigures. I think it's because they don't usually require much post-processing, but also because they remind me of the 'Conan the Barbarian' comics I used to read when I was a kid. It's my humble way of paying a little homage to great artists who have drawn the Cimmerian since the 70s and who bring back so many memories. I recently acquired the Red-Haired Barbarian minifigure (series 25), which I'm sure will co-star in future photos. In fact, the photo I'm showing you today is the first one I've used it for.

Fortunately, over the years, I saved some Exin pieces, and along with others I've gotten lately, I use them extensively in my creations to mix LEGO with Exin Castles and get a more realistic environment. To this I usually mix all kinds of rocks, sand, grasses and other accessories so that it integrates well with the sword and sorcery atmosphere that I usually pursue in my publications. For inspiration I use old comics, game or movie sequences, and anything I see that fits well with my possibilities and knowledge. I have notebooks full of ideas written down for a better occasion, which doesn't always come. I learn a lot from other fellow toy photographers and I'm always looking for new ways to tell the little stories in my photos.

"

Thank you for accepting our invitation and let the community knows you better!

If you want some insights on the exclusive picture and for a better view of the others, head to our blog at https://brickentral.net/.

- @theaphol, Community Outreach Manager

[br1ghtestlight]

because today is @seemoreseymoursbay minor and one-off character day i thought that i would share some of my thoughts and analysis on lily's younger brother ernest lombard. since he is a one-off character from season three and i have thought about him more than ANYBODY else in this fandom and that's a promise lol

he's five years younger than lily and alice got pregnant w/ him after billy returned from the war and they were kinda having a honeymoon 2.0 phase since she was so happy her husband was alive and safe. he was born in 1946

lily was VERY protective of her baby brother. he got picked on a lot by the neighborhood kids bcuz he was nerdy and kinda weak/feminine but because lily was older and not afraid of ANYTHING she would stand up for him against everybody at school and in their neighborhood. very louise and gene vibes in that sense (except lily actually is older than ernest lmao)

only alice and lily (and later bob when was born) called him ernie/uncle ernie. he did NOT like being compared to the sesame street character especially when he was a teenager. HE IS NOT A MUPPET >:(

he was more nerdy and shy/sensitive and kept to himself. not many friends outside of his sister and he mostly spent his childhood reading comic books and playing by himself in his bedroom. his parents were very understanding and supportive of him since they were both pretty progressive for their time in terms of gender roles

he LOVED superhero comics when he was a kid. still a secret passion of his as an adult and he collected them

he was devastated when his older sister moved away from home especially because he was going through his angsty high school years and he really needed her. they still phoned each other and wrote letters everyday and lily would visit when she was able <3

he was gay and it was really tough for him growing up in the 1950s and 60s with homosexuality not even being legalized. his family was as supportive as could possibly be expected for the time period (they didnt disown or abuse him) and lily didn't think any different of him when he told her (but she told him to kinda keep it on the down low for his safety) fortunately he lived in new york city so there was a bit of a community for him

he had a long term boyfriend throughout the 70s and 80s but unfortunately he died from aids/hiv during the crisis :( ernest never got into another relationship after that and that's why he died single with no kids. he also lost a lot of friendships it was really hard. poor guy!!!

never got along w/ big bob as he always felt that he was too cold/unloving/didnt talk enough and that he was stealing ernest's older sister from him (they started dating when ernest was like..... 14 so that teenage angst was expected) big bob would never be good enough for lily in his mind

he moved to new jersey with his bf when they were in their late 20s to be closer to lily & bob which is where he stayed until he died

he LOVED being an uncle and thought bob was so cute and funny and reminded him so much of himself at bob's age. absolutely adored the kid. unfortunately he stopped coming around as much when lily got sick so bob doesn't have too many memories of him :(

lily's death was really hard for him and he basically stopped talking to bob and big bob entirely after she died bcuz the reminder was too painful. bob tried to stay in contact but he was also a teenager so they just kinda..... fell out of touch. they hadn't talked in years when ernest died

he was always very empathetic and understanding towards people seen as different/unwanted by society due to being gay himself so he had a lot of sympathy and always tried to support homeless people drug addicts and the mentally ill etc. our differences do not define us type guy. he volunteered a lot at the homeless shelters after he retired and that's part of why he let chet stay in his storage unit for all those years (although chet actually WAS a seasonal employee at his department store) he felt real deep love and empathy for him </3 also protested the vietnam war with his big sis. very anti-racism compared to what was expected of white people at the time

