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

[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.)

[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

[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!

[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

[the-doctor-3000]

Imagine. . . Dracula gaining feelings for the 4th Sanderson Sister (You)

A/n: So, it's spooky season and I thought of writing a crossover between Van Helsing 2004 and Hocus Pocus.

Also, after reading some Hocus Pocus fanfics, I noticed that write the 4th sister aka Sanderson!reader as a good witch and I thought. . . What if this wasn't the case? What if she was like her sisters *after* their death?

Side note: The mc has the same powers as Winifred (hypnotic voice, spell casting, magic, potion brewing, bibliomancy etc) but she also has the ability to see the future (that kinda explains the spell she will do)

The year was 1693 and y/n Sanderson had escaped from the execution. Her sisters, though, weren't that fortunate. But for her sisters' death- she too did a spell. Ensuring that if her sisters failed the first time, to be able to be ressuructed once again. Making sure that Salem would never find peace and all the people there, no matter the time, would pay.

Currently, she found residence in a small cottage into the forest beside a Transylvanian village which was ruled by the Valerious. What the family and the villagers didn't know, was that she would cause them even more despair.

At day time, she appeared to be an innocent woman who wanted to help people but this facade would always fall by night.

She was wearing black garments and a cloak which covered her entire face. Like the thief in the night, she wandered the village and that's when the singing begun.

🎶Come, little children, I'll take thee away

Into a land of enchantment.

Come, little children, the time's come to play,

Here in my garden of shadows.

Children started walking out of their homes, wearing their nightgowns, looking as if they were in a some sort of trance. Y/n smirked wickedly.

Follow, sweet children, I'll show thee the way,

Through all the pain and the sorrows.

Weep not, poor children, for life is this way,

Murdering beauty and passions.

The kids followed her.

Hush now, dear children, it must be this way,

To weary of life and deceptions.

Rest now, my children, for soon we'll away,

Into the calm and the quiet.

She reached her cottage, the children walked inside one by one as y/n continued the spell and the potion was ready.

Come, little children, I'll take thee away

Into a land of enchantment.

Come, little children, the time's come to play,

Here in my garden of shadows.🎶

When the last one walked inside, she closed the door. After minutes, a bright light came out of her window and the children were nowhere to be found. Only she was there. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and she was young.

Before her sisters' execution, she was against the idea of taking the life force of innocent children. The first one was a girl named Emily Binx. Poor thing, y/n thought. But after what they stripped her sisters away from her- she grew bitter and hated humanity.

Taking the children and their life force was one of her many ways, and the most cruel one, of revenge. To show everyone how you felt.

Thay day- when y/n took the younglings, she thought no one was watching. Until a quite handsome man dressed in black clothing and his hair were pulled back in a ponytail appeared in her doorstep.

She straightened her back, her chin raised high proudly, and went to address him, "Now that is a surpise. What brings thee, a vampire, here?"

"Ah, so you know what I am." he spoke, his Transylvanian accent visible "But I am not just any vampire. I am Vladislaus III Dracula."

The woman laughed, "I know who thou are, dear, I am a witch. I know things but I simply don't care." she sighed as she finally calmed down "Now, what do you want, Impaler? Ypu should know better than coming to a witch's home uninvited."

"I've noticed your method of gaining enternal youth."

"Here to gawk? If you came here for a tittle-tattle then you may as well leave cause I have better things to do." she smiled a fake smile "Bye-bye!" as she closed the door but Dracula placed his foot and walked in forcefully.

"I'm not here for chatting."

"Then what do I own this outrageous visit?"

"I am in need of your aid. ."

"Go on."

"I need your help to bring life to my children."

She raised an amused brow, "Oh? Necromancy then." she tapped her chin in feign thought "Hm. No. That would cause the end of humanity."

"Isn't this what you want? Avenge your sisters' death?"

"I want them to beg for death to come to them." she barked at him, her eyes gleaming dangerously "Killing them will be far too kind. No. I want to torture them. Slowly and painfully. I want them to lose everything they loved, to feel like I felt." she turned away from him "As for my vengeance, I already planned something special but it is for the future." she glanced at Dracula as she magically opened the door "I'm sorry but you came here for nothing. You better leave before sunrise."

