#The pig king has arrived | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashmouth-richie · 2 years ago

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[vol i] [vol ii] [vol iii]

Eddie x fem!reader

Summary: Eddie is slowly becoming easier to live with you’re not sure if you’re just used to his disgusting behavior or if he’s truly trying to change. You make a schedule for chores and when/who/what time showers will be taken, chaos ensues on both Eddie and you. Eddie reveals a side of him that reader hasn’t seen/ noticed before.

W/C: 6.4k

A/N: if you were looking for some disgusting! Eddie smut this is the chapter for you babe.

Warnings: NO MINORS! Smut, blow jobs, rough sexual acts, degrading, daddy!kink, vomit, crude language (as if any of my fics don’t have this)

S/O: @agentmarvel @sweetsweetjellybean @boomhauer @mopeymopeymouse @chestylarouxx @banished-big-ope-vibes @carolmunson @newlips for helping me beta read, come up with dialogue, pacing, letting me insert them throughout the fic, helping me breakdown how this disgusting little mf would act in certain situations + everything in between! You guys are the best! If you aren’t already— follow them.

You couldn’t deny that things had gotten better with having Eddie as a roommate (not that you would ever express that to him) but living with the overgrown child was slightly very slightly, like a teeny tiny bit, better than it was before.

After living in his disgusting cluster fuck of a room for a week, Eddie finally sat down amongst his heap of mixed dirty and clean clothes and organized it. The disaster made your eye twitch every time you walked past his room in the morning and got a whiff of his stench, reeking of weed and Doritos, you finally convinced him to get it done, and in typical Eddie fashion— it came with a price.

After bargaining for days and nearly pulling your hair out because all he wanted was a single pair of your panties—

“Why? So you can hold them up like that dork in Sixteen Candles to show all your nerd friends?”

“Babe, the ladies I fuck don’t wear panties.”

He finally settled on a six pack of Busch Light, and for you to do his laundry for a week.

“Remember to separate my delicates, sweetheart.”

Fucking pig.

The only thing delicate about Eddie was his ego when you told him his hair was thinning out on top, (it definitely wasn’t, he had more hair than cousin It) but you needed the upper hand, and criticizing his hair was the way to do just that.

His bed frame and the oak dressers he had ordered, finally arrived. Allowing him to put away his never ending collection of band tee’s and holy jeans. Clearing a path for his floor.

“Holy shit, is that the carpet?” You ask, standing in the door frame before your shift at the salon, toothbrush in your hand, minty dollop of toothpaste atop it.

He’s elbow deep in the dresser, foregoing folding anything but instead shoving the clothes haphazardly into the shallow drawers and slamming them shut with his legs, or his hip.

“Wow, Tooty, you’re hilarious,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes, “but since you asked, yes, it does, match the drapes.”

A smile spreads across his lips. Another normal conversation turning into a sexual innuendo. He couldn’t be prouder of the way you walked right into that. Since you told him what happened to Eyeball he really has been holding back his usual gross behavior, but sometimes it was just a slip of the tongue for him. Involuntary action.

You turn to leave but he stops you, crossing the room at record speed and placing a ringed hand on your wrist, the surprising warmth from his hand burning your skin.

“Hey, uh, can I get your opinion quick?”

“I’ve already told you, I don’t think the groupies give a shit what color boxers you wear.”

“Wow, okay— that’s the wrong answer! But I’m talking about this.”

He points to the shelf crammed full of his odd knick knacks. It originally belonged to Nancy, but she had left it behind. Inside of it were a hoard of books. Lord of the Rings, something that looked like manuals for Dungeons & Dragons—of course he’s still playing that— a plethora of Stephen King books, and a full— more than likely sticky— stack of playboys. Go figure.

“What about it?”

“Do you think it looks good here or should I move it under the window?” Eddie asks, hands out wide measuring and comparing in arms length the distance under the window and the width of the book shelf.

You take a step into his room, every square inch of wall was covered in posters, your former bed sheets graffitied with his band, hung on one wall, the opposite held a kitchen knife stabbed through the drywall.

“What are you trying to do, feng shui?”

“Bless you.”

“What?”

He shrugs, “You sneezed, and me, being the pinnacle Christian son that I am, I blessed you, now should I keep this here?”

It took you a minute to comprehend what the hell just happened and why.

“Blessed by Eddie Munson— that’s the biggest oxymoron I’ve ever heard,” you snort, a smile twisted on your lips as you look at the overgrown man child huff about where to put his shelf, shoving your toothbrush into your mouth, “looks fine there.”

He did start cleaning up after himself, even offering to vacuum the living room in exchange for you making supper most nights. Begging you to make the lasagna again after he ate almost the entire pan the last time. He even decided to get take out on his one night a week to cook. Thank God because you couldn’t handle one more night of burnt, made-in-the-toaster, grilled cheese or using orange juice as a replacement when the milk was gone for cereal.

You learned the hard way that you needed to buy two separate gallons of milk, after watching Eddie drink straight from the jug, a dripping white mustache formed on his upper lip as he licked it suggestively, “Got milk?” He’d ask before roaring with laughter.

The next few weeks with Eddie as your roommate went rather smoothly. With you working at the salon and him working long hours at Boom’s Auto shop, you two came home at almost the same time every night. He would show up covered in grease and reeking of motor oil. His work coveralls, branding a white and red labeled patch with his name on them, had the sleeves cut off, showcasing his muscled arms and the wide array of tattoos prickling up and down them, shoulder to wrist. He wore a sweaty bandana wrapped around his head, rotating between a black or a red one, depending on the day.

You didn’t mind doing his laundry since his pockets were always full of either loose bills or the occasional joint, which you would keep, and smoke later with Robin and Steve, giggling watching the stars as you laid out on blankets in the backyard.

On Saturday nights, he usually played with the band, scoring a gig at the Hideout or working at the bar til closing time, helping Tom bartend a little until Walt got back from vacation. He stumbled in at night knocking over a lamp and almost falling backwards down the basement steps. He’d pass out for a greater half of the next day, waking in the afternoon with a raspy voice and smelling like cheap cologne.

One particular Sunday morning, he stumbled out of his room, wearing black boxer briefs, and a sleepy grin, rubbing his eyes like a little kid.

“Mornin’” he grumbled opening the fridge and diving in for his notorious pickles, tilting it to his lips and drinking straight from the jar.

You shake your head, sitting at the table and sorting through the mail. Your hair in a clip and wearing an oversized crew neck sweater, your mauve fingernails flicking through the envelope flaps, jotting down what’s due and when. “It’s 1 in the afternoon, Eddie.”

He smacks his lips loudly and faces you, fishing a pickle from the jar with his bare hands, “metal has no time limits, Tooty, we play until the bar shuts down.” He makes his way towards you, wearing one sock and chomping on his pickle.

You notice something on his stomach, a new tattoo? Maybe? Riding low on his waist and almost dipping below his underwear. The closer he gets you can make out the writing, a permanent marker phone number from a groupie written on his lower abs.

You point your pen towards his stomach, “gonna get that thing tattooed on, make it official, that Eddie the freak Munson has at least one adoring fan?”

He looks down, a smile pressing on his lips, “aww no need to be sad sweetheart,” he says lowering himself into a chair beside you, “there’s plenty of me to go around, and besides, I thought good little nuns couldn’t fuck, saving themselves for God.. or are you one of the dirty ones, showing your tits for cash so you can gamble?” He winks and laughs as you shove his shoulder trying to throw him out of the chair.

“You’re so gross!”

“And yet, I’m still here.” the Cheshire Cat smile planted on his lips.

Still. You had to admit, no matter how nasty his jokes were or how annoying he could be— having Eddie around wasn’t that bad.

“Tooty!” Eddie yells through the bathroom door bouncing from one foot to another, banging on the door with an open palm, “I’m going to piss my pants if you don’t hurry up!”

You had only been in the shower for ten minutes. When you walked past his room this morning with sleepy eyes and a deep yawn, metal music blared from his bedroom along with the annoying beep of his alarm clock, but the prince of filth was fast asleep.

“The schedule that you made says I get the bathroom first on Fridays, which is today!”

The schedule you had designed for Eddie and yourself consisted of 7 vertical columns one for each day of the week, and 5 horizontal columns: showering, laundry day, dishes, cooking, garbage. You had more days in the cooking column than Eddie, just like he had more days in the garbage column than you did. It evened out.

“Wrong— you were supposed to get the bathroom at 7, it’s now past 7:30 so it’s my turn,” you correct, putting a generous amount of body wash on your loofah and foaming it up, white suds cleansing your skin, “not my fault you can’t wake up to your alarm.”

“Christ, seriously just open the door! I’m fuckin’ dancing around out here like a little kid!”

“Can’t hear you,” you sing out to him, laughing silently beneath the spray of water.

You hear the feverish jiggle of the brass handle on the door and heavy footsteps as he stomps away. Oh the joys of victory. You bask in the delight of getting a one up on Eddie. Something that rarely happened in the few weeks he has been living with you. Slathering conditioner in your hair and rinsing, you exit the shower, feeling refreshed and ready to start the day.

Opening the bathroom door you expected Eddie to barrel through you to get to the bathroom, you’re taken aback when you hear faint yelling coming from outside.

“… piss in the front yard of my own house— I will! Go back to trimming your hedges with your toddler sized shorts and mind your own goddamn—,”

“Eddie!”

He’s standing barefoot in the middle of the lawn, his navy boxer briefs the only clothing he has on. Double middle fingers raised in the early morning sky aimed towards your neighbor across the street, Mr. Derry, the neighborhood watch dog. He was an older man, no kids, no wife. Retired. And a grade A pain in the ass.

Eddie turns and looks to you, pink blush creeping over his cheeks, “…business.” Eyes wide in innocence as if he hasn’t done anything wrong.

You’re still in your towel, hair soaking wet down your back, watching as this crazed lunatic you have as a roommate terrorizes the neighborhood, one flash of his dick at a time.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him towards the front door.

“Gracing the common folk of Cherry Lane with my morning wood, yeah take a picture and frame it you fuckin’ perv!”

Yanking harder you get him inside and slam the door. Your cheeks are flushed with embarrassment.

You open your mouth to speak but Eddie has already started explaining.

“Listen, I had to piss bad, like really bad. You could have just unlocked the door but no, Ms. Uptight-independent Tooty with your rules and schedules—” he stops and takes a breath. After your conversation a few weeks ago about the downfall of Eyeball and your own family abandoning you, Eddie had been trying to be more reasonable about things, more cautious about the way he worded things. Not trying to twist the knife lodged into your chest that had been driven there years ago.

“So I made up my own rule! If you’re gonna take forever shaving your legs or…other things…” his eyes cast down your body. The white towel snug against your form, you clutch it tighter around you as his eyes stare through the towel, begging to catch a glimpse of your wet, smooth skin. Water droplets taunting him as they fall down the slick of your hair. He shakes his head to clear his gutter mind. “I’m going to take matters into my own hands, and believe me princess, it was a handful.”

That’s about as dialed back as Eddie could be.