always very quiet and socially awkward. it is true that bob got a lot of his personality from big bob but he got an equal amount from ernest tbh he just never knew him well enough to realize that about himself

tina also shares a lot of traits w/ ernest and had they known each other when he was alive i think they would have gotten along really well. he would have loved her erotic friend fiction and he actually wrote his own superhero comic fanfiction before that was an actual thing that ppl had a word for

always loved drawing but never very good at it. you could find doodles ALL over his tax stubs and receipts from work

he had a brief dream of becoming a comic book artist and he read all the new peanuts and archie comics when they released. billy would always bring them home from work for him to read

when he died he left pretty much everything he owned (which was.... not very much. he definitely wasn't very financially well-off after they bought out his department store to build the mall) to bob bcuz he was basically the only family that he had that was still alive. he never knew bob had kids but he did know about linda

he died of a heart attack in his 60s and nobody even found his body for a few days. his later years were very lonely

[soupedepates]

Meili belongs to @azeler, Tyr belongs to @hel-phoenyx and Kaizarz to @corneille-but-not-the-author

Meili came back and that's weird.

Like we're friends. But he made so many faces that time I brought the whole gang at my folks', learning three generations were living under our roof, saying the food "smells weird", looking strange when my parents were talking to me in our language.

But we're friends. He protected me every time I needed it.

And I learnt he was once deployed in my family's homeland. I learnt it 'cause he sent me a picture. The place my parents' wedding picture was taken, but so many years later. It almost made me puke, I don't know why, I never walked on this land.

Now he is a veteran. MIssing an eye and a leg. That feels so wrong.

What's worse is that he eats sometimes at the restaurant I work in. With his new friends. He says so many hurtful things with them. About women. About immigrants. About the poor. He doesn't know I work here. And what, I should cry?

I miss you. So much.

What, I should be sad? Because he shielded me against the boys calling me a slut in middle school? Because he tried to explain to me every subject I failed in high school?

Because we were playing football in elementary and you and Tyr and Kaizarz let me, a girl, play in your team?

Because we are friends and yet you seem to resent people like me?

Or am I part of the "good ones" because my family was rich and fortunate enough not to rely on welfare?

Who am I kidding. I'm a woman who's working, with no higher education, and I am sleeping around. I don't even qualify for what you consider "worthy", do I?

We're short-staffed today. Which means I have to be the only waitress; as the only girl in the kitchen, can't say no. So I'm showing some tit and leg to get better tips. To help make ends meet.

Wasn't expecting to see him today.

I smile, I flirt a bit with that group of men that disgust me by their gross ideology. To the point one of them try to hit on me.

"She is working, let her be", Meili says to cut short his shot at seducing little old me.

We lock eyes for a second.

I guess some things never change.

[aita-blorbos]

Am I the asshole for calling out my friend extremely publically for personal problems?

Title sounds bad but hear me out. So I (39m) have had this friend, F (39m), for a very long time. Like most of our lives long. We went to high school together, never lost touch, ended up moving in together while we were both in college, yada yada yada. I was a writing major at a pretty prestigious university, and F was a music major at an INSANELY prestigious music conservatory. F spent two years in the military right after high school, so I had already been in New York City, where both of our schools were, for two years by the time he got there, but as soon as he was released from service he moved in. Pretty soon after that, we decided to combine our talents and turn to writing musicals. I did the scripts and lyrics, and F composed the music.

He has a gift. He's truly the greatest, most insanely talented composer I've ever heard. When F writes music, it's like he'd distilling emotion and humanity down into something that can be heard. When we started to work together, we were working on a passion project that started as a draft of a play I had written that had inspired him so much he pitched turning it into a musical. We spent years on this thing, writing and rewriting and rewriting and rewriting. We auditioned it for a few producers and never got anywhere, but we refused to give up on it.

After a few years of that, we were "discovered," I guess you could say, by a big Broadway producer, J, who liked our music but not our show. He and his wife, G, had an idea for a different show they wanted us to do the music for, specifically so that G could have her big break and become a Broadway star. F was immediately all for it, but I took a lot more convincing. He did eventually convince me, partially because, at that point, I had a wife and a kid and another kid on the way, and I needed the money, and partially because I trusted F. It also helped that our other best friend, M, agreed that doing one show for J and G to get our careers off the ground was a good idea. So we did it. And it was a massive success, the kind of success that I still have savings from ten years later. J told us on opening night that if we wrote another musical, he would produce it. The catch was that it had to be another musical like this one, all flash and spectacle and no substance. I agreed to do one more, but then I wanted to go back to writing passion projects, creating art I actually cared about.