There was something in her. That hate. That fire. Her behaviour. Dracula couldn't help but feel attracted to it. No one had ever spoken to him as such, others would be too scared to do so.

"Not completely for nothing." he spoke smoothly, he walked up to her and kissed the back of her hand gently in goodbye "May we see each other soon."

Before she could question what did he mean, he had already disappeared.

"What just happened?" y/n said to herself, her cheeks red

[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.

[silverstarsimuran]

Change your mind

My little fanfiction about the first meeting of Sonic and Tails. 😊 💕 🌺

How does it feel to be normal, to be like everyone else? Why is the majority against those who are only noticeably different from everyone else?

Tails asked these questions every time, the answers to which, alas, he could not find…

As soon as he was born, his parents immediately abandoned him, and all because the baby was born with two tails. Being born a Mobian with more than one tail was considered something of a freak. That's why Tails' father and mother, seeing in him not a child, but some kind of small monster, so easily abandoned him. The baby could have been sent to an orphanage if his uncle, who is a distant relative of the Prauer family, had not appeared in time. Mr. Fox was very friendly with the Prawers. But when he found out what the parents were going to do with the newborn child, he tried to come for his nephew as soon as possible, before it was too late. Having issued guardianship, he took the baby to himself, practically becoming a father to him.

Miles, or as Mr. Fox liked to call the boy "Tails" because of his tails, grew up sweet and kind. Although he was curious and restless, he was obedient.

The old fox also noticed how his ward was very interested in various kinds of mechanics. Mr. Fox was even glad of this, because he liked to tinker with machinery and various mechanisms. He showed the kid how this or that mechanism works, how to fix it, what tools and how to use them correctly. He encouraged him when the little fox was trying to repair cars and equipment. And I was even surprised that the two-tailed fox cub, in addition to repairs, also invented unusual things.

In general, Tails' life could have been happy if it hadn't been for the bullies.

They constantly teased him about tails and inventions, and also threw dirt and other garbage at him. Fortunately, the fox cub had a guardian who protected him. However, due to his poor health, the old man could not always help the boy, and he had to run away and hide from bullies.

But one day something happened that the little fox did not expect… His uncle was gone.… And now he was all alone…

Since the parents definitely will not come to pick up their "ugly" son, the boy will be sent to a shelter. Tails had heard from his uncle when he was alive that an orphanage was a terrible place where children, without knowing parental love and affection, were cruel and heartless. Such an unusual kid like him will be constantly beaten and humiliated. They will be worse than the hooligans that the little fox knew.

And the thought that he could get there made Tails run away from the village, where he lived for 6 years with his beloved uncle.

Hiding in the forest from prying eyes, he took a deep breath, and then slowly walked forward.

"Why? Why do they hate me so much? Why are they doing this? What have I done to them?" the questions were spinning in his head. He involuntarily remembered that he had asked the same questions to his guardian, and he answered it like this: "It's just easier for many people to offend those who are smaller and weaker than them than to do something good. And unfortunately, not everyone likes such people who differ too much in appearance due to, for example, some shortcomings. But just because you have two tails doesn't mean you're a freak or a monster. Not at all. It's just that each of us is unique in our own way. Therefore, remember, Miles, you should not be sad and sad because of your uniqueness, on the contrary, you should be proud of it." But despite such encouraging words, the fox cub did not really believe in it, especially in those moments when he heard the laughter of bullies.

After taking a few more steps, Tails stopped and, unable to stand it, began to cry from the surging emotions. He cried because of those bullies who constantly bullied him, because of the death of his beloved Mobian, because no one needed him anymore. If he had ended up in an orphanage, he would hardly have been taken away by his foster parents. No one but his uncle wanted to be with him.

— Why are you crying, baby? Suddenly, a clear voice was heard. Tails turned around and gave a startled cry.