“You can’t just piss in the front yard! This neighborhood is not like the trailer park, that asshole you called a perv—“

“He was! He was looking right at my dick!”

“— once called the cops on Nancy because she parked by his curb when we were having her bridal shower.”

“Wa-wait, Nancy fucking Wheeler got the cops called on her?”

“Yeah, Hop wasn’t too happy to find out what it was for, calling Derry a waste of space.”

Eddie laughs, “Oh I’m not surprised— him and I go way back, remember?”

Of course you did, he busted Eddie too many times driving higher than the Empire State Building while bringing you, Dustin, Will and Mike back to the Wheeler’s. It was almost a running joke between him and Hopper. Eddie would slip him a joint while in the back of his patrol vehicle and away he went, no ticket, no charge, nothing.

“Anyway,” you jeer, pointing a finger into his bare chest, the tip of your nail making a half moon indent into the head of the bloody demon inked on his left pec, “he’s a fucking asshole so don’t piss him off, he’ll make our lives hell.”

“Fine,” Eddie groans, running his hands down his face “but he was gawking!”

You roll your eyes and grab your hair dryer from your room. An adjustment you’ve had to do since Eddie moved in, getting ready partly in your room and in the bathroom. After your hair is dried and styled, you opt for a pair of light wash overall shorts, and a thick strapped, high neck tank top underneath. You finish your makeup by applying a coat of Revlon’s Toast of New York on your lips. Sliding on your knock off Doc Marten sandals, you grab your purse and head for the door.

Eddie’s sitting at the kitchen table, chair pulled out as he laces up his black work boots, body bent over his knee as he jerks his hand side to side, lazily working the laces through the hook eyelets.

“Still getting groceries tomorrow?” He asks, shoving his white cotton covered foot into his other boot, repeating the process. “I added some essentials to the grocery list.” He gestures to the pad and paper with a tilt of his chin.

Scanning the list you laugh, “Dunkaroos are not essential.”

“Don’t you dare cross them off!” Eddie fake shouts, a grin stretching across his lips, showing off his straight teeth.

“I’m off tomorrow and don’t have many clients today— I know it’s your night to cook, but I was thinking of making tater tot casserole for supper, I’ll just have to stop and get some ground beef from Bradley’s before I come home.”

“Oh shit,” Eddie lamented, “I have a gig tonight instead of tomorrow at the Hideout,” he says standing, running his hands down his legs to shake down his coveralls. “It’s probably going to be late, so don’t worry about making anything.”

Ripping the grocery list from the pad and stuffing it into your purse, you think back to how long it has been since you’d seen them play. You went along to support Chrissy and since Eddie was Kev’s longtime best friend and basically your chauffeur, you at least owed it to him to go with. A memory of you head banging and holding Chrissy’s hand tight as you both screamed for Corroded Coffin clouded your mind.

Threading your purse straps through your fingers and casting your eyes downward you have to know, “… you guys still play Lady Evil?”

Eddie grins again, “wouldn’t be a Corroded Coffin gig if we didn’t play some Sabbath, Jeff would probably throw a hissy fit.”

Friday evenings were usually busy in the shop. Boom ran a tight ship and paid better than any auto shop in a thirty mile radius. Eddie was lucky to get hired on using his street smarts and the fact that he was the unpaid mechanic of the trailer park for every banged up old sedan that his neighbors had since he was sixteen.

The old radio crackled and fussed as Hank Williams Jr sang about the survival rate of country boys. Boom whistled along with the tune. Running his tanned fingers through his blonde hair, a Mr. Pibb and a ham sandwich in front of him.

“So Eddie,” he says leaning back in his plastic chair, “I heard from the boys that you moved into a house on Cherry Lane. Damn boy, I thought that trailer park ran deep in your blood.”

Eddie throws his empty Mt. Dew can into the trash, missing by a mile. “Ahh Boom, you know I’m the prince of the park. Just stretching my city legs, helping out a friend.”

“Didn’t know you and Eyeball’s sister were close.” Aaron sneered, lighting up a cigarette with a strike of a match against his boot.

Eddie’s light hearted demeanor immediately changed, smile fading and eyebrows pulling together, “what the hell does that mean?”

“Helping out a friend?” Sean spat, his wiry mustache shriveled into a snarl, “what are you Mother Teresa? The only help that bitch needs is a fucking lobotomy.”

“Hey,” Eddie interjects, pointing a greased finger into Sean’s face, “don’t fucking talk about her like that, man.”

Aaron talks around his cigarette, blowing smoke across the table, “It’s true, she’s smokin’ fuckin’ hot but crazier than a shit house rat.”

The pair laugh, choking on smoke and bits of crusty bread.

“Remember what Chad said about her?” Aaron laughed..

“Fuck yeah how did he put that? Don’t marry the girls with the daddy issues, even if they let you put it in their a—”

Eddie slams his fists into Sean’s shirt, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him against the wall, “another word, about her— and I’ll break your fuckin’ nose.”

“You threatenin’ me Munson?” Sean chokes out.

Eddies eyes are crazed as he glares in Sean’s, “never a threat, pencil dick, it’s a promise.”

“Fellas,” Boom hollers, shoving his chair back with an eerie scratch, metal legs scraping on broken tile, “I’ll send ya both home for the day with no pay if y’all don’t knock it the fuck off.”

Eddie shoves Sean into the wall hard once more, releasing his grip on his shirt and adjusting his rings. He cracks his knuckles as he stomps back through the bay doors and out to the Buick he had been working on.

Ducking under the hood his breathing is erratic and his fists are shaking.

He never asked what happened with you and Chad but by the sounds of it, it sure as hell didn’t end on good terms.

It was fine if he teased you, but hearing it from anyone else wasn’t gonna fly with him. Not today, not ever. But something about the way you opened up to him, showed him your vulnerable side, it made him almost protective of you, like he needed to shield you from the ugliest parts of the world.

He never would have thought that Eyeball’s little sister, tough little Tooty, the same girl who punched Billy Hargrove in the face after pinching her ass one night, would make him care so much.

“Told ya he’s cool,” Steve slurs over his Bloody Mary, clinking the ice in the glass as he tips it back into his mouth, “he’s like a wild animal, but once you get to know him— he’s just a tattooed teddy bear.”

You, Robin and Steve were out for dinner and drinks at Louie’s, the newer sports bar in Hawkins, sitting under an emerald and white striped umbrella in the hot humid summer air. A monthly ritual you started ages ago when you all worked at Family Video. Only back then you went to Benny’s to get burgers and concrete thick milkshakes, racing to see who could finish first which ultimately ended in Robin getting a stomach ache, every time.

“I could have killed him the first few days,” you say, sipping your Malibu and Diet Coke through two neon straws, “honestly, still debating it.”

Robin steals the pickle spear and celery stick from Steve’s drink, munching away and talking with a mouthful, Steve simply rolls his eyes and reaches for another mozzarella stick, “wait, I thought you guys were getting along better now.”

“They are!” Steve interjects, pointing the mozzarella stick around like he was directing an orchestra, “I asked him myself when I brought my car to Boom’s yesterday for an oil change.”

The thought of your friends asking your roommate, who just so happens to also be their friend, how things were going between you both, made your stomach lurch.

“Well,” Robin began, twirling her pina colada and biting into the yellow flesh of the pineapple , “I’m just glad you aren’t by yourself anymore. It freaked me out knowing you were there alone.”

She wasn’t the only one.

Before Eddie had moved in, Steve gave you his prized nail bat to keep by your bed. So far you haven’t had to use it. And with Eddie in the house, it was stored in your closet.

“Alright, I’ll admit,” you say, taking a long drink, feeling the warmth of the coconut flavored alcohol mix with the Diet Coke bubbles, a frenzy on your tongue, “he’s come a long way,” you admit, dunking a fry into the mayo ketchup concoction, “finally house broke.”

It was the truth, you really didn’t mind him being around.

“Shh, gotta be quiet girls, daddy’s gonna take real good care of you, but seriously, you need to shut up.”

The girls laugh, drunk off bottom shelf liquor and Jell-O shots from the Hideout. Three pairs of tangled legs stumble through the front door as Eddie hurriedly works his keys into the lock.

The two of them giggle and hush one another, planting kisses on either side of his neck and stepping out of their shoes. His leather jacket hits the floor, the shirt he was wearing was ripped to shreds from the collar down. Carol’s fingers feverishly tore at his clothing before the three of them even made it to the van.

Foregoing the zipper on the tight leather mini dress she’s wearing, Eddie shoves it down her hips, giving her ass a firm squeeze, toying with the fishnet tights, “these stay on,” he demands, slapping her ass and unzipping his jeans, a parade of cheap lingerie, and leather studded clothing start from the front door and end in Eddie’s bedroom.

Your car wasn’t home which was odd but maybe it was parked in the garage. He wasn't sure where you were but if you were sleeping he didn’t want to wake you up. You had never discussed any boundaries about him bringing someone home, but what kind of rockstar would he be if he turned down hot twins?

They had approached him after the show, twisting their evil tongues into his mouth and groping him as soon as he got backstage.

Jeff was in the back room with his long time girlfriend Ash, they were holding each other tight as he kissed her neck and she squealed into his ear.

The girl who showed up to every gig, Marissa, wearing her signature “here for the drummer” shirt, was currently bent over the bathroom sink, Gareth buried deep inside her.

Even Big D was getting some action, the waitress from Benny’s, Emily, was currently bobbing along on his dick.

All of them were getting lucky, a win for Corroded Coffin. The girls were screaming for them, bras and panties tossed on stage, Gareth sporting multiple pairs around his neck. The old bar flies drunk off beer on tap were singing along to the requested songs.

Cece’s pink floral dress is brought over her head as Eddie sucks her nipple into his mouth, teasing and biting as Carol kneels at his feet and works her palm into his boxers, gasping at the hardened length in her grip.

A monster lies beneath the cotton. Almost as thick as her forearm, her dainty fingers unable to reach fully around his girth. She pumps him slow, releasing his throbbing cock.

His fingers twist into their hair as he shoves Cece down to her knees, joining Carol in the worship of Eddie Munson’s dick. Their greedy mouths take him in, one popping his balls into her mouth the other choking on his fat cock.

Eddie wasn’t gentle when he fucked groupies. He took what he wanted and didn’t leave any room for complaints or questions. Shut off from the gentle loving side sex can bring and only seeing red, it was like he was a mad man. A different person entirely. Truly the horns of satan poked through his forehead and his eyes clouded over revealing a black veil of sin.

Demon eyed.

He was pissed from what happened earlier at work. Fucking insane with rage at Sean and Aaron talking shit about you.

Not you, not Tooty.

His frustration builds as the sound of lungs gasping for air fills his ears.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, “Jesus Christ— don’t you wanna be good for daddy? Open that fuckin’ throat up and take what I give to you.”

He grabs Cece’s hair and thrusts himself in her mouth, ignoring her tears as she gags and swallows him whole. “Are you crying? Poor fucking baby, what a shame, on the bed now.” He grabs her up by the throat and tosses her onto the bed.