That was where the problems started between F and me. I watched from the sidelines as he brushed me off, constantly, and made so many poor decisions it was excruciating to be his friend. He cheated on his wonderful wife with G, did such a bad job of hiding it that we all had to convince him that he should just give up custody of his kid and accept the child support agreement because otherwise he would have lost (somehow) even more in the divorce. M and I could see that G was terrible for him, but every time we thought we'd gotten through to him how much she was using him for fame and how miserable she was making him, she'd pop back up and reel him back in. F slowly became more and more like her, wanting nothing more than fame and fortune and getting less and less subtle about it. G left J for F, which destroyed J's life (last I heard the divorce left him so penniless and depressed he was calling G to beg for money on a semi-regular basis), and F and G got married.

That brings us to the situation where I think I might be an asshole. I swear it wasn't on purpose, I truly think I had some kind of mental breakdown, but I called F out on everything going on with him extremely publically. Like national television publically. M had arranged an interview with us on NBC to talk about the project we were still (theoretically) working on, the original music that used to mean to much to both of us and now was starting to feel like a solo project. M's idea was that if I could get F to commit to the musical publically, he wouldn't be able to back out, and we'd be able to use that commitment to spend more time with him again and get him to see our side of what was going on. Instead, I found out literally seconds before going live on camera that, without talking to me about despite the fact we were supposedly still writing partners, F had signed a three-movie deal as a Hollywood producer, which would take him out of NYC for months at a time. Honestly, it wasn't even the fact that he signed the deal that got to me so badly, though I was pretty upset about it. It was that I found out because the person interviewing us already knew. And I didn't. From the person who was supposed to be not only my business partner but also my oldest, dearest, and closest friend. A man who all four of my kids call uncle. A man who has had a key to every place I've lived since I was 20 years old. A man who knows me better than absolutely anyone save maybe my wife and M. And a newcaster knew about this massive personal and professional development before I did.

So I kind of lost it. Honestly, I barely remember half of what I said. I think the first question I answered was something along the lines of "how do you two work together" and suddenly I was ranting about how working with him means constant interruptions and barely any work, and then I was getting emotional and talking about how I feel like he's completely abandoned our friendship, not even mentioning how I feel about the potential he's throwing away by giving up on music, and I ended it all by pretty much just saying that I thought he cared about money more than anything else in the world. And you know what? I don't think I was lying or wrong about any of it. I wish I had said it all in a much more private conversation, sure, but I don't think I would take most of it back. Maybe word it a little better. I don't know.

So, AITA?

[catindabag]

TBOSAS on Crack short take (21)

*When the 24 OG Mentors discussed The Hunger Games*

Clemensia: Ok. Be honest. Whoever annually watches the Hunger Games, raise your hands!

Everyone:. . .

Clemensia: Really?! No one? Well, I’m kinda relieved to see that.

Felix: Clemmie, we stopped watching Highbottom’s Killer Kids Game since we were in grade school.

Clemensia: But why though?

Androcles: Not fun.😔

Sejanus: Extremely and insanely cruel and inhumane.😡

Lysistrata: Fortunately, my mom said “no” because there were too many body parts flying on the screen.

Festus: I threw up my cheesecake the first time I saw a live decapitation on television.

Coryo: That’s your only reason?

Festus: Bro, you don’t understand. That was my last free cheesecake coupon for the whole year.🥲

Coryo: Well, I just quit watching the games the moment I saw a kid bit off another kid’s fingers.

Festus: So?

Coryo: He swallowed them.

Festus: Oh.

Coryo: You all know that I hate cannibals, right?

Persephone: *starts crying*

Coryo: Not you, Price.🙄

Livia: Well, I just don’t watch the games because it’s not really my cup of tea. I mean, there’s no romance, no gossips, no breakups-

Juno: Nothing. I gave it a zero.

Arachne: True. It lacks that ✨reality drama✨ that we girlies crave for.

Dennis: I watched it once with my mom and my very sensitive dad. Never again.

Coryo: Why? What happened?

Dennis: My poor daddy had nightmares for a whole year. Even now, he’s still crying about it.

Coryo: Wait. Is that why your mom now runs and rules the Capitol Black Market without him?

Dennis: Yup! My daddy officially decided to become a stay-at-home househusband.

Persephone: Like mine!😀

Dennis: No, Price. Not like yours.

Persephone: Not like mine? But my sweet daddy is also a stay-at-home househusband.