"Oh, I'm sorry I scared you, buddy. I didn't mean to scare you, really," the stranger, a blue green—eyed hedgehog, said awkwardly, scratching his head, and then continued, turning to the little fox. — Is there anything I can help you with? Are you lost or something?

Tails said nothing, not daring to answer. After all, he had heard from his uncle that you can't talk to strangers.

"Come on, kid. I just want to help," the hedgehog asked a little urgently for an answer. The fox cub looked at him. The blue hedgehog seemed quite friendly, his mischievous eyes were full of tenderness and warmth. But the boy has not yet decided to trust.

What if he's so friendly just because he hasn't seen two fox tails yet? What would he be like if he saw them?

"I… uh… I don't need any help," the little fox finally replied.

— Yes? Are you sure about this?

— Absolutely sure.

— Then… Why did you cry? If something has happened to you, then tell me and I will help you solve this problem.

— I really don't need anything. Thanks

— Kid, I'm sorry if I'm so persistent.… But when I see someone crying, I can't get past them. Just tell me, please, what kind of trouble has happened to you. I really want to help you," said the hedgehog, kneeling down to be on the same level as the fox cub. Tails involuntarily moved his tails when the stranger was at close range with him. And the hedgehog noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye, which surprised him by opening his mouth slightly. That's what Tails was afraid of.…

— Whoa… Do you have two tails? "What is it?" he asked in surprise. The frightened fox cub immediately backed away until it bumped into a tree.

— Hush, hush. I was just surprised," the hedgehog began to calm down, holding out his palms. — I've just never seen anyone with two tails.

—Aren't you… going to… laugh?".. — not expecting such a reaction from the hedgehog, the fox asked timidly.

— no. What am I laughing at? — blue did not understand him.

— And to call names or tease?.. Or… or even throw dirt at me?

— no!

The answer was so loud that Tails flinched. Looking at the hedgehog, who was stunned by his words, he was a little surprised by the reaction of that one.

— Why?.. Why would I do all this to you? — he was still shocked by what he heard, and then the boy explained:

— It's just that because of my tails, all the children laugh at me, tease and offend me. And the adults turn their noses away, barely noticing me. My parents also abandoned me because of this…

— And no one was kind to you?..

— There was one… But… now he's gone…

— Oh… I'm sorry for your loss.…

—Thank you,— Tails said, sighing, and then continued:

— And now… I was left alone…

"I'm sorry for you, kid. This… It was so wrong of them to do this to you… — the hedgehog stood up and cast an angry glance somewhere to the side, while clenching his fists. — Tease, humiliate a small child in every possible way… This… This is simply unthinkable!

— So you won't hurt me?.. Two—tailed asked timidly. It seemed that only now the hedgehog remembered about the baby. Turning to him, he replied:

— Of course not! I protect the weak and defenseless, not offend them! I really don't like hooligans who think that no one will punish them for their actions, and they are allowed to do anything," he growled slightly at the last words, but after looking at the fox cub, he instantly calmed down and continued:

— As I said, I can't get past those who are in trouble. I always try to help in some way. By the way, I forgot to introduce myself… I'm Sonic. Sonic the hedgehog. And you?

"M… Miles… Miles Prauer." But… you can just say Tails," Tails stammered a little.

— The name "Tails" is very cool. I like. And your tails are wonderful, even cool, I would say.

—Do you… do you think so?"..

— Yeah! Sonic chuckled. — Besides, not being like everyone else is very cool in its own way.

"No one told me that I could be cool," Tails was embarrassed.

— Well, now you know you're cool. And don't think about those jerks. If I meet them, they will regret that they offended you. And you don't have to be afraid of them anymore. If anything, I'll protect you.

— Thank you…

— By the way… Do you know where you can find a mechanic? I was on a plane, but something broke down there, as a result of which I had to land.

— I could help fix the plane! — the fox cub volunteered.

— You? — Sonic was slightly surprised.

— yes. I am very good at mechanics, and I also like to make things.

— Wow! Thank you, friend! In a way, I was even lucky to meet you.

— A friend?.. Did you call me a friend?.. Tails asked incredulously.

— Well, yes. I like making friends. Besides, you seem to need a friend yourself.