He’d kill Chad if he ever saw him again. Still had no idea what he did or why you two broke up but hearing his mantra spill from those asshat’s mouths today was enough to make his skin crawl.

The vulgar shit they were saying. The way they non chalantly said it like they were reciting their McDonald’s order. Fuck that bothered him.

Cock swinging, Eddie pinches Carol’s nipples until she’s standing, he flips her upside down, fucking into her open mouth as he bites her fishnet tights open and spits on her pussy. Tossing her on the bed like discarded trash he slaps both of their asses.

He tries to blur you away from his mind, separate you from his brain for a while to release this pent up anger. But all he can see are the small tears falling from your eyes when you tell him the truth about your family.

The Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day.

Shaking his head he bounds to his bed, trying like hell to focus on his task at hand.

“Are my little whores ready? Think you can handle this without tearing up?”

When Steve drops you off you’ve already puked in his car, twice. When he announced that drinks were on him tonight, you may have been double fisting Jack and Cokes with Robin, and taking vodka shots, racing to see who could finish first.

Robin passed out in the back of his car, snuggled up with the cold leather on her cheek.

“Steeb, I’m fine, seriously! Look how good I’m walking.”

“That’s because I’m carrying you.” Steve huffs as he opens the front door.

You’re slurring your words and talking in a volume that could raise the dead, “You’re such a good friend Stephen, why? Why why why are you single?” You hiccup, the remnants of your vomit lingering on your breath, “You need a wife!”

“Tooty, we can talk about my failed love life another day,” Steve grunts, carrying you into the house, stepping over boots and skimpy clothing, “for now let’s get you to the bathroom so you can get cleaned up and maybe puke in the toilet this time!”

“I just wanna go to bed. I’m tired,” you whine, “Stoven bring me to my room, let me go to sleep!”

Ignoring you, Steve brings you to the bathroom and plops you down on the floor, opening the toilet lids just in time for you to blow chunks all over.

“Ooh that one looks like a mozzarella stick.”

“Jesus, I’m never letting you two idiots drink again! I’m always your goddamn babysitter, it’s so annoying.” Steve laughs, riddling your hair. Ever since you stepped foot into Family Video at fifteen, looking for a job, the three of you were inseparable. “You think you’re gonna be okay? I gotta get that other shit head home before she pukes in the backseat, I already have to clean the front.”

“Oh no! I didn’t know you threw up!”

Steve rolls his eyes, dragging his hands down his face.

“See you tomorrow, I’ll call you okay?” His face is pulled into concern, eyebrows raised and pinched together

You salute him and wave, laughing at his mop of hair flopping around as he turns to leave. Struggling for at least ten minutes to get your denim overall shorts unbuckled, cursing and giggling at your own drunken stupor. You finally manage to get them un done shucking them off your legs, leaving your upper body covered by your tank top, the black panties you were wearing still on. Sliding your arms around your back you manage to unhook your bra and thread it through your shirt, tossing it into the shower beside you. Exhausted, you rest your head on the toilet bowl— falling into a dizzy sleep.

“Cece, come here!” Carol whispers loudly. She’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom, mouth agape at the sight of the slumped over figure hugging the toilet bowl.

“Holy shit!” She says, emerging from Eddie’s bedroom. “Is that? No fucking way.”

“I didn’t know he was screwing her too!” Carol breathes jealousy spewing from her lips.

“You really think he’d want to fuck that? Look at her! She’s a walking basket case. I heard that her family moved away because she wigged out and tried to kill her own mom.”

“Actually, the rumor is that I killed them all,” you add, raising your sleepy drunk face from the toilet, seeing double and trying not to puke on the spot, you try to stand, using the toilet to support your weight as you push off from it, wobbling horrifically.

“Get the fuck out,” you say, vision dancing as you try to point to the front door, holding onto the sink to stabilize yourself wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, “now.”

“Yeah?” Cece spits, folding her arms across her chest, “you gonna make us? Last I checked we were guests—“

“Not anymore,” Eddie hissed, adjusting the waist of his sweatpants as he looks into the bathroom at your disheveled appearance. Your makeup is smeared from throwing up, you’re half naked and barefoot, clutching onto the sink. Your overalls are covered in puke, and in a heap of vomit on the floor, a purple bra hangs over the edge of the tub. He wedges himself into the bathroom between you and the two girls, covering you with his tall frame from their view. His nostrils are flared and his chest is puffed out, “you heard her, get the fuck out.”

“What the fuck Eddie?!” Carol gripes, looking into his mad eyes.

He glares back, bored with her, “Did you really think you were gonna stay the night?” He prods, “Please, you can’t be that fucking stupid. Get your shit and go.”

“We live across town!” Cece squeaks, face pulled into shock and humiliation.

“Don’t care.”

Carol crosses her arms and glares into his eyes, “It’s late!”

“And?” He asks glaring back, and pushing through them, “Here let me help.”

Eddie takes their purses and shoes, tossing them out the front door into the yard. Pointing to the open door and fuming, he spits, “Out.”

The girls leave screeching ‘fuck you’s’ as they walk down the sidewalk, disappearing into the night.

He turns back to the bathroom, hearing you vomit again, one small glance and he can tell you hit the sink at least, puke splattering all over— the same reaction if you held a spoon under running water.

He turns around and comes back with the cleaner and a roll of paper towels, gagging with each wipe of the sink as he cleans it up.

Your crumbled body is slumped over the toilet again.

“Gonna live? Or should I call the coroner.” He says leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a look of worry on his face.

“ ‘s Robin’s fault,” you mumble, voice echoing in the toilet bowl, “woulda been fine if it wasn’t for the sh—,” you gag thinking of the vodka, “—shots, I’m usually not like this.”

Eddie sits on the side of the tub. You’re wasted and half dressed. He was a lot of things but taking advantage of a drunk girl wasn’t him. He finds your robe hanging in its designated spot, and drapes it across your bare shoulders.

“Sit up a bit,” he instructs. With great effort you sit up, almost falling backwards but Eddie catches you, careful of his hand placements not wanting to graze you in your inebriated state. He helps you sit and you put your arms through the holes of the robe. He reaches gently around your middle to tie it. Putting delicate pressure on your back as he leans you forward towards the toilet. You hum with satisfaction as your face feels the cool plastic of the toilet seat. Fighting the urge to rub your back.

“I’m dying, you can have the house when I’m gone, scatter my ashes in the rose bushes out back.” You say with a whine. Groaning as your stomach churns again, puking up more and more of the mixed alcohol you drank earlier in the night.

“Need some water?” Eddie guesses.

You nod your head, feeling like it weighs a hundred pounds you set it back down.

He leaves and comes back from the kitchen with a glass of water, swirly straw included. Tapping your shoulder he hands you the Disney cup, taking a long pull from the straw, you set the cup down on the linoleum floor.

“Thanks.”

“Agh, you’ll be alright. The porcelain Gods and I are great friends— well we used to be back in high school. I haven’t prayed to them in a while,” he says with a chuckle. Sliding down against the wall behind you, sitting on the cold floor.

“Don’t forget the time you and Kev ate those shrooms and puked all night in the basement of our house.” You mutter, wiping your mouth with your sleeve and flushing the toilet.

That was a night Eddie would never forget, he was only sixteen, and he somehow scored some homemade brownies and shrooms from one of the seniors. Being young and dumb, him and Eyeball each ate three brownies and an entire bag of shrooms. The high was insane, but the aftermath was death. He hasn’t touched shrooms since.

“Shit,” Eddie exclaims, “how old were you? Ten?”

“ ‘leven,” you say, holding your elbows on the toilet seat and your head in your palms, “old enough to know you and Kev didn’t magically get the flu at the same time.”

“Man we were dumb,” he says with a laugh, rubbing his chin with his hand.

“Were?” you say slyly.

“Easy, I’m not the one who can’t hold their liquor, Princess.”

“Oh Jesus please no more mention of it or I will barf—again.”

He stands to leave, laughing and stretching his arms out over his head as a small yawn escapes him. Exhausted from the day's events: work, concert, threesome— ain’t no way he’d be up before noon tomorrow— you either.

“Think I’m gonna go to bed, you going to be okay?”

Sitting up and looking at Eddie for the first time tonight, you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re drunk, but it’s almost as if it’s the very first time you’ve seen him. His amber colored eyes are surrounded by a forest of black eyelashes, his mop of curly hair hanging in them slightly, smooth pink lips, surprisingly full, a sharp jaw with a days worth of stubble, his veiny neck dances as he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing up and down. His shoulders are thick snaking down to muscled forearms, veins protruding from them, his hands are easily double the size of yours, thick fingers adorned with the same chunky stupid rings he’s worn forever. His broad chest stretches across his ribs, nipples pierced since the 80’s. He stands with confidence. His slender waist with the tiniest patch of hair ducking into the gray waistband of his hanes boxer briefs. And the prettiest alabaster skin peeking out from his collection of black tattoos.

Mouth suddenly dry, you stutter, “I—I’m done throwing up, gonna go to my bed.”

You stand on Bambi’s legs, hitting the wall hard with your shoulder. “Jesus Christ,” Eddie laughs and scoops you up making sure he’s holding under your bent knees and around your upper arms. He carries you to your bed, his skin burning hot against your cheek. He lays you down, throwing the blankets over your head for good measure, trying like hell to ignore the flutter in his stomach as you huff and pout pulling your eyebrows inward and frowning as you place your blankets to your liking.

“Get some sleep Tooty.” Eddie says all too softly. Pushing your cute sleepy face from his mind, rocking back on his heels as he starts to leave your room.

“Eddie?” You call after him, your small voice ripping through him like a knife. “Thank you, seriously. For everything.”

Shaking his head back and forth, his wild hair flows like a curtain around him in the dark as he leaves your room, “you owe me,” he says with a small grin, shutting the door behind him.

////

SEE YOU IN VOLUME: V

[volume: 5]

putting random symbols in hopes that read more will eat this instead of the last paragraph 😩

#eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #roommate!eddie #roommate!eddie munson

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soniclozdplove · 1 month ago

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"SO WHAT IF I LIKE TO WEAR FEMININE CLOTHING EVERY ONCE IN AWHILE! I'm allowed to feel comfortable without having an outdated, sexist PIG judge me!"

Wukong roared, fangs bared as he pushed Zu Baije to the floor, slamming the door behind him as he stormed out.

"Well, that didn't go well at all."

Tang Sanzang sighed as Baije began yelling at Ao Lie, trying to defend himself from the dragon's judgement. Things had been tensed ever since Wukong had stormed out. Turning to his quietest disciple he spoke calmly and evenly,

"What do you think of all of this, Brother Wujing?"

The demon fish grunted, looking about the small home. It had a cozy, lived in feeling to it. Not barren by any means but also certainly not the lavish palace that they had once thought one such as Wukong would have boasted. It was cluttered, full of odd knick knacks and an excessive amount of books and cushions and an almost insane amount of potted plants in every corner of the room and along the ceiling. The strange instant portraits Wukong had called pictures littered the walls and mantle between the jungle, depicting many scenes of Wukong with a variety of figures, the young boy he trained being the most prominent figure in the pictures.