Dennis: For the wrong reasons.

Persephone: He’s just living his best werewolf life!

Coryo: No offense, Percy, but your sweet daddy is clinically insane.

Palmyra: Like us!😀

Coryo: I know that we’re all insane, but not Nero “I am a scary werewolf” Price insane.

Persephone: But-

Coryo: He hunts rabid raccoons for breakfast and howls at the moon.

Gaius: Cool.

Coryo: He also fought 10 wild coyotes, 5 Peacekeepers, and a stray brown bear for some lima beans once. It was epic.

Felix: Was he arrested?

Coryo: No. You can’t arrest a self proclaimed werewolf. It’s illegal.

Felix: Illegal? Who approved of that law?

Coryo: Your granduncle.

Felix: *sighs* That checks out.😑

Persephone: Aren’t we talking about the Hunger Games?🥲

Coryo: Oh, yeah. How about you, Moss? Why did you stop watching Highbottom’s Killer Kids Game?

Iphigenia: It’s too brutal for my liking. And my grocery store has a sh*tty TV. How about you, Ney Ney?

Vipsania: No introduction, no narrative, no story. Just plain killing.😪

Palmyra: There’s no food commercials after every kill!

Coryo: What the heck, Palm Palm!

Felix: My crazy granduncle- I mean, the President of Panem usually invites me over to one of his exclusive ✨THG Watch Parties✨, but after the 4th time watching, puking, and screaming, I just couldn’t stomach the gore anymore.

Clemensia: Ok? So if you’re in charge of The Hunger Games, what would you change? What would you like to do if you recreated the games from scratch?

Everyone: Everything!

Sejanus: And no killing!

Felix: Yeah! Let’s agree and write a “no killing” policy!

Coryo: Make sure to add the “no gore” and “no cannibalism” rule as well, Class Pres.

Felix: On it. *scribbles*

Apollo: Hear me out. ✨Hunger Games: Panem’s Next Top Model✨!

Diana: No! It should be ✨Hunger Games: Dancing With The Stars✨!🤩

Livia: Ew. Your ideas suck! It should be ✨Hunger Games: LOVE ISLAND✨!💅

Sejanus: No! ✨Hunger Games: The Great Panem Bake Off✨ is gonna be the best program ever!

Coryo: Babe, what are you talking about?! ✨Hunger Games: Panem’s Got Talent✨ is the superior show!

Io: No! You’re all wrong! ✨Hunger Games: 90 DAY FIANCÉ✨ will have the most views!

Hilarius: ✨Hunger Games: Single’s Inferno✨ is better and spicier!

Palmyra: Suck it, Hilari! ✨Hunger Games: Fear Factor✨ will be the most iconic show!

Urban: You guys are not thinking! ✨Hunger Games: Project Runway✨ is the best concept! Just you wait! I will revolutionize Panem’s fashion industry!

Festus: What?! No! You’re so wrong, Ban Ban! ✨Hunger Games: TOP CHEF✨ will revolutionize Panem’s food industry!

Domitia: I kinda agree with Creed.

Dennis: Yeah. A food competition sounds nice.

Persephone: Oh, c’mon! ✨Hunger Games: Big Brother✨ will be a certified classic!

Pup: You’re kidding, right? ✨Hunger Games: Panem’s Ninja Warrior, Ultimate Beastmaster✨ will get us the most sponsors!😎

Felix: Slow down! All of your ideas and suggestions are great!

Palmyra: Thanks!☺️

Felix: But I can’t keep up with all that shouting!

Livia: Just do your stupid job, Class Pres! And FYI, mine’s the best. So make sure to highlight ✨LOVE ISLAND✨.

Festus: Oh, Horn of Plenty! I have another great idea!

Coryo: Fire away, Creed.

Festus: Hear me out. ✨Hunger Games: Keeping Up With The Ravinstills✨!

Coryo: Festus, my dumpster brother from another mother, you are a certified genius!😂

Sejanus: I’ll even trade my scheming old man to see that show air anytime!

Felix: That doesn’t even make sense?! How can the Tributes participate on that show?!

Juno: No offense, Felix, but we also want to see the chaotic family drama that you and your cousins are currently living in.

Coryo: I kinda agree with Juno, Class Pres. I mean, just last week, four out of your eight uncles got arrested by your other four uncles, just because of “illegally” breeding Bichon Frisé puppies inside your crazy granduncle’s secret basement.

Felix: How did you even get that private information?!

Coryo: You told us yourself.