— Do you really want to be friends with me?..

— Why not! I would be all for it," the hedgehog chuckled.

Tails just couldn't believe his luck. After all, earlier in the day he was all alone, and now he has a friend. He also remembered the words of his late uncle: "Although it is easier for many to be bad, but you don't need to do bad yourself. On the contrary, we must try to do good, even if it will not be easy. Therefore, there are not only evil and bad people in the world, but also good ones. If you find such a good person, it means that he may well become your friend and faithful companion, protecting you from various troubles. So don't despair if you don't have any friends right now, Miles. Friends will definitely show up on time. And you won't be alone."

— Tell me, Tails, would you like to live with me? I could take care of you…" Sonic asked uncertainly, scratching his head in embarrassment. Tails smiled back.

— Yes, of course. I'm all for it.

Grinning, Sonic offered his hand to the fox cub, helping him to stand up.

— great! Then go ahead!

And it was from that day on that the life of one little extraordinary fox changed for the better, thanks to which Tails eventually became the same hero as his blue friend, Sonic the hedgehog. But that was a completely different story.…

Russian version

A source of inspiration: https://youtu.be/SSP3UvM62Ds?si=dA2wmiq_YTbYQs9c

[thecoolerlucky]

I Got Roped Into Being A Hero

Chapter 1: Kidnapped by The Hero

Contents (Warnings/Mild spoilers): Introducing Matchbook and how he became a sidekick to one of the strongest hero in the world.

Wordcount: 3,300+

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some believed everyone's sudden gain in unique powers or features was due to the next step in evolution. Others said it was a crazy attempt at making a zombie apocalypse. The work of gods, a meteor that changed their biology, or the results of a secret alien invasion.

No one really had an answer. As far as everyone knew, it just happened. 

It sent the world into chaos, and it took a long time for it to be calm again. Not that it was without turmoil, but they had systems in place for that. All mighty heroes watching over the cities all over the world, helping take down those that decided to use their powers against the less fortunate like...

"Hey, Match, can you give me a light before you go?" The grungy, pot bellied guy with a toucan head said as he wiggled the cigar in front of him. 

You can't even use them right.

"Sure," Matchbook sighed as he let go of the sandwich shop's back door. The heavy weight of it slammed it shut behind him.

He put his fingers together and in a single snap they created a flame atop his middle finger. He offered it to Little Oscar's cancer stick. 

Little Oscar chortled the best he could and lifted his cigar to meet it. "I get it, you hate me asking." He jested, poking fun at the lad. 

"It's the easiest finger to light," he explained  and saw himself explaining hundreds of more times in the future.

After Little Oscar lit it and nodded gratefully, holding it between his beak, Matchbook left. 

He shook his hand to put out the tiny flame. He couldn't make flames bigger than that of a match hence the nickname he had since elementary school. 

He wasn't as gifted as his parents or sister. His mom was a fire manipulator and conjurer, while his dad could heal from injuries at a near instantaneous rate. And his little sister was a fire breather. 

She created sparks much like their mom, except in her mouth. They learned this when she accidentally sneezed as a kid and set Matchbook on fire. 

On the same day, he learned he was immune to heat, just like his mom and sister.

He kicked up a pebble as he strode the sidewalk. He struck it as much as he could on his way home, avoiding the construction specialist setup repairing a damaged city block from a recent villain attack. Most people didn't have too many powerful abilities, but those that did didn't hesitate to make a mess. 

He lost the poor pebble on the way when he kicked it into the fresh and still drying cement. He picked up his pace after that.

It was a long hour walk before he saw his apartment in the distance. If I still had my bike I'd get home so much faster. He recently lost it during a jelly Villain attack and the collateral claim had yet to go through for a replacement. I should move closer. 

Matchbook worked at that shop for a year and enjoyed the mundane task of making sandwiches. It made it easy and gave him time to think about-

"HEY!" A feminine voice shouted far behind him. 

He thought about looking back until a nearby  RuuMmbBBleEe of the destruction told him to head home instead. He subtly picked up the pace. I'm not getting caught outside during a fight. 