"I think the world has changed a lot, and it would be a good idea for us to adapt to it." Wujing finally spoke, glancing at a picture of a buff water demon that looked far too similar to himself to be a coincidence, "Unlike us, Brother Wukong had grown and adapted into their world as it's world views and changes in culture happened, he is not the same Sun Wukong we know."

"You think so as well, then." Tang murmured, thinking over what he'd learned in the past few hours. By some miracle or curse, they had ended up several thousand years into the future. In a world where his most terrifying and troublesome ward, the horrible monster known as the Monkey King, somehow ended up becoming a teacher to a student of his own. A young man close to Tang's own age who went by the moniker of MK, wild and restless yet somehow endearing at the same time. Said young man had run off saying something about 'letting them catch up' and helping with some sort of clean up.

"I think it's best to let Brother Wukong cool off." The monk continued, eyeing their arguing siblings, "His anger did not feel malicious, moreso a boiling point being reached. Our appearance was very stressful to him."

That was an understatement. The moment they appeared in this world, awoken washed upon the shore to the screaming of Wukong raving and cursing every god out there and as well as a figure he called 'Azure,' he had an undercurrent of stress and panic to him. No doubt the cuase being the unexpected arrival of his pilgrim brothers in the modern day, as according to Wukong they had been dead for quite some centuries at that point. All he'd tell of the journey when asked was that they had completed it, but he refused to tell more for "fear that me giving spoilers would ruin it for you." A fear that Tang realized was rooted in worry for how their presence and what they took from it may affect his current future the moment Wukong had stood his ground against them, protecting his student and caught onto what Wukong had stopped himself from saying.

Wukong had been about to call the other young man his cub.

Whilst he was meditating on the memory of Wukong and MK, Sha Wujing drifted off, looking to intervene between his fellow disciples. Only to be torn from his repose as the shouting turned more panicked, myltiple voices calling to him. Glancing up, Tang felt fear shoot through him as he noticed the strange shadow on the wall growing and expanding. A large hand swiftly grabbed his shoulder and shoved him him behind Ao Lie, the dragon putting himself between the shadow and himself, wary.

"Well, this is quite the surprise." A deep voice rang put as glowing purple eyes and a sharp fanged mouth appeared within the shadow and the lights in the room began to dim, "The Pilgrims of the Great Journey, all in the modern day. How interesting."

"Wh-who are you?" Tang stuttered as a figure came out of the shadow. It was another monkey, one as dark as night and shadows, with gleaming purple eyes that faded into a familiar gold and a mask as red as blood in the shape of a butterfly. The monkey stalked around them like a panther, appraising them with a smug expression the whole time. Mocking them.

"Ooh-ho. I'm not that important, certainly not as important as my king's dear, precious little pilgrims!" The monkey taunted, "If you need a name, though. I prefer Macaque, the Six-Eared Macaque. I came running when I heard Wukong getting all upset and found, to my surprise, the same people who are always upsetting him in his living room! Little far from home, ain't ya?"

"Macaque!?" Ao Lie blurted out, sounding surprised, "But doesn't that make you-!?"

"Oh? Did he tell you?" Macaque laugh, interrupting the dragon who pouted, "No surprises there. You always were his favorite. Although from what I hears you're a bit early, aren't you? Just how far into the journey did you guys get!?"

"What does that matter to you!?" The pig grunted suspiciously, making Macaque's grin sharpen to a dangerous point as his voice deepens.

"It tells me if I should be nice to you or not."

#lmk jttw #jttw sun wukong #lmk pilgrims #lmk sun wukong #lmk au #lmk macaque #pilgrim time warp au

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

Text

Careless Words

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Angst. Toxic/abusive relationship dynamics. Mentions of death. Allusions to smut. Word count: ~2.8k

Summary: She has always given her best to Aemond, but they both know he can't say the same. Based on this request.

Author's note: I wanted to explore the darker side of Aemond's personality and how this might manifest itself in a relationship where neither party is particularly healthy in terms of their mindset. This was a cathartic piece for me to write. Lately I've been working through some resurfaced feelings linked to a past relationship that was based entirely around trauma bonding. It may be a triggering read for some, so please approach with caution (and try to remember the story itself is a work of fiction). No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Community labels are for cops. Please block me instead of labelling this, if you find yourself tempted.

Family, Duty, Honor; that is the motto of House Tully, a direct opposition of House Targaryen’s Fire and Blood. If she wasn’t so duty bound to Prince Aemond then she’d find the strength to walk away. If he was a better man he’d let her go. Unfortunately for her, nothing in a dragon’s clutches escapes without getting burned.

She is eight years old when she is sent from Riverrun to King’s Landing. She is to be a ward of House Targaryen, an idea that excites and frightens her in equal measure; she has never been away from her family before and the thought of living in a strange city with people she has never met fills her with uncertainty, yet she is eager for the adventures it will bring.

Her fears are assuaged the moment she arrives in the capital. The sprawling expanse of the city beckons her to explore its winding cobbled streets, the Red Keep is a maze of undiscovered secrets. Naturally curious, she gravitates towards Queen Alicent’s second son, Aemond. He is a quiet, sullen boy, not much older than her, and spends most of his time alone, reading. It is more than apparent to her that he does not get along with his older brother and nephews, and his sister is too lost in her own world to be of any comfort to him.

Aemond clings to her offer of friendship, and the two quickly become inseparable. She basks in the attention he lavishes upon her; sharing his books, learning High Valyrian under his tutelage, dutifully spectating for each of his training sessions in the yard, and accompanying him on his daily visits to the dragonpit - he has yet to claim a dragon, which serves to deepen his fascination of the creatures and drives him to near obsession with desire to have his own.

Aemond becomes the center of her world, a position which he appears to thrive on. The first time he threatens to take that away from her is on a day that they visit the dragonpit.

Aegon has lured him there on the pretense that the dragon keepers have discovered an unclaimed mount for him. However, he is humiliated when a pig is led out from the shadows, and he flees, distraught, back to his mother.

He lashes out at her that day, for the first time, when she attempts to comfort him.

“You will have a dragon one day,” She tries to tell him. “Ignore their silly jokes, it doesn’t matter.”

He looks at her with fury in his eyes and she shrinks fearfully away from him. His tone is vile, hateful. “It doesn’t matter to you, because you don’t understand how important dragons are to Targaryens. You are a nobody!”

She weeps bitterly when he storms away from her, it feels like she has lost her only friend in the world. She believes she has trivialised Aemond’s suffering and is ashamed of herself.

When he approaches her the next day, with lemon cakes, a book and a soft “I didn’t mean it”, she is so overjoyed to have Aemond’s attention once more that it doesn’t even occur to her that he hasn’t uttered the word “sorry”, she has him back and that is all that matters. And for a few days afterwards, he treats her with such reverence that she feels foolish for having been upset in the first place.

Aemond is ten when he loses his eye, and he puts on a brave face, though she is certain it is for the benefit of not further upsetting his mother and appearing weak in front of his nephews.

She is proven right the moment they are alone and he turns on her. She wants to support him, to show him she is unafraid of him despite the stitches that now adorn the bloodied ruin where his left eye used to be, but he will not allow that.

“Where were you?!” He shouts at her. “If you’d have been there for me, I’d still have my eye!”

She wants to argue that she could not possibly have known he was going to claim Vhagar, how could she have been there for him when everyone was supposed to be in bed? But the guilt his words inspire eclipse all rationality in her innocent, young mind. She ought to have anticipated him going after a riderless dragon, and been there to help defend him against the attack from his nephews and cousins.

“I’m sorry, Aemond, I’m so sorry.” She cries.

“Sorry will not bring back what I have lost,” He spits angrily. “No matter. I have my dragon now, I do not need you.”

He is lost to her once more, and heartache colours her world where Aemond’s presence used to.

“I didn’t mean it,” He tells her sheepishly, a few days later. “When I am healed, I will take you for a ride on dragonback.”

She does not need an apology, Aemond’s attention and willingness to share something so personal with her are more than enough. For a week after that he makes her feel as though she is the very stars in the night sky, and she basks in his good graces.

On Aemond’s thirteenth name day, she is excited to give him his gift. For weeks she has toiled in secret on a patch for him to cover the scarred side of his face. It is made of delicate black leather and has an intricate green dragon stitched carefully into the fabric.

She searches for Aemond most of the day and cannot find him. When he does eventually make an appearance he is distant and distracted, not even uttering thanks when she presents him with the patch she has made for him.

“Aegon took me to a pleasure house.” He says morosely, when she asks what’s wrong.

“Oh,” She has trouble hiding the disgust on her face, as she feels sour jealousy spread its way through her. “Why?”

He scowls upon seeing her look of judgment. “Because I grew tired of looking at your ugly face!” He snaps, before storming off.

Her self worth shatters with those words, scattered away on the winds of Aemond’s temper, and yet again she is left to wait for his careless words to become kind, while she grieves his temporary absence.

I did not mean it. And so she forgives him, piecing herself back together with every praise and doting look he offers her. She cares not that he never wears her gift or thanks her for it, it does not matter that he doesn’t say he’s sorry, because when Aemond is kind to her she feels as though she has ascended to the very heavens above.

It is an addictive cycle, and as the years press on, she finds herself craving Aemond’s tempestuous nature in moments of calm, for the love he showers her with afterwards is her only means of reassuring herself that he truly cares for her.

Aemond grows bolder in his mistreatment of her, confident that she is too attached to him to be disloyal. She is one of the few things in his life that he is able to assert full control over and he wields it without a second thought.

Shortly after her sixteenth name day, Aegon attempts to force himself on her. She fights him off and seeks comfort in the only person she can trust; Aemond. Where she expects to find sympathy, however, she is met with scorn and rage-filled jealousy.

“If you did not behave like a whore then Aegon would not do such things. Do you enjoy the attention?”

She shuts herself away in her chambers, the ache in her chest unbearable as her tears soak her pillow.

While Aemond would usually leave it a day or two before seeking her out again, he comes back to her that same evening, telling her he did not mean it as he holds her in his arms. He takes her maidenhead that night, the sharp stinging between her legs, as he pushes forcefully inside of her, soothed by his whisper of “aōhon iksan se ñuhon iksā”. I am yours and you are mine.

As their relationship blossoms into something more romantic, their rifts become more frequent. Aemond always seems to know precisely the combination of words it will take to cut her deepest, yet it is a state she has grown to feel safe in. The blood of the dragon pumps hotly in his veins and as frequently as he inflicts this side of himself upon her, it is always followed by a softness that allows her to believe that he loves her, even if they are words he never says aloud.

When Aemond’s nephews return to King’s Landing his moods become trickier for her to predict. It seems impossible for her not to anger him, and his words are poison to her fragile heart. Yet it always devolves into him assuring her he did not mean it as he fucks her into the mattress, healing every spiteful barb with impassioned touches.