"HEY, SIR!"

Sir. I'm barely 22. He pretended he didn't hear them but they were getting closer. He wasn't good at power walking. I can't break out into a full sprint.

A hand firmly gripped Match's left arm to seize his motion.

Oh great. He turned around, holding a forced friendly half smile like he wasn't trying to ignore them a second ago. 

“Oh sorry, I didn't…” He trailed off. 

She let out an exasperated huff in front of him and hunched over to catch her breath. The parts of her blond bob cut hair that didn’t stick to her face from sweat fell forward as she did. 

It wasn't that hot outside, it was a crisp cool sixty degrees, with a light breeze through the buildings. Has she been chasing me for a while? I didn't hear her. 

His eyes drifted to the notepad in her one hand, and as she lifted her head, she smiled. Her glimmering determination reminded him of his little sister.

“Are you alright?” 

She nodded, stood up straight, and adjusted her white blouse. “Yes, sorry, sir.” Do I really look that old? You look the same age as me!  “I’ve been chasing The Hero around all day, and lost him, have you seen him?” 

“Which one?” He mentally kicked himself when he asked. Why did I ask which one? I hadn’t seen a hero all day. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head, “this always happens. Why did he pick such a vapid name?” She removed her hand from her nose, “The Hero is his superhero name.” Matchbook heard the hint of disdain for that hero's name. Although he recognized it, he didn't keep track of any other hero's besides his mother and sister.

She rolled up her sleeves, unintentionally drawing his attention to her forearms. He took note of her muscles. More defined than I ever had. She’s in pretty good shape for a journalist? If that’s what she is.

He guessed by her question and notepad. 

“He's one of the strongest heroes in the world, the one who..." she curled her fist, and much like an elderly man complaining about his lawn, shook it at the sky. "Somehow has a backstory that can’t be traced back past surface level research. A person born with a power like him would have been talked about for years, glorified in the media, but it’s like he appeared out of thin air."

She continued her spiel and Matchbook bobbed his head, trying to think of the best way to get out of this conversation. He didn’t know this woman, he barely said a sentence to her and she explained all the inconsistencies with The Hero’s story. I’m not big into hero scandals. 

Regardless, Matchbook politely replied. "It sounds like you have a vendetta against him." I want to go home and relax, no matter how nice you seem.

"I do." She held up her notepad, "I have been chasing that idiot all over the city! So again, have you-" There was another loud bang, and turning back, the two could see the furrow of smoke not that far away. "seen him…?"

He glanced back at her. She looked ready to run toward it.

She's going to get herself hurt. He tugged her attention back, "I haven't, but by the sounds of it, if you don’t live nearby you should get to a shelter.” He noticed the few people on the streets were doing just that. There wasn't one that far from his apartment.

"No way, it might be linked to the hero!" If she’s willing to run into danger, she probably has a power to back herself up. 

He lifted his hand and the next eruption stole his chance to say goodbye. On the fifth floor, overhead, an object crashed straight through the building and partially into the one next to it. They both instinctually ducked at the noise, Matchbook covered his head and saw whatever the object was, it brought some of the second wall down with it and landed in the alley a little bit further back from where they currently stood. 

The woman’s arm whipped up and grabbed at his shirt. She got him by his uniform and yanked him into her. She threw them both back. Neither of them fell, only stumbled as a few pieces of the apartment came down. They fell into the sidewalk where he once stood, exploding into dust upon impact near his shoes. 

That wouldn’t have been a fun trip to the hospital. 

The streets were empty, everyone either got home or went to a shelter. He looked up, seeing that was his apartment. So, unfortunately, he didn't have a room to hide in. He ran around her, expecting to hear her steps behind him. She didn’t follow.

You gotta be kidding me. “Lady, we should get to a shelter! If there’s a villain we can get hurt!” He wasn’t quite running yet—he was slowly moving toward the direction of the shelter a few blocks away. 

She ignored him. She went toward the alley. What is she doing! 

He followed her. His objective was to pull her like she did him. 

Matchbook barely caught her whisper. “Which hero is that?”