Shortly after King Viserys dies, Aegon is crowned, and everything changes for the worse. His succession is challenged by Viserys’ eldest child, Rhaenyra, and steps must be put into place to secure Aegon’s reign. Aemond is a useful pawn in that process, and his grandsire, Otto, wastes no time in arranging a visit for him to Storm’s End in order to choose which of Lord Borros Baratheon’s daughters he wishes to marry.

Aemond is so matter of fact as he explains this to her, but she feels as though she reacts enough for both of them, struggling to breath as a free falling sensation in the pit of her stomach sends waves of nausea rippling through her.

She knows she is fighting a losing battle before she even opens her mouth to speak, yet she cannot help herself. She is a moth and Aemond is her flame, ever bright and eternal, the very center around which her entire world revolves. Nothing has ever seemed so final though, what pieces will there be to pick up and place back together once he is someone else’s husband?

Standing before him, she juts out her chin defiantly, willing herself not to cry in spite of the lump in her throat and the insistent stinging around the rims of her eyes. “You’re really going to go through with this?”

He sets his jaw, sighing, a visible dismissal of her feelings that makes her ache and wish she had the courage to simply walk away from him. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“What will become of me, of us?” She asks, her voice raising an octave, threatening to crack.

“That is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. My brother’s succession takes precedence over everything. Marrying one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters helps strengthen his claim to the throne. Listening to your heedless fretting does not.”

She feels heat rise to her cheeks, swallowing back her anguish, attempting to sound fiercer than she feels. “Perhaps I shall decide to marry too then.”

Aemond’s scoff is so subtle it’s almost imperceptible. “Who would marry you? Your virtue is mine, always has been. You’re fortunate I still desire you.”

His tone of voice is so practical, only the slightest hint of irritation giving it an edge. He may as well be addressing a chambermaid who has not made his bed to his liking. She longs to grab him, shake him, beg him to give her any sort of indication that this is hurting him as much as it’s hurting her, because to think that he’d let her go so easily, after all these years, is more than she can stand.

Instead she says nothing, simply watches as he turns to leave, counting down the moments until he returns to her, his words sweet once more and eager to heal the rift between them, just like he always does. She craves the storm and the calm in equal measure, but they are always on Aemond’s terms, never hers.

Three nights later she awakens to him standing at the foot of her bed, dripping wet, eye filled with fear. She takes him into the sheets, fingers carding through his damp hair as he ruts his misery inside of her.

“It was an accident,” He whispers to her tearfully afterwards. “I only meant to scare Lucerys.”

She soothes him to sleep, knowing she ought to feel repulsed by what Aemond has done, but is overwhelmed by the relief of him being just hers once more.

Confusion addles her thoughts the next day when she overhears Aemond tell Otto that he had meant to kill his nephew.

When she asks him about it in private he grips the tops of her arms with such force that she yelps from the pain of it, his face almost murderous with rage as he stares at her. “If you ever utter those words again, I will have your tongue cut out.”

Aemond’s temper has always been fierce, a trait of his that she is forever wary of, however, until now she has never felt afraid of him. At this very moment, Aemond frightens her. He has the capacity to cause her harm, and does not seem to care if he does.

Later he presses featherlight kisses to each of the vivid purple bruises that mark her upper arms. Though he appears remorseful, he does not offer an apology or even an utterance of “I did not mean it.”

“You must not anger me like that again,” He tells her instead.

She simply nods, dread boring a void into the pit of her stomach.

As the war escalates, resulting in the death of Aegon and Helaena’s son, Jaehaerys, and the grievous injury of Aegon, Aemond takes up the mantle of Prince Regent. While Aemond bears the burden of the additional responsibility, she bears the onslaught of his frustrations, becoming a vessel into which he pours his every grievance. The adoration he showers her with after each display of cruelty becomes infrequent to the point that she feels as though she is a hound begging for scraps. Eventually she learns to accept his ire, reasoning he would simply cast her aside and ignore her if he did not care for her.

She is delighted when Aemond insists upon bringing her along to his march upon Harrenhal. She allows herself to believe that his desire to have her at his side is because he is committed to her, that perhaps this means he intends to marry her once the war is over. A voice in the back of her mind reasons it is most likely because he enjoys the control he asserts over her, but she does her best to ignore it.

Jealousy swirls sharply in her gut when she sees the only person that Aemond has spared in his seizing of the castle - a witch named Alys Rivers, a raven haired beauty who he informs her will be of great use to him in helping him to defeat his Uncle Daemon. She swallows down her doubts, attempting to reassure herself that she has nothing to worry about, Aemond has never strayed from her before, why would he now?

She curses herself for ignoring her suspicions when she catches him between the witch’s thighs. She expects herself to grieve, to scream, to cry, to shatter to pieces at his infidelity, but instead a sense of clarity washes over her. For the first time in a decade she wishes to leave Aemond.

No longer does she crave his approval, or long to make amends, a veil has been lifted and finally she sees him for the selfish, spoiled and callous hearted man he truly is. He will never love her, not as she deserves, and she is making a fool of herself to stay by his side while he is openly disrespectful of her and her feelings.

His eye darkens with familiar ill intent when she informs him of her plan to return home.

“Do not be so foolish,” He says condescendingly. “You are behaving irrationally over a minor indiscretion.”

She shakes her head. “I believe this is the first time since I’ve known you that I’ve behaved with any sense at all. I am leaving.”

“Ñuhon iksā,” He tells her. His tone carries none of the soft, loving intent it usually does when he utters this statement, now it is dark and threatening. You are mine.

“Dōre iksan,” She replies simply. I am not.

“You cannot exist without me,” He says with a scowl.

“Watch me,” She counters.

It is not until a few days later, once she has returned home to her family, that the full weight of Aemond’s words begin to sink in. As the wings of Vhagar darken the skies above the Riverlands, she realises that he does not mean he thinks she can’t exist without him, it is that he will not allow her to.

She watches in tense horror as the fiery blaze engulfs her homeland, acrid smoke drawing ever nearer as Aemond’s dragon immolates houses, farmland and forests alike. If he were a better man he’d simply have let her go. Unfortunately for her, nothing in a dragon’s clutches escapes without getting burned.

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doublebellyman · 3 months ago

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It’s October 1st so fat thoughts naturally turn to the overconsumption of Halloween candy at month’s end. Here’s a little short story to get you prepared …

Halloween Ritual

“What is this, our tenth year?”

It took me a few seconds to answer my wife as my mouth was stuffed full of bite-sized Mr. Goodbars. “Yeah, ten years sounds about right honey.”

“Hmm,” she leered, “looks like someone has just about polished off an entire bag of Halloween candy” and gave my big belly a playful slap, sending it wobbling and rippling like crazy. “You’re just insatiable aren’t you Fat Boy, but don’t worry, I’ve got a bag of bite-size Snickers you can start on until our guests arrive.”

Just then our doorbell rung and she ran to the door to greet another batch of young trick or treaters … “don’t be give’n ’em all the good stuff I like,” I mumbled, mouth again full of chocolate and peanut goodness. “Don’t worry Chubs, I bought plenty extra for my blubbery hubby!”

I loved it when she said stuff like that! We met back in college when I was but a slightly chubby 160 pound sophomore and she a little 98 pound sprite of a junior who’d already established her reputation campus-wide as a chubby chaser. I was 195 pounds by the time she graduated and we planned to wed after my graduation the next year, provided I met her condition of eating myself to 225 pounds by then (though 250 would’ve been more her preference).

By the Fall of my senior year I’d only reached 202 pounds and that’s when our annual Halloween ritual began. She’d moved into an off-campus apartment and invited three other couples who were college friends to come over at 10 with any leftover Halloween candy they might have on hand, with the plan being to see how many calories her fat fiancé could consume!

Our friends loved the idea as they’d teased me incessantly over the years about how f**king fat I’d become and anytime we got together nagged me to “eat more for Mabel (my fiancé and now wife of nine years).”

That first Halloween set the standard for the annual ritual to follow with Mabel ordering me to wear a too tight shirt from my 160 pound days with lots of belly peaking out and ordering everyone not to clean up the candy wrappers that surrounded me on the couch, “so Two-Ton Timmy” (me) can see what a gluttonous pig he is!”

Anyone who dared take more than a couple of pieces of candy for themselves got an icy stare from Mabel and a stinging rebuke, “leave those for Tubby — he needs to pork up 225 before our honeymoon!” Our male friends would guffaw with laughter while our female friends politely stifled giggles over Mabel’s inflated plans for me, but the girls’ politeness abated when my appetite began to flag after about an hour of endless candy consumption.

As she saw my enthusiasm wane, Mabel snapped her fingers and one girl kneeled before me and the other two sat on either side of me, proffering candy to my lips and goading me to consume even more. “You can do it Fatty!” “Make Mabel proud of her Big Boy!” “This big belly can handle so much more!” “Keep going Tubby!” They were merciless, but I had fun and it was a definite turn on having three feeders and a wife who admitted later that she creamed her panties watching her friends stuff me so full.

By the end of my ordeal all three of them were grabbing handfuls of my belly fat and applying vigorous belly rubs and slaps as Mabel continued to look on approvingly and their boyfriends appeared to be getting hard-ons as their girlfriends said how much fun it was to play with all my extra belly fat!

So now, here we are ten years later and Mabel’s once merely chubby boyfriend is now a 440-pound behemoth of a husband. And the couples who joined us for our inaugural “Halloween Stuffing of the Pig” are now all happily married themselves and Mabel, as petite as ever, has become an inspiration and mentor to the wives, who over the years have learned her secrets for fattening up a man to obscene proportions!

Of course, I’m still the fattest of ‘em all, mainly because I had a head start … or at least I think I’m still in the lead. “Massive Mikey,” the last I saw him at a Labor Day cookout, seemed to be catching up fast, proudly telling me he’d just crested 380 pounds and that he (or rather his wife) had me in their sights!

We’ll find out soon enough, of course, as Mabel has my 750-pound capacity bariatric scale all set up in the living room ready to weigh the four “Hefty Hubbies” as the wives collectively now collectively refer to us.

Suddenly there’s an urgent ringing of our doorbell, meaning it’s 10 pm and time to commence our annual ritual of gluttony. Totally bare bellied, taking up almost all of a brand new extra-sturdy loveseat (replacing one I’d recently reduced to splinters), and surrounded by almost two full bags worth of candy wrappers, it’s just too damn much effort to heave myself to my feet, so Mabel hustles to the door to welcome our old friends!

She lets out a shriek and exclaims “you boys are f**king blimps!” And I see for myself as Massive Mikey, Bob the Blob, and Jumbo Jimmy waddle through what suddenly seems a very narrow opening, Mabel admiringly pats each on their massive protuberances and exclaims to the delight of their wives, “you boys may finally have caught up to the old Lard Lad here!”

Mikey, lips smeared with chocolate, admits “yeah Mabes, all of us made a pact after the Labor Day cookout, where Two Ton Timmy here smoked all of us, to out-eat him between then and Halloween!”

“Take your shirt off Mikey and show ‘em,” his wife Donna says with pride, “he’s packed on almost forty pounds in less than two months!” Mabel arched her eyebrows at the news, then pointed to Bob, who declares “32 pounds”, and then Jim who says “got all you fatties beat … 44 pounds!”