He felt his eyes drawn to the entity standing there. The man was in a luchador wrestling outfit, adorned with a sparkling cape. Though, Matchbook tore his eyes away as it looked very very ‘form fitting’ bright red suit. That's a colorful outfit, he's probably some hero?

The man smiled, leaned at them, and threw himself forward and into the woman. Matchbook couldn’t track the speed he moved. Nor did Match move fast enough to get out of the girl's way when she went to dodge. 

The man got the woman with both of his meaty hands. He squeezed at her waist and she ordered him to let her go. His muscles and body looked to swell the longer he held her. His uniform threatened to tear at the seams.

He cackled as he shook her like a toy. “You're gonna be my little hostage.”

What should I do? I can't fight him, he's huge. He was bigger than most body builders, muscles the size of Matchbook's head. 

When he got close enough to her face, she threw a punch. It connected with his nose, making him coil back and cuss.

She whined as he squeezed tighter. 

He might kill her. Matchbook thought, his heart pounded in his head, along with a giant whistle from farther behind him. What if it's another Villain? He didn't want to turn around and find out. 

I don't know her. He heard the woman whine out again as the man laughed, ignoring Matchbook's pathetic presence completely. 

He threw himself forward, snapping the fingers on his right hand, and moved his tiny flame near the villain's cape. It didn't take long for it to catch fire.

He jumped back and shouted, "OH NO, Your cape's on fire!"

The fire spread faster than Matchbook expected, bringing that man's attention off the woman. She took her opportunity while being dropped to hit the hulking guy with a firm blow to his crotch.

The man hollered, weakly undoing his cape from the ground.

The whistling behind Matchbook got louder, he ran to her and got her arm. “Come on!”

She followed his tugging and the two could hear the villain getting up. “YOU BRATS!” He shouted. 

His feet pounded against the street like he grew with their fear, or at least Matchbooks. 

“TO YOUR RIGHT!” A voice yelled.

They ducked to the left as another being slammed into the paved streets. His palms collided with it first and he ran on his hands for a few extra feet, making humongous hawk wings that protruded from his bare back melted quickly and rejoined his flesh. The helmet clad, muscle ripped individual threw himself up and into a standing position. 

He stood much taller than the average hero, more the size of a villain. He dusted himself off, unscathed after his theatrical landing. He pressed a button on the side of his visor, staring directly at the woman and Matchbook, as them and the Villain were motionless during the escapade. His eyes were a vibrant, shimmering purple with meshes of pink. 

He walked calmly to them.

“Are you two citizens, alright?” His voice carried the same sweet sincerity as a grandmother who happily overfed her grandchildren. 

Match nodded.

"The Hero! I need to talk to you." She declared, forgetting about the trouble behind them. Not that Matchbook was any better.

The villain snapped out of his trance. Matchbook didn’t look back in time for the hunched man to hook his arm around his neck. He brought him up, “you stay back or I’ll kill him,” He flexed his much smaller muscles. Dangled up, unable to move out of fear that the grip would crush his windpipe, he felt small and helpless.

The Hero put up his hands and didn’t move. “Put him down.” He advised, keeping his eyes tracked on Match. I gotta do something.

Matchbook snapped his fingers again and put the flame to the man’s arm. He had never used it against someone like this, but he didn’t see much choice. The man cried out, dropped him, and the Hero snatched Matchbook up and brought him to the woman. 

“Is your throat okay?”

Once Matchbook was safely on the ground, he rubbed it. “I’m okay.” He was lucky the Villain didn’t put too much pressure on it.

The Hero sighed with relief, “good. Now, you two, stay back.” His eyes shifted, though his head barely turned. His pupils looked to expand as they twisted in the villains direction. “I’ll handle the villain.” The tonal shift made him jump.

The Hero’s face rose in a smile, revealing sharp incisors that Match didn’t see before. The wrestler, or villain dressed as one looked thinner. Matchbook didn’t know if it was because he was being compared to the Hero, or because of something with his ability. 

“You destroyed property, attempted robbery, and threatened a civilian’s life.” The Hero’s voice boomed, silencing everyone's hearts and breath. His statement was followed by an air vibrating laughter. 