“OK you Hungry Hippos, you know the drill,” Mabel orders like a Marine drill sergeant, “line up at the scale and let’s see if you can beat my Timmy here — just look at that magnificent mountain of lard, fill in’ up our new loveseat, and already two bags of candy in — he’s gonna be hard for even you Tubsters to beat!”

Deciding to accept the challenge belly on, I rise from the loveseat, candy wrappers scattering before me, and the other wives gasp as they see how far down my belly apron reaches toward my knee caps, with maybe only an inch or two of clearance. “Don’t anyone declare victory just yet — Mabel is still the Feedress Queen!”

Beaming with wifely pride, she kisses me and wobbles my apron, just to show off her culinary handiwork to our friends. “Oh, thank you baby — I’m so proud of my piggie, the undisputed Feedee King — I love it that you just can’t stop eating!”

“You know I do it for you Honey.”

THE END UNTIL NEXT HALLOWEEN

#the fun of being fat #the joys of obesity #fat hubby tiny wife #gluttony is good #ffa bhm #ffa feedress

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 9 months ago

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A long night

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, April 2024 edition

Prompt: fool, 454 words

Rated: E

CW: rough sex, angry sex, some breeding kink sprinkled in for funsies

Tags: medieval AU; king!Steve; jester!Eddie; top Steve; bottom Eddie

Notes: Might or might not be set in the same universe as Sol Invictus - who knows

“Why so sulky, my liege? Is the princess not to your liking?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just grabs Eddie’s hips, nails digging into skin. The motion upsets their balance, legs tangling in the bunched-up garments around their ankles, and Eddie clings to the pillar in front of him lest they both topple.

“Pity,” he mutters. “She seems nice. Lovely singing voice.”

Steve growls and bites down on his shoulder, hips speeding up. For a while, the only sounds are the obscene slap-slap-slap of their bodies and the merry jingle of Eddie’s fool's cap.

There's another jab on Eddie’s tongue, but he bites it back. He knows better than to provoke Steve when he's like this.

Eddie takes pride in his ability to read even the smallest expressions on his king's face, the tiniest twitch of those lips, the slightest arch of those brows.

Not that he needs to. Steve isn't exactly subtle in his distaste. The scowl has been etched into his features since his advisors suggested the engagement. It magnified at the arrival of the princess and her entourage, only to crest during the welcome feast.

Eddie sang and danced and joked until his throat burned and his legs hurt, but to no avail. By the time he was dismissed so that the marriage contract could be negotiated, Steve looked ready to throttle someone.

It came as no surprise really, when the first thing he did upon entering his chambers was crowd Eddie against the pillar and shove his fingers down his pants. Eddie would've preferred it if they had made it to the bed, honestly - or if Steve would've let him take off the damn cap before claiming him.

“Shut up,” Steve snarls against the shell of his ear. “She sounds like a pig trying to sing and you know it.”

Eddie can't help it, he laughs.

“Shame on you. That's no way to talk about the mother of your future heir.”

“Oh?” Steve reaches down to take Eddie’s neglected cock in hand, and the laugh teeters off into a wanton moan. His other hand splays over Eddie’s belly, gentle where the rhythm of his hips is harsh and punishing. “Maybe I'll put one inside you instead. Maybe, if I fuck you long and hard and deep enough, it'll catch eventually, how about that? Would you like that?”

Eddie whimpers, trying to buck against the hand pumping his cock. Steve squeezes the base and he groans.

“I said would you like that, Eddie?”

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, my king, please.”

“Good,” Steve says, and then, suddenly he's gone. Eddie yelps and the bells jingle as he is roughly pushed forwards. “On the bed, on all fours. It's gonna be a long night."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie microfic #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficapril #hype's microfics

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darknight3904 · 5 months ago

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Guess who's back? Me, and the main plot line. No more fluff chapters, bitches.

Rhaella is 18, Aemond 17

132 AC

The announcement of Lord Corlys' accident was sudden. It was even more sudden that Vaemond, his brother, was coming to Kings Landing to challenge the succession. To her own disappointment, Lucerys' legitimacy would once again be called into question.

Rhaella's trip to Highgarden was but three days away. Most of her things had been packed and her room was rather bare. She hadn't spoken to Aemond much recently. He had avoided her as if that would stop Rhaella's impending doom. It was as if through avoidance they could remain in the youth they were desperately clinging to.

"Might you know when Princess Rhaenrya's family will arrive? I wish to go for a short flight but I want to be able to greet my cousins." She asked her handmaiden.

"I have heard word that their ship was spotted in the Blackwater, My Lady." She responded as she finished lacing the blue dress that adorned Rhaella's body.

"My flight will have to wait then." She sighed, they'd be here soon, "Might you fetch Prince Aemond for me? We have not spoken recently."

"Yes, My Lady."

Aemond was in perfect form today. He motions were fluid and Cole was having a hard time holding him back. The past fortnight of practice was paying off. He felt bad some nights, knowing he had left Rhaella waiting in the library for him. But, he could not be around her now, knowing she was shipping off for Highgarden of all places. That Lord Tyrell's disgusting pig of a son would marry her. His jealousy would well up in him whenever he saw her. He wasn't entirely sure what he was feeling was normal. The possessiveness? He'd never felt this before, not even over Vhagar.

"Something on your mind, My Prince?" Cole asked as his sword met Aemond's again.

"No." Aemond lied

"I can offer insight if you speak to me," Cole says, pushing against Aemomd.

"Why? So you can tell my mother?" Aemond seethes, thinking of how Cole spilled everything he heard and saw to Alicent Hightower.

"Prince Aemond!" The shrill voice of a handmaiden catches his ears

"What?"

Aemond came to her reeking of sweat and the training yard.

"You interrupted my morning session." He said as he entered without knocking

"You have been avoiding me," Rhaella says, ignoring the way he drops sweat-soaked gloves onto her table.

"You've been avoiding me." Aemond pointed at her

Where did he get the audacity to act like this? So brazen.

"You have spent the last fortnight training and flying like you do not know of our prearranged time in the library together," Rhaella said

"Maybe I don't want to spend my days reading." Aemond dismissed

Liar.

"You lie, Aemond." Rhaella sighed, "I expect to see you in the library after tonight's supper. I have found an interesting book on Old Valyria, you will enjoy it."

"I just said I do not wish to be in the library with you. It is-"

Aemond is interrupted by the doors to Rhaella's chamber being pushed open.

"Princess Rhaenrya, Prince Daemon, and their family have arrived. The queen wants both of you in the throne room for the hearing." A nameless errand boy says before dashing back out.

"The library." Rhaella says, standing to brush past Aemond, "Tonight."

Rhaella can hear him grumble as she passes.

Aemond arrives in the throne room nearly fifteen minutes after Rhaella does. She takes in his appearance and presumes he must've run off to fix his hair and cover the scent of sweat with something.

Otto Hightower's voice fills the room as Rhaella's eyes fall on Jacaerys and Lucerys who have grown up since she has last seen them. Dark messy hair sits atop their hair and Jacaery's dark eyes follow her own as she takes him in. He offers a small smile and a nod of his head. Rhaella returns it and can't help but notice how handsome he has become. While he did not bear Targaryen coloring, his facial features certainly held the sharpness of a Targaryen prince.

Vaemond Velaryon has stepped into the center of the room now. He speaks of being Lord Corlys' closest blood. Rhaella can feel the eyes of the room turn to Lucerys as Rhaenrya speaks, affirming her son's position as heir. On her right, Aemond shifts his weight from one foot to the other, letting out a sigh like he was bored.

"Cunt."

Aemond's whispered voice falls on her ears. She isn't sure who he's speaking of now. Perhaps Vaemond or Lucerys? Or maybe Rhaenrya who is getting ready to make her counter argument. Or perhaps the insult is directed at Daemon who, much to Rhaella's dismay hasn't stopped smirking from his spot next to Rhaenrya.

"My Lord Hand, " Rhaenrya begins, "It was but twenty years ago that my father stood in this hall and named me-"

The sound of heavy doors being opened set a lull over the proceedings.

Kingsguard enters the room followed by a sight Rhaella hasn't seen in years, the King, walking.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen. First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Roynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

King Viserys slowly makes his way to the Iron Throne. When he finally reaches it and dismisses Otto Hightower, he is exhausted. Rhaella can hear his heavy breathing echoing about the throne room.

The loud clatter of metal hitting stone has Rhaella turning around to see what has happened. The golden crown that King Jaeherys had once worn has fallen to the floor. She half expects the queen or Rhaenrya to pick it up but her father beats them all to it. Rhaella watches as the man who she had deemed selfish and a cold-hearted fool, helps his brother up the steps to the throne. Daemon places the crown on Viserys' head before returning to his spot. The tension in the room is heavy on her chest as everyone awaits Visery's word.

"I must admit my confusion." Viserys says "Why are petitions being heard over a settled succession?"

Rhaella looks over at Vaemond Velaryon who has anger swimming in his eyes.

"I believe the only person who could offer better insight into Lord Corlys' wishes is the Princess Rhaenys."

Rhaella watches as she comes forward to speak. She hasn't seen her since she threw her out of her room for knowing about what happened to Lady Rhea.

"I have always supported Lord Corlys' wish that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support." Rhaenys says

Rhaella has to contain the glee that is on her face at Lucerys' secured position.

"Princess Rhaenrya has just informed me of her decision to marry Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys to their cousins Baela and Rhaena." Rhaenys says, " A proposal to which I agreed."

Rhaella looks at her half sisters who are no longer little girls who have tangles in their hair and stuffed dolls tucked under their arms. They have grown up, Long silver hair much like her own tumble down their backs and their pretty faces are staring back at her.

"The matter is settled. Again." Viserys says "I reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark."

"You break law and centuries of tradition to name your daughter as heir." Vaemond suddenly speaks "Yet you presume to tell me who gets to inherit the name Velaryon? No...I will not allow it."

"Allow it?' Viserys says "Do not forget yourself Vaemond."

"That is no true Velaryon!" Vaemond suddenly shouts, whirling around to point at Lucerys.

Rhaella's eyes jump to Rhaenrya and her family.

"He is no nephew of mine." Vaemond declares

"Lucerys is my true-born grandson. You are no more the second son of Driftmark." Viserys affirms

"You may run your house as you see fit." Vaemond says, turning back to the King," But you will not decide the future of mine. I will not see it ended on the account of this..."

Vaemond has turn to face Lucerys again, a pause in his sentence, like he can't say what he wants to.

"Say it."

Daemon's whisper reaches Rhaella's ears and she looks at her father who is smirking at Vaemond.

"Her children are...Bastards!"

The volume of Vaemond's voice sends echos around the throne room. Rhaella jumps at his tone. not expecting it at all.

"And she...is...a whore."

Rhaella gasps along with the rest of the court. She sees even Queen Alicent shake her head in disapproval.

"I...will have your tongue for that." Viserys suddenly says, pulling the dagger he keeps at his side out.

It happens in just barely a second. Daemon is on the move and makes a clean cut to Vaemond's head with Dark Sister. Rhaella jumps toward Aemond who pulls her close to him as Vaemond's body hits the ground.

"He can keep his tongue." Daemon says looking down at a now very dead Vaemond Velaryon.

"Disarm him!" Otto Hightower yells

"No need," Daemon says, wiping the blood from his sword and returning to Rhaenrya.

Aemond's arms are still holding Rhaella tightly but his eye is fixed on the sight in front of them. On the bloody corpse of Vaemond Velaryon. On Daemon Targaryen and his sword called Dark Sister.

Next Part

Guess who's still alive? Me. I didn't die of jetlag. I had a nice vacation. Minus the whole getting trapped in the airport and getting delayed two extra days...anyway I have returned.

I saw the Deadpool and Wolverine movie yesterday. In conclusion, Wade Wilson is hot af and Wolverine is so shredded my jaw was on the floor. Hugh Jackman the man that you are...

Here's some fun pictures of my trip, I kinda wish I could've taken the chickens home...

Comment below to join the taglist. (The taglist is not by chapter, once added, you will remain there unless you ask to be removed.)

Taglist:

@caspianobsessed

@starryhiraeth

@franzelt

@holymusicalmothman

@koobratzy

@schelfinser

@mizuki80

@flusteredmoonn

@sunmigs

@mizuki80

@dramioneforevertilltheend

@fix5idiots @canpillowscry

@aleemendoza2425-blog

@optimistic-but-very-realistic

@vieenr0se

@minttea07

@void21

@lothiriel9 @saraiadg

@simp-sundae-06 @truly-abysmal @spacexdrago

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #game of thrones #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #daemon targaryen #got #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader #fanfic #ewan mitchell #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fluff #romance

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kawaiigirly21 · 5 months ago

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“House Vaelnaris has yet to swear fealty to anyone. They remain neutral.” Otto Hightower spoke. Upon hearing the name, Aegon perked up. “Vaelnaris? Lady Naerya is from that house is she not?” He questioned with a small smirk on his face. He knew Naerya well. She was his first love. A highborn girl who was sweet as she was passionate.

“Yes she is your grace.” Another council member spoke up. “Good. Send a raven immediately. I wish to marry her.” Aegon smirked. Hs grandfather and hand of the king was quick to respond. “Your Grace, I must speak against this marriage proposal. We know not of who her family swears to!” Aegon countered with his own argument.

“I know that. So we take their loyalty by force. Political marital force. Naerya is the only heir to House Vaelnaris. I marry her, I have her house’s loyalty and their large army.” Otto fought to roll his eyes at his grandson. “And what of the rumors of her being impure? Her supposed affair with Daemon?” Aegon looked at his grandfather with an expression that could only be read as frustration.

“Rumors. Thats all they are. From those damn pig fuckers! They’re all just pissed that she would never stoop to their level and allow their flaccid cocks to bruise her jewel. Not like me!” The keep froze in dead silence at their king’s bold proclamation. “Not like you? What do you mean by that Your Grace?” Otto asked lowly. “When we were only children, she promised herself to me and me only. She would never betray me. I know that. Now send the damn raven!” That night, House Vaelnaris stirred with the news of a proposal to their Lady Naerya.

“Are you going to accept?” Vaenar, Naerya’s uncle asked with genuine curiosity. The man watched as his niece laid on her bed staring at the tiny parchment with and unreadable expression. At least to him. For Naerya, she was close to combusting with excitement. The boy of her dreams sent her a raven. A marriage proposal! She couldn't possibly turn this down.

“I'll accept. It would be good for our house, imagine the prestige?” In truth, she couldn't have cared less about the prestige of being queen. She cared about marrying Aegon. Not his name or his status as king. She just wanted him. Ever since they were children, Naerya was deeply in love with the prince, now king and protector of the realms.

It only took a week before Naerya arrived in Kings Landing and was escorted to the palace. Once there, the young woman was taken to a room to see Aegon, who just so happened to be out on business concerning their upcoming wedding. She was told to wait for him there. As she looked around the room, Naerya spotted a beautiful dragon statue with her name carved on the wing.

Her fingers traced the wings and the scales ever so slightly before turning around when the door to the room opened. Seeing the silver white hair and the black clothing, she knew immediately that man was her beloved. Running to him, Naerya placed a kiss on the man's lips. “Aegon! Oh how I missed you! It's been too long! I must ask, what happened to your eye?”

Moving to touch his eye patch, Naerya felt her heart jump as the man caught her hand and placed a gentle kiss on her fingers. “Oh Aegon you charmer.” Suddenly a voice interrupted the two. “A charmer? Is that what you think? I'd hardly call it so. Right, Aemond?” Naerya turned her head to the man who had her in his warm embrace.

“A-ameond? That's you? Oh my goodness… by the gods I… I'm sorry! I didn't recognize you! I thought-” Pulling her out of his brother's arms, Aegon pressed a sweet kiss to Naerya's temple. “Beautiful. It's quite alright. You haven't laid those gorgeous eyes upon me for so long, you mistook my brother for me. It's nothing to cry over. I'm not mad.” Aegon spokesman sweetly.

He only reserved this tone for her. Strictly for her. He then leaned in for a steamy kiss. His lips never left hers but his eyes found his brother's. He knew even as a child, Aemond wanted to marry Naerya. He knew he loved her. That's why Aegon pursued her, at first he thought courting her was a chore. Now everytime he thinks back to those days, he holds no regrets.

Through his game to try and hurt his brother, he found love. True mind blowing fire burning love. “Come, I wish to show you something my love.”

I need your help guys! I'm not too sure on this chapter. What are your thoughts? Any feedback before I commit to this plot line?

#character x oc #oc #x black oc #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aemond targaryen #aegon x reader #aemond targaryen x black reader #x black reader #house of the dragon #house targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #house of the dragon x reader

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blubun0309 · 10 days ago

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[TW // SA mention] + EPIC: The Musical Ithica Saga Spoilers

Can we talk about Odysseus real quick because, dear god, this song is so beautifully poetic

Let's start by addressing my favorite detail: the chorus. The chanting of "Odysseus" in the background. You know why this is important? When have we heard a name being chanted by the chorus in EPIC before? In the songs of GODS and MONSTERS. He's not any man walking in that palace, he's the one who BUILT IT. The man who's survived 20 years of war and bloodshed, the only man who came back alive from a troop of 600 men who fought against Troy and literal Gods. He's the KING of this palace, and they WILL chant his name, wether in fear of him or not.

Odysseus has learned from his journey and how he single-handedly takes down 108 men in a five minute song shows it. He's applying every tactic he learned. He traps them like the cyclops, attacks in his palace like Circe, aims for the torches like Scylla, using ruthlessness like Poseidon. He's become the monster they created.

And the vocal performance is impeccable. Jorge's voice is so amazing, you can HEAR the anger Odysseus has towards these men, who planned to hurt *his* boy, and touch *his* wife. He snarls, he kills, he has no mercy towards these pigs, his mercy has long since died.

And let's address that: He rejects open arms from one of the suitors. Open Arms had been a consistent melody in almost every saga I believe, every time it was something to keep Ody afloat, a melody that reminded him of his best friend, and he clinged onto it in his lowest points. It's not just the melody, it's what it represents. The ideology Polites and, at one point, Odysseus stood by. That they could change the world with kindness and forgiveness. But Ody has gone through enough, and in no situation where he tried to be kind did it work out for him, as he was met with bloodshed and anger. He has no forgiveness left towards the people who've wronged him. But from a different angle, you can see why he rejected open arms from the suitor. After they planned to kill his son and rape his wife, they want MERCY? No. Odysseus won't give them the mercy. They don't deserve it. Killing their leader is not enough, he knows better now. How DARE they use the words of a dead man, his best friend, to save their sorry asses? They have no right to do so.

Odysseus' rage is so powerful because he has had enough. He won't allow these men, ANYONE, to hurt his family, not after everything it took to come back to them. He'll die a cold death before he allows that to happen.

And the suitors, oh they KNOW they fucked up. They know the story of Odysseus, they know how tactical he is, they know. And that's why they *fear* him. That's why they beg for forgiveness they won't receive. It's either beg or die.

However, they have a strong point: Telemachus. Oh, Telemachus, you couldn't have arrived at a worse time. I think it's a bit difficult to catch, but Ody wasn't the one who left the armory unlocked, it was Telemachus. He went in there to get gear and didn't backpedal to close the door. And for that small mistake, they got the upper hand against him. They held down, beat, and hurt him, all to get Ody's attention. Even though Telemachus begs for them to spare him so Odysseus spares them, to have open arms, they still decide to strike. A foolish choice, because Odysseus won't stand for it. How DARE they... How DARE THEY HURT THE YOUNG MAN HE FINALLY GETS TO BE A FATHER TO.

Let me remind you, Odysseus killing all these men is Telemachus' first impression of his father. After 20 years, he's here. In front of him. But he's not the kind and gentle man his mother described him as, he's not the man who spares first. Odysseus is filled with rage, and he doesn't even hesitate as he kills the monsters who have tormented him and his mother for 20 years.

Odysseus is no longer the man he was, nor the monster they've all created. He is the final battle. His theme is the one of a leyend. He's become the final boss. His heart is filled with rage of torment the past 20 years have put him through. And no one will want to mess with the King of Ithica again.

#epic the musical #epic the ithaca saga #the ithica saga #odysseus #odysseus epic #epic odysseus #buns thoughts and ramblings

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diioonysus · 1 year ago

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my favorite historical facts

mayans believed that having crossed-eyes meant you were favored by the sun god kinich ahau, who was cross-eyed as well. in hopes that children would be, they would have objects dangled between their eyes to permanently cross their eyes.

ancient rome had a 4-story shopping mall with 150 shops and offices which was made in 113 AD

ancient egyptians invented toothpaste, they made it with rock salt, pepper, mint, and dried iris flowers

until recently (20th century) bones and mummies were used in traditional medicine, as some believed they could cure ailements by ingesting related body parts.

left-handed people were considered unlucky in ancient rome

lots of medieval barbers were also dentists and surgeons, which is why barbershops use red and white stripes because the stripes represent bandages used during bloodletting.

in medieval germany, married couples could legally settle their disputes by fighting a martial duel.

married women were not allowed to watch the ancient olympics, under penatly of death, but the vestal virigins in ancient rome were allowed to in some circumstances because their sacred building was knocked down to make a stadium

ancient greeks invented the first alarm clock in a system where pebbles would be dropped onto a gong and this would then make a loud sound

if a pirate ship approached flying a red flag with a hourglass on it then the defenders knew they were in some shit as red meant "give no quarter" and the hourglass meant essentially your time on earth was about to run out

shakespeare originated the "yo momma" joke, as in his one play titus androcius, a character says "thou has undone our mother," to which another character says "villain, i have done thy mother."