It knocked the man on his butt. His muscles were reduced so much that he looked like he had been starving for two weeks in the tundra. 

“I’m sorry- I’ll g-go quietly.” 

The Hero grabbed his helmet, he tossed it off. It bounced on the floor like a toy as his own size increased. His white hair flourished in the open. 

“You’ll go quietly?” The Hero mocked as he swayed like a drunkard. 

The fear-stricken villain tried to rise to his feet, he bumbled to stand. 

The Hero stood over him, crouched down to grab him. He got the villain picking him up with one hand, wrapping it around his waist. 

“They’re never quiet.” 

The villain pushed desperately at his hand as the steadily growing Hero brought him close to his head.

Matchbook’s eyes couldn't look away when The Hero's mouth opened wide. It made the villain frantically yell, and it was quickly silenced by The Hero's tongue at his face. It partially coiled around the man's head before bringing him inside his maw.

Matchbook’s mind was blank. He could only watch The Hero swallow down the villain, his throat expanding as he did, and what was left outside flailing helplessly in the air.

The act disturbingly reminded him of a nature film, where a snake slowly, surely, and efficiently gulped down its prey. 

Except this man was very much alive. He kept struggling even though he was pretty much fully inside him. 

Match didn't know how long he watched. It felt prolonged but in reality it took a minute. The last bit of the villain vanished and The Hero exhaled into the air afterward.

The Hero’s previous devilish demeanor dropped and he smiled, childishly. He glanced down at his middle, "Secured.” He said a loud, while his midsection was lively from the movement within it. “Calm down, Villain, I'll take you in soon."

Villains eat people. Not Heroes. Matchbook thought still awestruck by disbelief. 

His shoulders then rose when he saw The Hero was walking to him again.

The woman's voice, slightly perturbed, but determined to talk to him rushed forward, "YOU'RE GOING TO ANSWER MY QUESTIONS THIS TIME!" She bravely stomped to him, disregarding the massive height difference between them now. She barely came up to his knee, if at all. 

She got within a few feet of him, so his stomach wouldn't obscure either of them from seeing the other. How can she even talk to him like that? Did she not see him eat someone? Does she not see the human-like shape inside him?

Matchbook took the opportunity to start walking backward from the madness.

The Hero put up his hands, as if she held power over him and his smile wavered anxiously. “I think you have mistaken me for someone else…” He poked at his stomach, “and even if I was the right one, I need to finish talking to my sidekick and get this criminal to the authorities.” 

“Sidekick?”

The Hero looked over at Matchbook and so did the woman, he froze once they did. Why are they looking at me? Why is The Hero looking at me!

Matchbook hunched inward, afraid of the approach. He stumbled over the curve and The Hero loomed over him. He dropped into a squat, used to the moving weight, and harmlessly smiled at Match. 

They were nearly level with one another—it didn't stop Matchbook's eyes from continuing to trail away from his face. 

“I saw your heroics while I was overhead trying to find this dastardly Villain.” Matchbook didn't need The Hero to gesture anything. “You did great.”

His hand reached out to pat Match’s head. The best he could do was tap it with his finger tips. “Are you another hero’s sidekick in training?”

He heard his question, his attention was too drawn to the woman who willingly tugged at the pant leg of his stretchy costume. Why is she okay with this? It’s not like he hadn’t heard about another person getting eaten but never had he seen it outside of shows. 

“HELLO?” The Hero waved his giant hand before Match’s face. “You didn’t get hurt did you?” 

The concern shoved Matchbook from his thoughts. “N-no.” His brain processed everything that had been said. “To both questions.” 

The Hero’s hands slammed onto the ground, eagerly. “That’s perfect!” His hand came up and grabbed Matchbook before he could react. “I’m in desperate need of a new sidekick!” The Hero, leaving little room for Match to rebuttal, threw him over his shoulder and held his hand over him securely. 

What is he doing?! Matchbook could barely wheeze out a, “huh,” as the ground was farther from him. 