before abraham lincoln became a politician, he was a champion wrestler with more than 300 bouts under his belt, and only lost one match in his career. he was inducted into the national wrestling hall of fame in 1992

the gauls when trying to sack rome, caedicius had to get approval from the senate on the besieged capitoline. a messenger snuck through the gallic camp and scaled the unguarded cliff side of the hill to deliver the message. It was quickly decided to restore camillus to his command and to give him dictatorial powers and then the messenger snuck his way out again. the senone scouts discovered the messenger’s footprints and figured out that there was a way to scale the cliffs. they choose a night with a full moon and sent their bravest warriors up the cliff. none of the romans noticed, but the geese did. they started honking loudly and woke up the sleeping romans, the romans than pushed the gauls off the hill, and due to this fight the gauls suffered food shortages and diseases, so geese saved the day.

a pig was executed in 1386 after attacking a kid who would die from their wounds. the pig was arrested, kept in prison, and then sent to the court where it stood trial for murder, eventually being found guilty and then executed by hanging.

forks used to be considered blasphemous. when forks arrived in 11th century italy, it alarmed religious leaders because eating with artifical hands offended god.

the bluetooth design and name was named after the viking king harald bluetooth, based on an analogy that the technology would unite devices the way harald bluetooth united the tribes of denmark into a single kingdom. his intials in runes is the design of the logo

throwing an apple at somebody in ancient greece was considered flirting because the apple was sacred to aphrodite, so throwing it was declaring ones love

king george v of england was euthanized as his staff wanted his death to make the morning papers rather than the evenings ones, so they put him to death early without his consent

robert liston, a surgeon preformed an operation with a 300% mortality rate; he killed the patient and two other people

#history #im bored #ancient rome #ancient greece

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leviathanspain · 2 years ago

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i hate everything about you

aemond targaryen x velaryon(strong)!reader

enemies to lovers

synopsis: since taking his eye, the one eyed prince has loathed you and you hold anything but love towards him

a/n: male manipulator aemond

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you watched as the dagger from your hand fell to the ground, a mushed eyeball falling down next to it as he screamed. everything felt like it was suddenly in slow motion as your parents bursted into the room, following the king and queen. you began to sob, and you ran into your mothers skirts. she hugged you tightly, and was talking to you but all you could do was cry as aemond screamed.

you had barely let yourself turn to see alicent dangerously close to your mother, yelling at her as muffled arguments ensued. your brothers began to take your side, but your mind floated off into a place where none of this was happening, where you hadn’t maimed aemond.

that had been years ago. kings landing was a faraway dream to you now, and driftmark was now your everlasting home. but as you were summoned to kings landing, by the king, you realized that the dream was now a soured nightmare that had become reality.

“y/n velaryon.” you turned to see who had called your name just moments after you had dismounted your dragon. the pit had been empty, or so it seemed.

you turned with a smile, and instead were met with a deadly smirk. his targaryen locks cascaded down his back, the band of his eyepatch creating a crease in the locks. his singular eye was trained on your face, his eyebrows raised with contempt and a smirk made to make you crumble.

you could’ve given him the reaction that he wanted. and if growing up alongside him had given you anything, it was that aemond wanted to be feared.

“oh my, aegon you scared me!” you laughed one of your more breathy laughs, walking past him. you knew saying the wrong name would get on his nerves, especially if you went with the front that you had forgotten what you had done to him.

he followed close behind and was pursing his lips. you had said his brothers name instead of his. what a stupid girl, you seemed.

“it’s aemond. but i supposed the family resemblance is, strong, isn’t it?” there it was. the beginning to a new string of insults.

“that is how you get your other eyeball cut out. i suggest you find other ways to be a nuisance.” you continued to walk, untying your dragon riding leathers, you walked past a few guards, giving them all your best smile as aemond walked closely behind you.

aemond grabbed your arm and you stopped. you turned to see him smiling down at you, “certainty you don’t suggest that already?” you pulled your lips back in a frown of disgust as you ripped your arm back, “pig.” you sneered, stalking off as aemond was left behind to laugh.

your family had arrived to kings landing just moments after your first meeting with aemond. how the joy exploded into the air as you ran to hug your mother for the first time in years. she laughed as she hugged you, “my darling girl.” she cooed. your brothers followed suit, trapping you in suffocating hugs with their newfound strength.

rhaenyra had sat you down in her old chambers. the remnants of her own childhood were so strong that she had to move things around before she called for you.

now you were sitting across from her, a bit of a hardened smile on her face as she set her tea down.

“y/n. it is no coincidence that you have been asked to the red keep just as you turn of age.” you realized with a deep pit in your stomach that this is what your grandmother had been preparing you for.

rhaenyra noticed the anxiety in your face and raised her eyebrow, you shook your head, “i’m fine mother, just tell me who i’m engaged to.” you would accept the answer with graciousness, and learn to love the idea of being a wife and mother.

rhaenyra nodded, clasping her hands together, “aemond.”

the name was spoken into the room like a pindrop. silence met her words and your face lost all its composure.

“aemond?!” you stood up, rage running through your blood as you felt your face get hot, “you cannot be serious, mother.” but rhaenyra stayed silent, only sipping on her tea for a moment before she sighed, “it wasn’t an easy decision. we needed something to make peace between our families. and since you are my only daughter, and he is their only unwed son…” she trailed off, “you will be a good wife. you’ve already put him in his place once, make sure you don’t have to do it again.” she encouraged and as much as you didn’t want to make this a good thing, you couldn’t help but smile as she did.

you strolled along the balcony overlooking the gardens when aemond found you. he was sneering, like always, and this time he had a good reason.

“my sister must have told you? otherwise you wouldn’t have such a look of despair on your pretty little face.” he gawked and matched your walking pace.

you shrugged, “don’t act so happy to be sleeping next to me. i’ll cut your tiny little cock off with the same knife i used to gouge your eye.” you threatened, stopping your walk. you stared him down, but aemond swiftly moved to grab your throat, throwing you against the stone wall as his hand gripped tighter on your neck.

you gasped slightly for air as he sneered, “i’ll show you who’s cock is tiny-“ you heard the unbuckling of a belt and fear erupted in you. you used your strength to heavy a kick to his legs, feeling his grip loosen on you, you let yourself drop onto the floor.

aemond stepped back and you stood up, quickly maneuvering a dagger into your hand you held it up to his face, “don’t make me do it.” aemond could see there was no jest in your eyes, and watched as you stepped back, still pointing the dagger at him unnervingly.

days passed and you had avoided aemond easily. you had just kept yourself cooped up in your chambers, and only going to ride your dragon just before daybreak, the cool morning air being your refresher for a long day of sitting inside.

but you knew those days were coming to a close, you would be wed, and dangerously soon. you realized as the day approached that there was no way out of this, no real solution.

you waited patiently for him. you paced the hallway moments after bribing the guards, and you swallowed your pride, building up your courage as you walked into the princes chambers. as the doors opened, the scent of burning lavender filled the air, and you noticed a stack of books and weapons lazily set aside on a table, blankets and cloths sitting on the chair beside it.

this was aegons room? you had expected far less decency and more wine bottles and empty goblets. this was sophisticated, this was something you would’ve had back on driftmark.

you heard the slam of a book and you jumped slightly to find aemond, fixing his eyepatch over his eye as he looked at you. “and what brings you here?” his voice was filled with more curiosity than anger for intruding his room. he sat up, and you realized with surprise that he was shirtless, and wearing very thin breeches.

you shrugged, using a hand to dust the front of your prettiest dress, “i thought this was your brothers room.” aemond raised an eyebrow, “and what could you possibly need from my brother?” aegon was a complete joke to aemond, he held him with very little respect.

“he was going to fuck me senseless.” you dropped your plan so casually, that aemond had almost ignored it. he stood up from the bed, and looked at you with an intense stare, “what?” he whispered, and you pursed your lips, “i figured, if i fuck aegon, i’ll be unpure, damaged goods. would you still want me then?”

aemond laughed, “you think fucking my brother will stop me from marrying you?” his question made your plan sound so stupid, and you opened your mouth but your words faltered. aemond chuckled, “i suppose you think me as some fool. i knew of your plan, a wonder the maids had led you to wrong room, isn’t it?” he mocked you and he stepped forward.

you shook your head in frustration, “no. no, that’s not what she had said-“

aemond was now breathing you in, breathing in the forced arousal between your legs, the perspiration on your forehead from the confrontation, even the small hint of vanilla on your collarbones. he grabbed your breast with a hand, and kneaded it in his grasp. you gasped slightly, more at the grab than his hand twisting it around.

you didn’t pull back as he used his other hand to pull you impossibly close. “i just can’t let you go. as much as i want to, i-“ he didn’t continue as he let his lips trail over your face just ever so close.

you let your hand grip his shoulder as he dipped you slightly, “i gouged your eye out, i laughed at you as children, i’ve insulted you to the gods…” as aemond kissed your cheek, the words were now at a loss and you found yourself staring at him in surprise, “you should hate me.” you whispered.

aemond laughed, “i do. i hate everything about you.” he murmured. his breath was hot on your neck as he got closer, his tongue trailing just over your skin, you felt him kissing you slowly. you moaned at the contact and wriggled in his grasp bjt he refused to let you go.

you pulled at his hair and aemond hissed, pulling back, “i hate your plain expressions, i hate your perfect hair, your lips, the way your eyes are spaced apart, your frilly dresses and the way you walk.” he sneered, “but i cant..i cant not hate this.” he kissed you now, his lips meeting yours, you felt yourself finally give into the twisted feelings.

how could this feel so right after you shunned him so long ago?

you gripped his hair, pulling it for pleasure, aemond moaned, kissing you harder.

aemond’s hand found itself wrapping around to the back of your dress. he tugged on the lace knot and you felt the air hit your back, just as the dress fell to the ground. your silk undergown was all that was left, and aemond hoisted you into his arms, tossing you onto the bed.

you could barely react as aemond pounced on you, ready to devour you whole, he was smiling manically as he tore your legs apart.

you looked down to find his slender hands moving your gown up towards your stomach. his cock was able to be seen through the thin material of his breeches. with a lurch of your stomach you realized that aemond would truly be the first to have you. you, untouched, inexperienced, he would destroy you.

but nonetheless, your moans sang for him, and his cock was in your cunt without another minute wasted. you moaned richly, a laugh erupting from you as he moved, gaining the confidence wjth your moans, aemond fucked you, a steady pace was met with your growls of pleasure.

“fuck-“ you moaned, grabbing aemond’s arm that was by your side, you dug your fingernails into his porcelain skin. aemond hissed at the pain and continued on, watching as moments later you came undone, unable to hold yourself still as you shook from the pleasure.

as you finally stilled, aemond kicked you off the bed and onto the floor, he threw your dress at you and let himself fall onto the bed, his cock softening as his tucked it into his breeches, he glared at you, “speak of this all you want, you’re my wife now.” he threatened.

anger got the best of you and you reached out suddenly, grabbing his eyepatch you yanked it off his face and tossed it into the fire. aemond reached up to touch his eye socket and realized with surprise that your nails had scratched the surface of his face, small cuts oozed blood, and you were smiling at him, an eerie similarity to his own smile, even as you exited.

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