“Don’t you dare run off again!” She said, as The Hero hunched back down, his body tensing as he did. 

“Now, citizen, please stand back.” 

The Hero nudged her with his leg and she complained further. “Quit it!” 

Matchbook’s vocabulary returned, “Hold on, I didn’t agree to be your-” The next thing he knew, the air was knocked out of him as they shot upward. Matchbook couldn’t hold in his scream as the contents of his lunch threatened to come back up.

He sealed his lips, still held and feeling the incredible force against his body. His eyes, barely open, saw the beautiful city they flew over. Something he would have admired if he was looking at it through a computer screen on the GROUND. 

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, clutching as hard as he could into The Hero’s flesh. Please, please, PLEASE put me down nicely!

The wind whistling fast past his eardrums slowly dissipated and he finally heard The Hero’s voice. “Whoops, I overshot the docks again!” 

He opened his eyes, squinting, as they were across the water. The docks were in the distance and they were flying much slower now.

“Just fly us back there! You have wings!” Matchbook whimpered, still clutching what he could.

The Hero laughed, “Ha, you’re right!” Then the force shifted and Matchbook felt his body being pulled upward, away from him as they were falling. “How do I do that again?”

“WHAT!” Matchbook shouted. They were rapidly approaching the water.

The Hero twisted himself and Matchbook in the air, He swung Matchbook in front of him, pushed him with whatever force he could, and got his back ready to strike the water. 

And the last thing Match saw before they struck was The Hero mouthing the word, ‘sorry’.

…

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Next Chapter

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I Got Roped Into Being A Hero!

[bacchicly]

An anon sent another tumblr user who shows appreciation for fat people's body's an ask laced with pure fat hate.

I am making another post because the irony of the op's response is going to be lost on so many that I am not willing to engage directly - but the patient falseness of the original ask deserves to be addressed somewhere by someone...so here goes.

This is very not pretty btw and could be very triggering.

I don't know who needs to hear this, but the beliefs stated in that ask are FALSE.

Here's the ask:

The number of times IN A DAY I forget I am very fat is astounding. People need to stop assuming that all people in fat bodies spend all their time thinking about being fat, feeling sad or mad or bad about being fat. Just stop it.

"i believe that when u are fat, everything u say/think is underlaid by the fact that u are fat — any advice given or idea raised comes with the asterisk of obesity, signalling that u hate beauty and have made ur body a monument to ugliness, and are dying as a consequence. "

Here's my slightly ranty reply.

It does not change EVERYTHING I think. Fuck off. It does make me think that some people are close-minded assholes slightly more often than I would prefer...but no. Sorry. Pretty sure many of not most of my thoughts, beliefs, and feelings I have are not remotely connected to my fatness. Some are sure. But they are also influence by the fact I am white, a woman, from an upper middle class family, with supportive parents and have a love for cats. People are not one dimensional! Which actually seems to be this Anon's actual problem...imagine taking up space? Being multi-dimensional? WILD.

"The Asterix of Obesity". I CAN'T EVEN. FUCK OFFFFFFFFFFFFF.

Monument to ugliness? Made my body into a monument of ugliness? So that's what I have been spending my weekends doing eh? And that year I spent growing another delightful human in me? Yup real monument of ugliness stuff right there.

Also - for the record I love beauty and I feel VERY FORTUNATE that my definition of it includes all types of bodies and creatures. As the kids say these days...go touch grass. You poor poor beauty starved creature. How can you not live in a world and marvel at everything from the Nobel walrus (what would you do if it knocked not the fairy) to the polar bear?

And the old "you are dying as a consequence of being fat" thing? This is not a gotcha. Stop it. I am not arguing the whole "but you can be healthy and fat/unhealthy and slim" uwu thing...because EVERYONE DESERVES RESPECT regardless of their health or weight or income. Everyone is dying sweetie or may have death catch up at any time. Everyone is making choices and trade offs everyday. We are all doing the best we can with what we got. Even you - with your running scared false hateful comment. So who hurt you? Why did you swallow this ugliness? Why do you feel you can and should spout it out loud in the direction of another human being.